10. Noname, Room 25
Fatimah Warner set up her rap career to defy expectations. Her tongue-in-cheek stage name of Noname concisely reflects her simultaneous humility and self-confidence. From her early days of being a “no name” feature on tracks by Chance the Rapper, to the surprise success of her solo album debut Telefone, Noname accomplished in Room 25 exactly what she said she’d do in a 2016 interview—“The next tape will sound different. I’ll tap into something heavier…I’m in this mindset of like, ‘Oh, you guys think I can’t rap? I’m going to come back with something that’s only rap so you can’t argue with me.’”
Room 25 triumphs with Noname’s signature soft vocal stylings. There’s no denying that her rapid-fire lyrics are anything but rap. Her clever lyricism weaves a tight tapestry of endless references about everything from Hillary Clinton pandering to the black vote, the Pinesol lady perpetuating the mammy trope, Penny Proud (from Disney’s early ‘00s “Proud Family” cartoon TV show) facing off with Betty Boop, and Twitter rants being rendered meaningless in the face of capitalism. “Blaxploitation” should be required listening in schools. (I highly recommend listening to the album several times over with the lyrics in front of you. You’ll discover new food for thought every time.) And while Noname isn’t afraid to tackle big subjects like gentrification and healthcare, she also delves into the (more) personal experiences of seeing a loved one go through chemotherapy or dementia. Her smooth voice over jazzy instrumentals is perfect for a quiet Sunday morning of contemplation, then her content will inspire you to take to the streets.
–Katie Ouellette
9. Snail Mail, Lush
In the avalanche of press coverage Snail Mail has received since Lush was released, the guitar instruction Snail Mail mastermind Lindsey Jordan received from Mary Timony (Helium, Autoclave) over the preceding two years has been particularly emphasized, perhaps as an explanation of her brilliance. But even Timony likely couldn’t have foreseen just how good Jordan would get at songwriting. 2018 has seen a wave of artists rise up from below into national consciousness, and Lush was deservedly the vehicle for Snail Mail’s ascension. It’s an incredible album and a landmark as this generation of indie rock matures and claws its way from basements to stadiums.
–Alyx Zauderer
8. Kacey Musgraves, Golden Hour
Released at the end of March, Kacey Musgraves’s fourth and most impressive record yet imbues the warmth and allure of country twang with a glimmering pop sheen, mixing pedal steel guitar, vocoder, disco synths, and banjo to conjure up a world that’s brimming with potential and promise. Across Golden Hour, the singer-songwriter’s earnest takes on the twists and turns of everyday life unspool with a disarming clarity, whether she’s reveling over newfound love (“Butterflies”), choosing to slow down and take the scenic route (“Slow Burn”), or coolly dismissing an ex-lover in one of the most sweeping, quietly epic break-up songs of the year (“Space Cowboy”). Amid the hustle and bustle of work and responsibility, Golden Hour is a warm, welcome reminder that there’s a world out there waiting to be endlessly experienced, if one is only willing to look up and notice.
–Patricia Guzman
7. Courtney Barnett, Tell Me How You Really Feel
There were heavy expectations for the lyrically gifted, modern-day dad-rocker Courtney Barnett after her 2015 debut LP, Sometimes I Sit and Think and Sometimes I Just Sit. Last year’s collab album with Kurt Vile, Lotta Sea Lice, while charming, felt like one for the hip dads and didn’t fill the Barnett-sized void in my lil’ gay heart. When Tell Me How You Really Feel dropped at the end of Taurus season (May 18th), I wanted so badly to be immediately satiated. But, in all transparency, I wasn’t.
Maybe it was the air of highly specific expectations, or maybe it was the true Taurean in me, but I did not want to accept Barnett’s shifts in sound and form on her 2018 album. I wanted ultra-personal, wordy, story-telling lyricism, catchy, beachy riffs and Barnett’s signature self-drawn album art. Instead, we got a close-up, photographic cover, a darker, more experimental sound, and wide-spanned, general criticism of our political, patriarchal climate. I initially perceived it as trite lyricism from a Grammy-nominated musician. But as 2018 dragged on, Tell Me How You Really Feel revealed itself as the sarcastic, grounded, cathartic album we all needed. I mean, how could you not sing/scream along to lines like “Put up or shut up, it’s all the same/ It’s all the same, never change, never change” on “I’m Not Your Mother, I’m Not Your Bitch?” Not to mention her iconically quoting Margaret Atwood in “Nameless, Faceless”: “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them; women are afraid that men will kill them.” What’s more, Tell Me isn’t all pessimistic. In songs like “Sunday Roast” and “Help Your Self,” you’ll hear that Barnett is writing as poetically as ever—she’s telling you how she really feels.
–Jackie Swisshelm
6. Blood Orange, Negro Swan
Following up an instant classic like Freetown Sound is tough, but Dev Hynes just about pulled it off. Where Hynes used Freetown to introduce a multi-faceted look at his identity as a black man, on Negro Swan he uses a similar lens to tackle his struggles with depression. He once again displays his incredible poetic ability to convey very specific experiences in accessible manor, effortlessly communicating pain and anxiety without sanding away any of the individuality of his own outlook.
Much more grounded in its fuzzy funk and bedroom pop roots than its predecessor, there’s nothing here coming close to the groovy heights of Freetown’s “E.V.P.” Given the subject matter, however, that feels like a good decision, allowing for a great flow between emotional peaks on tracks like “Charcoal Baby” and “Nappy Wonder.” The album is not without its missteps, A$AP Rocky’s lazy verse on lead single “Chewing Gum” chief among them, but overall this is another excellent effort from one of the industry’s strongest voices.
–George Greenstreet
5. Lucy Dacus, Historian
Historian is one of those albums that feels like it has been with me forever, but somehow, it only came out this past March. It occupies that cozy space of summer cascading into fall. Lucy Dacus’ voice is that first crisp day where you can don a scarf, married with sunshiny warmth. Yet her lyrics make you ache with longing to know your grandmother better (“Pillar of Truth”) and come to peace with your own death (“Next of Kin”). She captures that 2018 feeling of time passing quickly and slowly all at once, with the urgent immediacy of the present and the timelessness of the past. This sophomore effort burns with the intensity of fiery foliage. We’re not sure how Dacus siphoned the creative energy to collaborate with Julien Baker and Phoebe Bridgers for boygenius within the same year, but we’re so glad that we got two albums from her this year as a result.
–Katie Ouellette
4. Janelle Monáe, Dirty Computer
Janelle Monáe’s first effort outside of her top-notch Metropolis cycle, Dirty Computer finds her at a creative peak. Shirking any sense of metaphor from her previous projects, her lyrics are straight to the point, a bombastic celebration of sexuality, queerness, fluidity and the strength that comes with all three. The bluntness of it all could have been grating in the hands of a lesser artist, but Monáe’s balance of fun and biting hooks you almost immediately, seamlessly moving between deeper moments exploring her views on inclusiveness and over-the-top fuck anthems. Finding novel takes on neo soul while bringing in collaborators from Grimes to Zoe Kravitz to Brian Wilson, Monáe gives us some of the year’s best pop music without losing a strong ideological through-line.
Computer’s mix of explosive sonics, catchy melodies, and lyrics unbound in their celebration of identity and freedom make it a vital and timely album. Here’s hoping it gets the Grammy.
–George Greenstreet
3. Hop Along, Bark Your Head Off, Dog
Editor’s note: Read our interview with Frances Quinlan of Hop Along here too!
Hop Along remains undefeated. Bark Your Head Off, Dog is the latest proof. Having built up plenty of goodwill from Get Disowned and Painted Shut, Hop Along might have gone and topped themselves on their third offering. Frances Quinlan continues to have one of the best voices in any genre, and the band behind her gets tighter and tighter. The album takes plenty of twists and turns that highlight the beauty of this band. Oh, and album starter “How Simple” might be the song of the year, too.
–Matt Ellis
2. Sidney Gish, No Dogs Allowed*
Sidney Gish’s “Bird Tutorial” was the first song I heard in 2018, and as soon as I heard the vintage sample (“teaching a parakeet to talk is fun!”) I knew I had already found my album of the year.
On No Dogs Allowed, Gish puts words to the universal experience of feeling like an outsider looking in, earnestly approaching the feeling from every possible angle with infectious pop songs and unshakable melodies. Gish’s unique songwriting has been a bright spot on Boston’s music scene for the last few years, and though the production on her second New Year’s Eve release has stepped up, the lyricism is more raw and honest than ever. From a peek into her iPhone notepad on “Mouth Log,” to the tender ownership of mistakes on “Persephone,” No Dogs Allowed is a specific, deeply personal account of a feeling everybody knows.
Turns out the never-ending process of understanding the world around you, and finding your place in it, can make you feel a lot like a parakeet learning to talk. Watching the people who look like they have it together, and copying what you see in the hopes that this time, you’ll finally get it, can grind the best of us down after enough repetition. By cracking open her brain and letting us peek inside, Gish creates a space for everyone to feel less weird about feeling weird. Maybe we’re all just a bunch of parakeets stuck in one big bird tutorial, but No Dogs Allowed gives us a glimmer of hope that learning to talk can actually be fun.
–Kaera Wyse
1. Mitski, Be the Cowboy
There’s a point in “Nobody,” the disco-influenced bop, when Mitski sings “And still nobody wants me” followed by two handclaps. In the grand scheme of things, it’s nothing. And everything.
Mitski’s fifth full-length record Be the Cowboy is full of big and small moments like this. There’s the horns that come in on “Why Didn’t You Stop Me?” and there’s the sigh that precedes the drums kicking in on “Me and My Husband.” The sparse arrangement of “Two Slow Dancers.” Her knack for painting beautiful vignettes with words is also present: “In the morning, in a taxi I’m so very paying for” and “If you’d meet me at Blue Diner, I’ll take coffee and talk about nothing.” It is Mitski’s best songwriting to date.
At 14 songs and 33 minutes, only two songs are longer than 3 minutes. The songs unfurl over a short period, meaning every second is deliberate and assured – those blink-and-you-miss-it handclaps, that sigh and those lyrics. Be the Cowboy is the work of a great songwriter and musician destined to become a legend.
-Jeremy Stanley