Listen: Monaleo, “Beating Down Yo Block”
Memory Music
55.
Bartees Strange: “Weights”
On its surface, “Weights” is one of countless songs about clinging to a crush. In the hands of Bartees Strange, however, that familiar theme gets a redesign worthy of the pantheon. Armed with an explosive rhythm section and guitars aimed at the cheap seats, Bartees captures the most pivotal moment of post-relationship life—the decision to move on—through Bloc Party-style crescendos and throat-clearing howls. Think karaoke for the heartbroken desperately seeking confidence. Taken from the deluxe edition of his breakthrough 2020 album Live Forever, “Weights” is a personal victory lap that basks in an adrenaline spike so strong that listeners can feel it, too. –Nina Corcoran
Listen: Bartees Strange, “Weights”
ICY / Warner
54.
Saweetie: “Best Friend” [ft. Doja Cat]
Just a few years ago, mainstream collabs between women in rap were as rare as a genuine Notes app apology. Now, there’s an embarrassment of riches, and “Best Friend” is one of those coups: two of rap’s most dominant merging to hype each other up, as good confidants do. (Who hasn’t spotted their Day One on the street and screamed, “Beep beep, is that my bestie in a Tessie”?) Over a beat that bounces like a pogo stick, Saweetie lobs bad-bitchisms at Doja Cat, whose masterful shapeshifting manifests as a bubbly, three-flow verse. As public displays of affection go, this is the kind that’s perfectly admissible. –Clover Hope
Listen: Saweetie, “Best Friend” [ft. Doja Cat]
Domino
53.
Tirzah: “Send Me”
Stripped to synthesizer, voice, and the occasional sullen drumbeat, Tirzah’s album Colourgrade demonstrates a self-protective restraint. “Send Me” is among the record’s most spartan songs: A single guitar figure is looped over a rickety hi-hat pattern, practically without variation, for four minutes. Over this skeletal frame, Tirzah asks for healing. “Send me sun at dawn/Gonna let it heal some more,” she sings softly, as though cooing a lullaby to her newborn; the lyrics are both tender and cryptic. Then, in the final 30 seconds, she steps on a stomp box, and all that palliative energy suddenly goes up in flames. –Philip Sherburne
Listen: Tirzah, “Send Me”
Darkroom / Interscope
52.
Billie Eilish: “Happier Than Ever”
For much of her sophomore album, Billie Eilish is subdued, rarely rising past a melodic whisper even when she’s spitting venom at stalkers, trolls, and abusers. At first, the record’s sprawling title track feels like more of the same: “Happier Than Ever” begins with wafty ukulele, twinkly keys, and Eilish’s cozy vibrato, her opening salvo so wistfully delivered that you almost miss its underlying spite. But midway through, Billie’s inner Alanis activates. She submits to rage and cranks the volume, summoning a torrent of fried guitar and muffled screams as she reams out an ex. “I don’t talk shit about you on the internet,” she wails, before proceeding to talk a whole lot of shit. It can be tempting to air your grievances online, but Eilish knows that her burns make better lyrics than tweets. –Olivia Horn
Listen: Billie Eilish, “Happier Than Ever”
Age 101
51.
Little Simz: “Introvert”
“Introvert” is the opening in a chilling, fantastical score where Little Simz is the messiah tasked with preventing evil from ending the world. Rather than sheer gospel, the song plays like theme music for a champion boxer jogging into the ring before Michael Buffer announces, “Let’s get ready to rumble!”—except the match is taking place at a cathedral over the sounds of church horns and bells. Simz vigilantly defends her title–over 10 years in the game–with steady, precise jabs: “I see sinners in a church, I see sinners in a church.” Here, she embraces being a loner and continues throwing bows, even if it means bad manners in the house of the Lord. –Veracia Ankrah
Listen: Little Simz, “Introvert”
Atlantic
50.
The War on Drugs: “I Don’t Live Here Anymore”
Adam Granduciel is looking back at the past and man, it looks so good. “I Don’t Live Here Anymore,” the sublime title track from the War on Drugs’ fifth record, is an anthem made for being covered in tanning oil on a roof while wearing aviators, or pumping your fist in the air from the back of a pickup truck. It’s iridescent, with varicolored synths and guitars as big as skyscrapers. He namedrops Dylan, and he sings about memory and how we all need to walk through “this darkness” on our own. There’s still a sense of sweet, sweet mystery in this life, he seems to say. It might sound corny, but he’s right. –Sophie Kemp
Listen: The War on Drugs, “I Don’t Live Here Anymore”
Kranky
49.
Grouper: “Kelso (Blue sky)”
On “Kelso (Blue sky),” Liz Harris chauffeurs us along the desolate road of her internal struggle. While driving home on a rural highway beside the Columbia River, Harris is consumed by fog. Between pensive hums, she expresses her discontent as the light disappears around her. The sky turns dark and so do her emotions as she sings, “Can’t beliеve that I don’t get to see you one morе time.” She wants to tell us she’s happy, but at night she can only tell the truth. –Arjun Srivatsa