“Memories can be vile. Repulsive little brutes, like children I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can’t face them, we deny reason itself!”

There comes a point in one’s life when one starts to fully appreciate the preciousness of memory. Details of lived experiences inexplicably become more fleeting and difficult to recall. The desire to remember fondly and vividly or even relive old memories is only matched by the increasing inability to do so. You may see it start to happen in loved ones first, repeating conversations, answering questions you’ve answered before. Then you start to feel the effects of passing time on yourself, trying to conjure up names to match faces, lyrics to melodies, all to no avail.

This endeavor of attempting to listen to as much new music in a year as possible may have begun as means of broadening my musical tastes and awareness, or maybe to position myself as a colleague and equal to music writers and music nerds I respect, but I’ve grown to recognize that if anything it has evolved into an exercise in memory. Assuredly, consuming larger quantities of music inherently makes it impossible to remember each and every song, every lyric, every rising phrase. It was far easier in my younger years to hone in on the albums I knew I would enjoy, by trusted artists I’ve already shown attachement and loyalty to or by their peers of whom they would vouch for. I could easily identify these works and then gorge myself on the songs, wearing out my speakers until I knew every lyric and note. Seeing these artists perform live then transformed into an elevated experiences, with myself finding comradery with the other rabid fans screaming out every word. Now, trying to present evidence for what were the most impactful musical creations of the last year seems more futile. Trying to claim deep investment in or impact from a list of over 300 hours worth of music is as incredulous as it seems. This may be why perhaps last year I abandoned the top ten and honorable mention collection and whittled it down to my top four. But this year, I find myself being kinder with how I assess music. I’m less worried about being able to recall specific songs or prominent lyrics and instead start with what ulitmately should be the essential: what moved me? Data factors so prominently in our world, with music listeners (including myself) waiting ravenously for our Spotify, Apple, or Youtube music summaries to drop, and part of me wonders how much of this newly developed communal ritual is to affirm with algorithmic accuracy identity markers. We now have the ability to provide metrics for how much bigger of a Swiftie we are than others, or how much more diverse and eclectic our tastes are than the common folk (Lindsay Fickas wrote a bit about the absurdity of this “subgenre-ization” in Swim into Sound’s Worst Of EOTY post). But what data can be more potent or meaningful than moments of emotional connection? Art which expresses its empathetic resonance by the way it creates a welling of feelings, from jubilation, to grief, to elation, to despair, need not prove its merit by way of metrics like number of streams, merch sales, or concert attendance.

That’s not to say that I cut myself off from the prominent happenings in the popular music world. I can’t look back at 2024 without acknoweldgeing the pure force of nature that were women in the music industry, especially in the live music space. Taylor Swift finally closed the book on her long-standing and triumphant Eras Tour, but also worth note were impressive tours by Sabrina Carpenter, Olivia Rodrigo, and Chappel Roan (formerly support for Rodrigo), who then went on to perform for some of the largest crowds on some of the largest stages of the year. Additionally, I could not escape “Brat Summer” as Charli XCX’s sixth album became a defining feature of the culture, shaping our vernacular in defining anything good as “brat” (including presidential candidates). Maybe just as singular and prominent was the feud between Drake and Kendrick Lamar, which led to many a thought piece, recap, and lyric breakdown, that one might as well have been trying to follow the intricacies of a geopolitical conflict (in a sense, it was). One would have thought the culmination being the Lamar’s Juneteenth Pop Out concert, where he effectively consolidated support from the hip-hop community would be his final word, but no, 2024’s top pop star had to assert his dominance with a surprise drop of a fantastic full length album.

Regardless of how much cultural impact mainstream music had this past year, the rising stardom of DIY and indie punk and emo remains one of the most exciting trends to observe. With bands like Liquid Mike, Ben Quad, Cliffdiver, Carpool, Combat, Hey! Ily, Stay Inside and others putting out substantial releases this year, it will be exciting to watch how much the DIY community will grow in prominence and impact this year.

With all of the incredible offerings to choose from, how does one attempt to whittle down their most treasured musical encounters of the past year? What did end up featuring in the numerical ranking below were the ones that I felt in my soul, the ones that resonated in a way which either spoke to my current emotional standing, or clarified those internal murmurings which I couldn’t elucidate (or maybe they just made me spontaneously cry in my car while listening to them, who’s to say). I may not be able to recite every lyric or anticipate every melodic turn as I did the musical obsessions of my youth, but I’m ever more grateful for these albums. Because through the excess of all that I listened to this year, they rang loud and clear through the way they hit me internally. Emotional resonance is such a powerful tool because it can clarify identity and community: what you value and where you fit in. All of these songs this past year in some way spoke to what I needed and where I belonged. And those are reminders I’ll never forget.

Happy New Year.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

TOP TEN ALBUMS OF 2024

10. The Great Impersonator – Halsey

I’ve been wondering recently if modern female artists feel their work is constantly put in the unfair space of being contextualized and compared to their predecessors. Regardless of the quality of the work, do reactionary claims of idol worship or too close emulation pose a risk and obstacle in their creative process? It seems concerning this question, Halsey, in what was self-described as perhaps her last album ever following some significant health battles, decided to say “F^$& em”. The Great Impersonator is an enjoyable trek through a true cornucopia of influences and heavyweight musical inspirations. Covering everything from folk and country to indie to pop to alt-rock and others, Halsey presents tribute to her favorite influences in songs without feeling heavy-handed with their allusions.

9. All You Embrace – One Step Closer

I used to view the hardcore genre and community with caution and hesitance. It seemed overflowing with unbridled aggression in ways that admittedly made me feel unsafe. But over the last several years along with growing exposure to groups like Fiddlehead, Touche Amore, and Turnstile, along with my personal interactions with more members of the local hardcore scene, I’ve seen that genre stretches beyond stereotype and features bands doing exciting and innovative things with their sound. One Step Closer’s second album All You Embrace fits squarely in this collection, with energetic bristling songs that can race with breakneck speed, and still fill the aggression with melodies brimming with introspection. This type of sound can appeal to and endear a nominal and peripheral hardcore fan, much like myself, growing not just the band’s own fanbase, but the hardcore community overall.

8. I’d Say I’m Not Fine – Barely Civil

Spotify, PLEASE desperately fix your UI, because in going through my 2024 playlist, I almost neglected the third album from midwest emo rockers, Barely Civil. As mentioned above, the indie-emo space had many bands contributing what I’m sure will be defining albums of this most recent wave. But none had been more affecting to me than “I’d Say I’m Not Fine”. Everything about this album hits high emo touchstones, energetic anthems, somber slow songs, exhilarating melodic escalations, and lyrics that are sure to touch tenderly upon even the most calloused heartstrings.

7. The Secret of Us – Gracie Abrams

This album makes me feel the way Taylor Swift makes most of the female population feel.

6. Tigers Blood – Waxahatchee

It’s hard to find a contemporary album that encapsulates its occupied genre more than Tigers Blood. The sixth album in the project created by singer/songwriter Katie Crutchfield is exactly what I imagine the forebearers of the Americana genre aimed to create: straightforward songs carried by soothing uncomplicated melodies and down-to-earth storytelling. There’s no pretense to be found when Crutchfield croaks “My spine’s a rotted 2 x 4, barely hanging on” or “And I call you by your last name and I’ll kiss you like a fever dream companion”. Crutchfield’s charm is only further accentuated by the way she can deliver lines like these in her standard steady timbre, or with, what one online writer described as “her crystalline coyote-whoop”. Writing music like this, free of frills and stuffed with sincerity, is more a difficult task than described, and Crutchfield excels in ways that point to the eventual addition of her name to the pantheon of artists who defined this music.

5. Country – Medium Build

Nicholas Carpenter is an enigma to me. Raised in Georgia, trained in the music center of the country, Nashville, he then left the American South with its rich history of music for, um, Alaska? An interesting yet appropriate choice of locale from where to build a quiet yet respectable career, signing to a major record label, recording four albums, and collaborating and touring with big-name stars. But for his fifth full length, Carpenter pivoted partly from indie and opted for an investigation into heart and heartland. Discussions with his father apparently prompted an ongoing exchange in country music, hence his fifth length, Country. A brief retrospective of his previous work affirms that he maintains a lot of his unique and appealing charm and stylings. His affinity for reverb and background synth persist and works to expand the atmosphere, but he allows the twang of his guitar and the warble of his voice (think an amalgamation of Andy Hull, John Ross, and Adam Granduciel) to be more prominently centered, leading to an intimate offering of hybrid indie country Americana.

4. Negative Spaces – Poppy

Last year I got a PR request to cover Poppy live in concert and, puzzlingly, I sent an enthusiastic response to the rep with a link to a short write-up I did on the artists’ discography and career where I expressed overall confusion over them and criticism at their attempt to play in lots of different genres at once. Unshockingly, I did NOT receive press credentials lolz (sorry, again, Elizabeth). Well, my small-time criticism clearly wasn’t enough to prevent Poppy from continuing in her artistic endeavors, because she is now a must-know name in heavy genres. Her guest spot on the new Knocked Loose album and subsequent performance with them on Jimmy Kimmel Live! aside, she has honed a sound that draws from contemporary hardcore and metalcore, while embracing the most anthemic moments of nu-metal. There’s no confusion anymore, Poppy f%^$ing RIPS. And despite the brutality of certain songs, some are brave enough to venture through more accessible territory, from grunge alt-rock to her former beau of electropop. Sleek production (helmed by Jordan Fish, formerly of Bring Me the Horizon) covers all tracks and persists through to the shimmering and climatic closer of “Halo”, which only accentuates the fact that Poppy is not a one-trick pony, not an enigmatic internet persona, not a self-serious performance artist, but an undeniable voice of the next generation of rock musicians.

Top 3 Albums of 2024

Feature spots are such a weird phenomenon in the music industry. From one standpoint they can be seen as business decisions, akin to feudal marriages, shrewdly made with dowries of fanbases transacted to grow profit. Similarly, they can be analogous to war-time strategy, consolidating public support, power, and influence. But at its essential, it’s about two artists collaborating, seeing how their combined skills can not just complement, but elevate their impact. And sometimes an artist with greater recognition can bring in a lesser-known artist, to the boon of the latter, giving them much deserved attention. Case in point: I might have never discovered Abby Holliday without hearing her spot on Jon Foreman’s latest album. And while that album is great on its own, I can’t help but recognize that its biggest impact on me was directing me towards Holliday’s third album. Mostly, the album sonically explores the territory of indie paved by heavyweights like Phoebe Bridgers. It might seem like a lofty task to stake a claim in the “sad-girl” indie sphere, however, Holliday blends multiple stylings with incredibly diverse instrumentation, that harkens to the stylings of Sydney Sprague, Maggie Rogers, and Justin Vernon. Her simple guitar can stand assuredly on its own or with the backing of a torrential swarm of electronic tones. Similarly autotune and modulated vocal effects are utilized prevalently but never excessively, and if anything accentuate the moments when her dulcet singing presents itself bare and pure. The musicality of the songs accompanies heartfelt accounts of and ruminations on faith and abuse and the implications they have on relationships. Holliday embraces a level of absolute vulnerability that is incredibly affecting, describing her heartbreak and hurt and doubt with a rawness that is not simply confessional, but, as the album title suggests, invitational, asking listeners to find in her experience their own, and to refrain from running from the pain but instead commiserate together, and perhaps finding healing, and maybe joy.

The past couple of years have provided ample evidence that there is something indelibly special about A Place for Owls. Following the self-release of their phenomenal debut full length, the band went on to play massive support shows with bands like Switchfoot, Mae, Foxing, and Wild Pink. There’s no doubt their ability to rally the broad collective of fellow feelers is what earned them these slots, as they maintain one of the most supportive and encouraging presences in the online realm, the result of which is an army of fans and band alike who sings their praises. And yet despite such a meteoric rise in the DIY music space, the years following were not absent of significant struggle and pain for the band’s members, especially band leader Ben Sooy. As any good artist would do, Sooy took these experiences to his band colleagues and collectively they filtered them through their talents to create an album about loss, confusion, and the essential need for human connection. How We Dig in the Earth maintains much of the same questioning and yearning present in their debut but with a greater sense of desperation embedded in every song. This is immediately apparent in the opener, “Go On”, a seemingly quiet number initially populated by Sooy’s plucking and voice whispering, “Go on and say you’re not okay at all”. The song gradually elevates, incorporating gang vocals by the rest of the band that generate and propel energy and emotion into the next number, the unrestrained “Hourglass”. Similarly deft handling of emotional levels occurs throughout the album. In my interview with Sooy and guitarist Nick Webber, the duo mentions the desire for the album to feel like fluctuations between drowning and coming up for air, a cycle of waves of hope and despair. The intentionality is clear as How We Dig in the Earth at times is more stripped down and sparing than its predecessor, yet just as impactful. Songs like “Huston Lake”, “Desmond Hume”, and “Haunted” (featuring Elliot Green) gain evocative potency with their apropos haunting melodies and subdued vocal deliveries. They both capture a still sombreness of the moment while providing contrast to the more explosive moments and numbers like the previously mentioned “Hourglass”, the end phrases of “Haunted”, and album closer “Help Me Let the Right Ones In”, a fitting album closer where towards the end Sooy unleashes his vocals with an impassioned plea of connection. The sonic exploration of these most trying human experiences might serve as individual catharsis for Sooy and his bandmates, but skilled artists know how to take the exorcism of personal demons and communicate them in a way that builds a connection with their listeners, that provides a mutual salve to both. That a band is so skilled at this, so early in their career, only shows how essential their voice is in the music ecosystem.

"I keep an hourglass set on its side.
So it's always right now and I'm always on time."

A quiet despair pings me whenever I hear Aaron Stone sing those words. There’s a pained necessity implied: one must remain in the moment to feel any semblance of timeliness in life, otherwise, the visage would immediately dissolve should the timekeeper be put upright and the sands begin to fall again. And yet, Loriella, the latest album from alternative rock out My Epic, is embedded with hope. Stone mentions how the band wanted to lyrically present a case against cynicism, and affirm ways through the loss of innocence while “being able to find joy, hope, peace, and faith”. Tonally, the album captures the cacophony of these life experiences, from the gentle acoustic melodies to some of the most crushing distorted guitar drops I’ve heard this year. But My Epic accomplishes something unique where these moments are rarely separate but layered effortlessly on top of each other achieving a post-post-hardcore sound akin to genre and scene masters Thrice. There are times when through the electronic background synths one feels floating in an endless sea or drifting among celestial bodies…

"So what's left?
For really knowing anything?
To sort the meaning from the means?
The voice of G-d from dopamine?"

…and then there are times when guitars will swell and escalate to a rapturous conclusion.

"We don't fear the light, we face it.
We don't tell the truth, we taste it.
We don't share the blame, we place it.
We don't keep the peace, we make it."

The push and pull between persistent doubt and declarations of faith thematically enrich the album and ultimately create a triumphant experience for the listener.

"You paid respects to innocence, took a breath and caught your second wind
Shouting 'I can't live here anymore, but I still have to live!' "

A rally cry and thesis made on the penultimate track, “Make Believe”, a modulated, drumless, slow meditation before Stone, Tanner Morita, and Nate Washburn deliver the exuberant album closer, “Heavy Heart”, my favorite song of the year. Combining indie rock brilliance with emotive distorted guitar drops, My Epic presents their final statement through a love song to Stone’s daughter, a reminder that childhood innocence doesn’t derive worth simply from growing out of it, but that it is the process of growing itself that creates not just meaning but beauty and maybe hope itself. Perhaps this growth is an ongoing process, not isolated to youth. Maybe it’s the ever-present opportunity for self-improvement that can provide resolve in one’s life. And maybe engaging in those opportunities bears no shame but a nobleness that defines our own humanity. What a reminder, to be found in the eyes of children. May we never forget.

Check out the playlist for my year in music and my Spotify Wrapped below.

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