THE TOP 100 SONGS OF 2018: PART THREE...

at the half-way point...

41. The Fool, Pt. 1 (Get It Got It Good) (Shad):

The big question Shad is trying to pose to his listeners is “What are you afraid of?” By embracing fear, rechanneling its inherent negative energy, and celebrating humanity in spite of it, “The Fool Pt. 1 (Get It Got It Good)” projects an unreserved joy and fearlessness to speak the truth. Shad’s timely return to music is a welcome respite in these dark times chock-full of bad news and negativity. Near the beginning of his comeback single, Shad emphatically states “Damn, it feels good to be back.” Given the positivity of The Fool’s message and urgency of the music, it’s hard not to agree. (DOMINIONATED)

42. Big Bad Wolf (Lil Wayne):

it’s been a while since he’s put down such monster verses, almost putting him out of breath.

43. Talkin 3 (Ty Segall):

musicians are always tinkering with versions of their songs but the obsessive Segall pulls forthn funk from this third iteration of a track we’ve had time and time before and it’s a cracker.

44. Fly (Low):

sparse, beautiful and haunting.

45. Americans (Janelle Monae):

the closing-arc of her current album, Monae sends out one defining critique of the way women continue to be marginalized.

46. Keep It Out (Half Waif):

As she often does, Plunkett builds up from a foundation of spry synthetic sounds: throbbing bass synth and a tittering drum machine anchor “Keep It Out.” Her featherweight voice, layered over top, is transfixing. Often, Plunkett’s words seem to catch in her throat, but the restraint of her delivery doesn’t erase its luster. Rather, the effect is like that of daylight filtered through stained glass—somewhat muted, but transformed into vivid colors. (PITCHFORK)

47. Spells (Jenny Hval):

A muted drum track cues Hval to deliver her glittering opening line, “You are your own disco ball.” Though she flirts obliquely with ideas about death and what comes after (far be it from Hval to let us forget our mortality), she does so in the tranquil tone of a lover laying out plans for next weekend. “You will not be awake for long,” she promises an unnamed partner. “We’ll meet in the smallest great unknown.” Hval builds gorgeous and full-bodied layers around this assurance, banishing any lingering darkness—her soft, ethereal scatting banters with an ambling saxophone riff, and slivers of synth and brass shine through a haze of backing vocal tracks. (PITCHFORK)

48. "Celebrate Me" (Jazz Buddafly):

perfectly blends soul with a declaration of self-worth.

49. "Paranoiac Intervals/Body Dysmorphia" (Of Montreal):

touching on themes of identity, disillusionment, and paranoia that Barnes has spoken about with regards to his lyrical inspiration for the new album. The inherent cultural tension over the past year has pushed Barnes to explore his anxieties about society and these worries are examined in his frayed vocal throughout the song. The funky disco synth contrasts the narrative direction of the track, offering an optimism amidst the anxiety, and despite a meandering structure, "Paranoiac Intervals/Body Dysmorphia" holds a clear sense of identity throughout. (BAEBLEMUSIC)

50. "Thank U, Next" (Ariana Grande):

If there’s a song that defines a summer of tabloids, it’s Ariana Grande’s “thank u, next.” The pop star has had a rough few years, which culminated in the doomed whirlwind romance with Pete Davidson and the tragic death of her ex-boyfriend Mac Miller. After the gossip sites went nuts with her sudden engagement to Davidson after a few weeks of dating in June, the relationship became the biggest entertainment news story of the summer. But, as abruptly as it started, the engagement was called off in mid-October about a month after Miller’s death. While Grande kept to herself after the break-up, Davidson used it as comedy material at appearances and on Saturday Night Live. In response, Grande released this empowering break-up anthem, which is at once a mature response to the tabloid drama and an affirmation of her own strength. (ESQUIRE)






51. Pyrex Princess (Azealia Banks): created amid her usual set of controversies but she’s found something vivid and new again.






52. Could It Be (Black Milk): when simplicity creates a big result.






53. Flight (Panda Bear): while his AC bandmates continue to struggle to find tempo, Lennox goes solo on a quiet EP and pulls out a winner.






54. Mr. Tillman (Father John Misty): Narratively, it’s yet another of Father John Misty’s semi-ironic tales. The verses are sung from the perspective of a hotel employee inquiring about Mr. Tillman’s rather eccentric behavior: leaving a mattress out in the rain, accusing other clientele of being movie extras. In the harmony-drenched chorus, Tillman blithely insists he’s fine, singing, “Don’t be alarmed, this is just my vibe.” Funnily enough, the characters we end up wanting to know most about on “Mr. Tillman,” like the clerk and a slyly name-checked Jason Isbell, aren’t “Mr. Tillman.”(PITCHFORK)






55. Greatest (Eminem): it’s a mid-life crisis moment but Em goes out swinging.






56. Hammer (Tune-Yards): The best reconciliation of think-piece and pop comes on “Hammer,” whose alluring bass and gang-sung refrains frame a poem about “living in a dream while the whole world cries.” (THEATLANTIC)






57. Washing Machine Heart (Mitski): rides tremendous emotional crests that translate to fantastic emo-pop music that questions itself as it entertains.






58. The Smoking Man (Quelle Chris & Jean Grae): mostly Quelle spitting out tight verses but the aura of Jean is never far away.






59. Pearly Gates (US Girls): turns a story of quotidian male cluelessness into a religious allegory, asking how a heaven controlled by men could ever be safe. (PITCHFORK)






60. Opener (Hookworms): cooked just right.

THE TOP 100 SONGS OF 2018: PART TWO...

the list resumes...













61. Smoke (Cautious Clay): if Frank Ocean captured the mood out in the gay streets two years ago then Clay’s “Smoke” sends up flares in the heterosexual perspective…it’s just as chilling.






62. Make Me Feel (Janelle Monae): Infectious from the get-go, the slinky bassline oozes, pulling you into the groove, while tasteful keyboard stabs and clean syncopated rhythm guitar riffs keep taking you further into the funk. There's such an ease to Janelle Monae's "Make Me Feel" — a fluidity, much like Monae's public persona — but make no doubt about it, there's nothing ambivalent about this song. It's all about confidence, knowing who you are, what you want and feeling empowered by that honest expression. A perfect blend of smart, sensual lyrics and physicality that can't do anything but make you feel... good. (NPR)







63. Espionage (Preoccupations): whoever saids rock was dead hasn’t been listening to this track.






64. Okra (Tyler, the Creator): an unapologetic hard banger celebrating Tyler’s many wins. A blown-out bass ushers in Tyler’s crooked, Valee-nodding flow, as he rolls through an ambulance of imperial lines. (PITCHFORK)






65. Oh My (Natalie Prass): Even reading the news turns into a heartbreaking activity, as she sings on opener ‘Oh My’, with slapped bass, sharp synths and filtered backing vocals creating an alluring funk base for the singer’s soft, forlorn voice. (THEQUIETUS)






66. OG Beeper (A$AP Rocky): slyly tying the past and current use of tehnology.






67. Rank & File (Moses Sumney): the closing track on an EP from Moses Sumney that was inspired by the first protest he ever attended. “It was in the fall of 2014, after a grand jury decided not to charge the offending officer in the Mike Brown murder, delivering the verdict just in time for them to get home for Thanksgiving,” Sumney explained. “I felt like a camouflaged outsider at the protest, like an anthropologist performing a study amongst his own kind.” The track has all the anxiety of a protest, that builds under a stifling military beat, and even references a Marine Corps marching cadence. “Now I don’t care what I’ve been told,” Sumney sings on the track. “This police state is much too cold.” A cold, sparse beat is driven by snaps and a menacing bass pulse that chillingly captures a perilous time in American history. (ESQUIRE)






68. Don’t Blame Me (Taylor Swift): Sonically speaking, there’s something deliciously sacrilegious about the track, with Taylor laying out that love-as-a-drug imagery over a thunderous gothic church soundscape which applies this album’s slick synthetic sheen to Hozier’s “Take Me to Church.” Her voice lilts over the thick, dark production, and she sounds every bit like the fully-realized adult pop star she aimed to be with her earlier singles. This time, the delivery fully lands. (SPIN)






69. Noid (Yves Tumor): at the heart of the genre-busting fantasia Safe in the Hands of Love, "Noid" represents a new acme in Yves Tumor's career-long contempt toward the idea of taxonomy. Torquing the stylings of the late Lil Peep — that is, pop-punk at a few removes — plus a breakbeat, a bit of Brit-poppiness and a lyric sheet with the pathos of a poem by Claudia Rankine, it's the producer's most vulnerable and voluble work by an exponent. And, despite the shredding and the braying and whinnying, the siren blares and the solar scuzz, it's also a lattice of forces so unified and destabilizing, they sound like they've always existed together in easy harmony. (NPR)






70. Doesn’t Matter (Christine and The Queens): In a year in which pop music—from Robyn to Ariana Grande—was making a powerful statement, singer Héloïse Letissier, who performs as Christine and the Queens, arrived from France to continue the conversation about gender and identity on Chris. On “Doesn’t Matter”—over bold poppy ’80s drums and sparkling synth—Héloïse bravely addresses the pressures of the masculine gaze, suicidal thoughts, and the nature of relationships and faith. It’s a heavy and important conversation to be having—especially in a song filled with as much buoyant French fun as this one. (ESQUIRE)






71. Ever Again (Robyn): erupts in colorful sounds and pulse-pounding rhythms. Meanwhile, Robyn sings of never being heartbroken again, the sort of preposterous fantasy that pop usually trades in. It almost lands as a joke about the easy pleasures she’s been referring to—and withholding—throughout. (THEATLANTIC)






72. Cameraman (Field Music): takes its time to build into a river of thoughtful brilliance.






73. Bartier Cardi (Cardi B feat. 21 Savage): in a way, feels like a celebration of her stunning rise. The lyric “Cardi got rich, they upset, yeah” has the swagger of one of her signature Instagram jeers. While Cardi is a great talker, her unique eloquence hasn’t always translated to her raps. Here, though, her phrases sway naturally, the same way her chatter does. She never minces words, and in these verses, her taunts and insults are even more cutting. “Them diamonds gon’ hit like a bitch on a bitch-ass bitch,” she exclaims, her accent thrusting every word forward. She’s more forceful and unambiguous as the song goes on, her tone dismissive, shouting things like “I’m poppin’ shit like a dude.” Even her ad-libs are kinetic. (PITCHFORK)






74. Moon River (Frank Ocean): Ocean’s version of “Moon River” trades Hepburn’s gentle sigh for bold and confident yearnings. As he warbles about the wild surrounding world, Ocean envisions his own self-realization through double-tracked new lines like “What I see, What I become.” Ocean’s only sin here is cutting the original’s detail about “my huckleberry friend,” a sweet allusion to the carefree innocence of childhood that feels right up his alley. (As he once sang, wisely, “We’ll never be those kids again.”) Ocean’s “Moon River” retains the enchanting comfort of the Hepburn original without sacrificing any of his genius. It’s the balm we never knew we needed. (PITCHFORK)






75. Midnight Summer Jam (Justin Timberlake): bears the fingerprints of Pharrell, both in its funky guitar line and its falsetto coos. The rising interjections of fiddles are one of the best efforts to approach country on the project, but otherwise this is a pretty classic JT groove that doesn't feel the need to change directions unnecessarily like much of The 20/20 Experience. (HOTNEWHIPHOP)






76. Willow House (Solomon Grey): wispy and witchy at the same time.






77. Headlow (Anderson .Paak feat. Norelle): the best example of the irrefutable funk mastery he has within on his new album.






78. Magazin (White Denim): maintains a summer sound, softly swaying in and out of 60's infused psychedelia and blues-y riffs that make your ear canals smile. (THELINEOFBESTFIT)






79. 36 Oaths (Gaika): now see, this here is how Brit acts should be tackling reggae/dancehall instead of overcooking everything.






80. Suspirium (Thom Yorke): While his bandmate Jonny Greenwood has been out there creating masterful scores for Paul Thomas Anderson movies, Thom Yorke’s music outside of Radiohead has been in the form of two solo albums and work with his side project Atoms for Peace. Now, Yorke is getting in on the soundtrack game, too, creating the music for Luca Guadagnino’s upcoming Suspiria. “Suspirium,” the first single from that soundtrack. has none of the psychological horror of the film’s early trailers. Instead, his song is a lonely piano ballad. This is heartbreaking, not horrifying. But as the frontman of a band whose music is the stuff of vast cinematic soundscapes, his voice is the perfect companion piece for film. (ESQUIRE)

THE TOP 100 SONGS OF 2018: PART ONE...

As we close out yet another year, it becomes clearer and clearer that the focus of musicians have turned to the personal: whether its their lives within a social or political construct, the artist is now a full representative of the times, even pop artists. Gone are the days of merely presenting a fantasy for fans but instead that has been replaced with letting fans into their personal reality.

The good thing is that the groove isn't gone. That said, here are the best songs of the year:


















81. Blue Rose (Amen Dunes): McMahon’s emotional voice was often bruised by reverb on his previous albums, which blurred the lines between visceral rock, psych, and folk. Here, his vocals rings out fully unclothed as they conjure images of love’s all-consuming force and the restlessness of dreamless nights. The personal meaning of “Blue Rose” makes its directness particularly apt: McMahon saysthat the song was inspired by his relationship with his unpredictable father. That knowledge gives extra weight to determined lyrics like, “I will stick around/I’m the baddest, stoniest thing in town.” Even though there’s a fragility to the delivery that makes it unclear whether to take his boasts at face value, you’re left with no doubt of McMahon’s categorical faith in himself. The sticking power of “Blue Rose” is just as undeniable. (PITCHFORK)






82. If You Know, You Know (Pusha T): Pusha is an audacious and pitiless victor: “Dance contest for the smokers/I predict snow, Al Roker/I only ever looked up to Sosa,” he spits, still empathizing with villians in his narcotic fantasy where the smartest (and most unapologetic) corner boys become kingpins and sophisticates. He keeps living out his rise on a loop, as if trying to savor every second. “If you know you know,” he reiterates, shrugging off the cycle you’ve stepped into once more. As Pusha-T again asserts command over his dominion here, it’s hard not to be impressed by his ability to keep making the same powerful first impression. (PITCHFORK)






83. Bad Boy (Red Velvet): who said girl groups are on their way out?






84. Nameless, Faceless (Courtney Barnett): As a quiet-loud slacker anthem with a witty eye for detail and well-turned phrases, “Nameless, Faceless” is basically your archetypal Courtney Barnett scorcher. Who else could write a jangly opening verse that almost manages to empathize with self-important trolls (“I wish someone would hug you,” she sings) and then savagely eviscerate them in a hard-charging chorus armed with a brutal Margaret Atwood quote (“Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them”)? And yes: Those Kim Deal-like backing vocals are, in fact, by Kim Deal. In an already strong year for politically tinged music, this one stands up with the best of them by staying true to Barnett’s strengths. (PITCHFORK)






85. Busy/ Sirens (Saba): quietly telling black tales that we rarely hear.






86. Loss (Pale Grey): the smooth sound of delicious regret.






87. The Kids Are Alright (Chloe x Halle): they’re alright…nothing further needs to be said.






88. Headstone (Flatbush Zombies): a fitting elegy for hip/hop icons.






89. Curse Of The Contemporary (Lump): Laura Marling drops the solo earnestly for a hot minute to present a swift funky jam.






90. Ice Station Zebra (Jack White): a weird mash up of ideas but somehow it works.








91. My Boy (Twin Fantasy) (Car Seat Headrest): we’ve heard the loud-soft-loud concept before but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t work.






92. Could U Love Me (Liz): Sailor Moon pop princess capturing our language.






93. Beyond (Leon Bridges): just a simple story of a boy in love with a girl and wanting the whole world to know about it.






94. Another Time (Mimicking Birds): the slow build juxtaposed to lovely beats is stunning.






95. Fever Dreams (Emma Ruth Rundle): some times there’s nothing more searing than a woman letting it all fly in a rock ballad.






96. High Horse (Kacey Musgraves): If you played someone “High Horse,” it might take a few guesses before they identified it as a country song. That four-to-the-floor beat with the funky, Nile Rodgers guitar, that popping bass—none of these are elements of country that should be on a hit from one of the genre’s brightest stars. But the elements are all there: the middle-American lyrical imagery and references, the light slide guitar solo, the banjo, the background acoustic strings. It’s like a winking scrambling of genres that creates a sound entirely Musgraves’ own. Some often compare her to Taylor Swift as a country artist with major crossover potential. But less a brand than her uber-famous counterpart, Musgraves has more in common with the likes of Sturgill Simpson or Chris Stapleton, who are crossing over based on musical ability alone. (ESQUIRE)






97. Glorious Idea (Virginia Wing): who says you can’t revisit the synth-heavy 80s again?






98. Star Treatment (Arctic Monkeys): walks a very fine line but never stumbles into schmaltz.






99. Talking Straight (Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever): the band’s good old rollicking time continues.






100. Heaven’s Only Wishful (MorMor): In one of his few interviews, Toronto producer/singer MorMor told Pigeons and Planes that in school, "I kept searching for kids like me, but it never happened. In the end it gave me some good perspective." You can hear that solitude, that self-searching in his debut song. (ESQUIRE)