Engaging in one of the greatest rap battles of all time and climbing out of it with the biggest hit single is a definitive victory lap. And thus Kendrick Lamar took his with “Not Like Us,” a song that not only defined 2024 but also staked itself as one of the greatest diss records of all time. If success is the sweetest revenge, then Lamar got it. Not only did it become a chart blockbuster, but it also re-centered the spotlight on the west coast, a marvel for a single song whose message resonated across state lines. Doubting Kendrick is a full-time sport, and keyboard warriors wasted their time trying to do just that. —Steven J. Horowitz

Setting fire to Chappell Roan’s Grammy-nominated breakthrough, “Good Luck, Babe!” is a perfectly crafted synth-pop gem. Though it’s largely identified as a queer pop anthem, the single is applicable to anyone who has escaped and survived a tumultuous “situationship” in their lifetime. Roan exorcizes her anger and love, starting in a place of dreamy optimism that fizzles out with a heart-stirringly frustrated resignation and reality check: “You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling,” Roan sings in an echo at the end. —Thania Garcia

It didn’t seem possible that Carpenter could come up with anything that would wipe the taste of “Espresso” out of America’s mouths, when everyone was so content to let it linger there. Yet, improbably, “Please Please Please” supplanted and topped it. (Although you can be forgiven if you still consider it a tie.) In an essential Variety video where producer/co-writer Jack Antonoff talked about the making of the track, he said that it’s a song that “in my head sounds like the heavens opening up,” which fortunately is how it sounds to us too — and there’s no disputing that he’s right on in making self-comparisons to ELO and ABBA, as the vocal stacks and synths line up. But it’s still Carpenter’s persona itself that makes the song, with a pithy lyric that’s more about a minor private hell than any open heaven. This Relationship Is Definitely Doomed, as the singer tries to convince her boyfriend not to do anything humiliating at the party — vulnerable in her trepidation, albeit with a “motherfucker” threat that makes it clear she’s near the end of her rope. Somehow, in this short (‘n’ sweet) mini-masterpiece, her discomfort becomes our ecstasy. —Willman

Taylor Swift spent so much of 2024 being America’s sweetheart — between the family-friendly Eras tour and her solid NFL attendance record — that it was easy to overlook the idea of her as America’s avenging wraith. But what were we to make of this powerful avowal of wicked witchery, which was not only a highlight of “The Tortured Poets Department,” but also the key part of a newly added section of her live show, which she referred to as “Female Rage: The Musical”? Amid the mostly good vibes that Swift is receiving and sending out into the world, “Who’s Afraid of Little Old Me?” was kind of a weird throwback to the paranoia and defensiveness of some of the songs the “Reputation” era … which is a big part of why it’s so great, in case anyone would be under the impression that’s a bad thing. What does she have to be so mad about? Well, that’s a loaded question — what do any women have to be enraged by in 2024? Plenty. And Swift specifically may never run out of reasons, if she chooses to catalog them, as the embodiment of some sort of evil in so many ultraconservatives’ or just general haters’ lives. Taking ownership of the instillment of fear works for her here, even as she throws in hilariously strange and scary asides like “Don’t you worry, folks, we took out all her teeth.” Of course the reference to “I levitate down your street” gave a great license to the Eras Tour’s production team to design a vehicle that created just that illusion on stage. Swift is of course the very definition of mainstream right now, yet this wonderfully bizarre song was proof that she’s determined to stay weird, too. Boo! —Willman

“Brat” didn’t have a breakout single because there were several — four of its songs, and the album itself, are up for Grammys — but the dancefloor-wrecking “Von Dutch” was the one that set it off. The album’s first single, its woozy synths and thundering beats practically drown out her braggadocious lyrics, and the unusual production from Easyfun (aka Finn Keane) keeps the listener in suspense, simply by the beat kicking back in on the two instead of the one. For many New Yorkers, the song’s defining moment came during Charli’s solo tour back in June, at the very beginning of “Brat Summer,” when it lit up the Brooklyn Paramount with swooping spotlights and crushing beats to a universally ecstatic response (just look here). —Jem Aswad

Let’s just say it out loud here: WTF, Grammys? “Too Sweet” seemed almost too obvious as a shoo-in for a record of the year nomination, not to mention consideration in other categories, but it and Hozier were shut out of noms in the year he finally had his first No. 1 single. Of course, that oversight matters not a whit when it comes to how enduring this will be as an earthy earworm for years to come. The fuzzy guitar-and-bass riff almost makes it seem like we’re going to get a garage-rock burner… and make no mistake, this does count as a rock song, one of a very few such to top the Hot 100 in the 21st century. But harmonically, of course, it immediately goes some different places, even as Hozier breaks with his usual sincere form to take on a possibly more debased character who’s looking for an excuse to ditch the partner whose drinking and sleeping habits don’t match his. There are very few Hozier songs that you’d describe as primarily “confectionary,” let alone kind of down-and-dirty confections. But this is an irresistible outlier that’s drawing folks back into the rest of his equally deserving catalog, where he can take them to church instead of celebrate a hangover. —Willman

OK, there are obviously other great songs that stack up from Beyoncé’s sprawling opus “Cowboy Carter.” Hand it off to “Bodyguard” or “II Most Wanted,” take your pick. But that’s the key to her missive: There are so many options from the record that there isn’t just one answer. Mine, for what it’s worth, is “Ya Ya.” It’s an amalgamation and command of pop culture that in a way pays deference to so many influences while producing something fresh and original. Beyoncé is nothing if not a master interpreter, but interpretation is about understanding and transformation. “Ya Ya” is the embodiment of that ethos, across every breathless beat. —Horowitz

There are so many best-in-class contenders scattered through Eilish’s “Hit Me Hard and Soft” album, as proven by how quickly “Lunch,” “Chihiro” and “Birds of a Feather” all began competing with one another for streaming primacy as soon as the album launched in May. But this ballad — it really is the greatest. The title comes laden with irony, as the singer is really expressing regret or even shame for how fruitlessly she tried to bring passion into a failed relationship, wanting to give herself a heavyweight belt for her ability to move on from a tough situation she really did think could be destined for romantic greatness. Meanwhile, under Finneas’ hand, it builds and builds, as so many Eilish classics have now, to a determined intensity before finally landing back on an a cappella denouement. Even given the candor of today’s pop lyricism, there’s something especially vulnerable about a singer admitting to “All the times I waited / For you to want me naked” — Eilish has sung about being publicly objectified, but she can write about how bereft the opposite of that can feel in a relationship, too. Legitimately great stuff, this is, even if your first response to a whole new album’s worth of this stuff may just be a simple: Wow, is she good. —Willman

Ariana Grande spends so much of “Eternal Sunshine” bemoaning the end of her marriage and celebrating her new-ground relationship that by the time she arrives at the concluding song, “Ordinary Things,” it feels like an all-seeing epiphany. Romance is a multi-card spectrum, and making sense of it is what’s produced some of the best pop songs of our lifetime, Grande’s catalog included. Which is why “Ordinary Things,” a sauntering, horn-kissed meditation on the honeymoon phase of blossoming love, is one of the purest pop songs of the year. Grande examines how materialism and keeping a schedule can be the bedrock of connection, but in the end, none of that really matters as long as you have each other. “We could spend every dime, but I don’t want anything but more time,” she sings. There is nothing more romantic than valuing the temporality of what a partner can offer, and the weight of clinging to it feels as human as can be. —Horowitz

Everyone enjoys jumping on an album that doesn’t perform at the massive levels a superstar’s previous one did, as if to say: Aha, we knew it. Well, you knew nothing, if that’s your reaction in this case, because Lipa’s “Radical Optimism” was probably the year’s most underrated album. As a fan of the record, I’m convinced that maybe it had something to do with the choice of singles… not that anybody can be blamed for picking songs like “Houdini” or “Training Season,” but I suspect that maybe the spirit of lyrical caution in those tunes didn’t resonate as much when the world had been captivated previously by the pure triumph in hits like “Don’t Start Now” and “Levitating.” And also she was looking to make a bit of a break from neo-disco. But you get all of what everyone loved about her — the pure, unalloyed joy and, yes, the disco — in “Whatcha Doing,” which should have been a world-beating smash. It still was, in my mind, which maybe is the only place that mattes for any of us as listeners. There are other great songs on the album too (“French Exit”! “End of an Era”! Check them out, people). But “Whatcha Doing” might be the celebrative throwback slammer I return to most when I need a cure for seasonal affective disorder this winter. —Willman

Waxahatchee founder and frontperson Katie Crutchfield has been refining her gifts for more than a dozen years, but it’s hard to think of a better distillation of her melodic and lyrical abilities than this one. A confessional from a character who can’t get out of her own way, the song plays out like an intimate conversation with a lover, her words spilling out in a multisyllabic but precise rush before easing into a response and pause: “Photograph of us in a spotlight on a hot night/ I was drifting in and out… ” It carries into the keening chorus, where she is joined by MJ Lenderman (who basically joined the band for the “Tigers Blood” album), both of their voices bounding up into a heart-rending near-falsetto on the “do it” / “to it”s: “I let my mind run wild, don’t know why I do it/ But you just settle in, like a song with no end/ If I can keep up, we’ll get right back to it.” The song ambles along at an easy pace, its midtempo groove, gently plucking banjo and tasteful guitar delivering the feeling that it-will-all-work-out more than the self-lacerating but hopeful lyrics. Crutchfield wrote the song and sings lead but Lenderman’s contribution perfects it, his warm voice joining with hers like the supportive partner she’s singing to, putting a consoling arm around her. —Aswad

Doechii strikes a balance between humor and darkness on “Denial Is a River” in a way that’s equal parts harrowing and self-reflective. That sort of appraisal is an extremely difficult tone to strike, yet the TDE rapper is so adept at juggling the intricacies of the human experience that she makes it feel like entertainment. That’s the charm of “River,” where she lets us in on a therapy session that recounts a cheating ex who lost her 100 stacks, her proclivity for parties in Hollywood and just how far she’s willing to go if someone pushes her past the limit. With her debut album on the way, Doechii has already laid the groundwork for what could be the year of conquering both her vices and music. —Horowitz

The Marias achieved a pop breakthrough with “No One Noticed,” a haunting but welcoming  lullaby about loneliness. Nearly five years into their time as a band, the Los Angeles-based foursome flexes a perfected formula. They can lull you in, making some surprisingly experimental turns – melodious backing vocals formed of thought spirals, with no need for a safety net. Though the Marias have long been local heroes, this track is a significant landmark in the band’s ascension as songwriters, producers and instrumentalists. —Garcia

We weren’t actually asking, Jack, but now that you raise the issue… how are current world affairs affecting our friends in the rat population? While I’m not sure his advocacy has changed my position on the critters running through my walls, I can sympathize with them for four minutes in the service of hearing some choice slide guitar running through my speakers, and in an aggro, not especialy rootsy way. His “No Name” album is so consistently strong from start to finish that it’s challenging to elevate any one song over another: They just about all represent him taking a Led Zep or Sabbath approach to classic guitar riffing, but boiled down into numbers that begin and end with the efficiency of a pop song. But when it comes to him breaking out the bottleneck, we can’t let an opportunity to extol that particular brand of guitar genius just slide. —Willman

The sweet and velvety percussion of “Juna” makes it one of many standout tracks on Clairo’s Grammy-nominated album, “Charm.” The album signaled a level-up for the singer-songwriter, but “Juna” found a dedicated following of its own, surprising even its creator with its popularity amongst jazz-lounge fans. Masked in fuzzy synths, and oozing perfumed confessions, “Juna” is heavenly-sounding from start to finish, sustaining itself on a fluffy bed of keys and, at one point, mouth trumpets. —Garcia

Agnostic country: it’s a thing. In this earnest but deeply felt and more deeply philosophizing ballad, Musgraves is struck by the idea of what kind of divine guiding hand might be behind the wonders of the world, from natural splendor all the way down to the miracle of an apple, or a newfound love that has just entered her life. But she can’t help but counterbalance that with thoughts of injustice and tragedy and question a Creator’s role, if any. (The theologians would refer to this as a theodicy, although Musgraves isn’t about to introduce any 50-cent words here.) “Can I speak to the architect? Is there an architect?” she finally wonders at song’s end. This Grammy-nominated tune is a God song that no one’s going to be singing in youth group, but some of the kids may hum on their own time, since it so beautifully encapsulates the questions believers and non- alike have to grapple with. (For another great new Musgraves song that brings up the veil between this world and the next, check out the arguably even more moving “Dinner With Friends.”) —Willman

Karol G spent most of her year occupied with the completion of her massive “Mañana Será Bonito” stadium trek, or the global victory lap for her eponymously-titled album. The Colombian songstress released only one solo single, the merengue-imbued “Si Antes Te Hubiera Conocido” (“If I Had Met You Before”), which quickly became a Latin radio hit, giving her fanbase just enough wind to keep sailing without an album for the rest of the year. Karol’s vocals are breezy on a song about missed opportunities. She sings of desiring someone she can’t have at the moment with the same optimism of a child’s fantasy. The merengue is lively and warm, while the lyrics are sensual and snappy, only going to show that all Karol needs to succeed is herself. —Garcia

Put Ella Mai in the studio with Mustard and there’s bound to be a little bit of crack sprinkled on what comes out of it. Mai’s voice rings like a bell on “Hearts on Deck,” included on her “3” EP. Over twig-snapping production, she sings of the ambiguous gray area of will-he-won’t-he in a relationship that could ladder up to a true-blooded romance. “Next move, yes, better be your best,” warns Mai, who asks if he’s man enough to handle her success and everything she has to offer. The song never really picks up, but that’s sort of the point, letting it linger like an unanswered question. —Horowitz

Some of the songs on Halsey’s latest album are so specific to her at this point in time. But “Lonely Is the Muse” feels like her attempt to write an anthem — a bitter anthem — for all the women of the world who’ve ever felt like it was their role in life to inspire a man and then be discarded, once that rush wore off. It’s the curse of beauty, or a kind of charisma, that’s impossible to maintain in an inherently shallow relationship forever. Halsey describes the mechanics of how these muse dynamics play out in an almost instruction manual-like fashion, but the increasingly pounding guitars and drums make it clear just how despondent things are going to be if these cycles repeat too many times. And her screaming at the end marks this as what it finally is — a great, deeply angry rock ‘n’ roll song. —Willman

The influencer to the pop star pipeline sounds natural in theory, but is no easy feat. Addison Rae chose to go big for her Columbia Records debut, releasing a lone single dubbed “Diet Pepsi” after getting a major co-sign from Charli XCX. The pair collaborated on a remix of “Von Dutch,” the first single on the latter’s Grammy-nominated “Brat.” Taking inspiration from Lana Del Rey’s early theatrical arrangements, “Diet Pepsi,” with its campy visuals and down-tempo allure, paved the way for Rae’s career-shifting year. After somewhat of a slow burn, the song caught fire on TikTok and opened the floodgates for newly devoted fans. Though it’s an incredibly tight race towards superstardom these days, Rae is heading into 2025 aiming for the target. —Garcia

Can we include a “cover” song here? Of course we can, although no one in the world of musical theater uses that term — each night, great actors are making the classics feel like spontaneously generated experiences. Cynthia Erivo had big successions of slippers to fill in the movie version of “Wicked” as Elphaba, as did Ariana Grande, of course — and as individual showcase numbers go, we can talk about “Defying Gravity” until the cows come home (or get sent flying). But the standout number of the show that nearly counts as a secret, it gets so overshadowed, is the one song that really stands on its own apart from the show or movie — “I’m Not That Girl,” which is essentially a sort of proto-Taylor Swift ballad. (Play it back to back with “The Prophecy” and you’ll see what I mean.) Stephen Schwartz and company made some interesting, subtle changes in the song to make it feel like something brand new for the enormously gifted leading lady. Its tender-hearted envy makes for one of the most naturalistic and quiet moments in “Wicked,” the movie or the soundtrack, but one that, once it gets under your skin, you’ll hold onto for good. —Willman

A touching tribute to someone that many of the folk duo’s fans would also hold dear as a hero, the late singer/songwriter Guy Clark. If it seems odd that Welch and Rawlings would use as contemporary a term as “Hashtag” for a song title, when their music is so rooted in a more timeless vibe, it makes sense as a funny outgrowth of a lyric in which they quote Clark (who died in 2016): “You laughed and said the news would be bad / If I ever saw your name with a hashtag / Singers like you and I are only news when we die.” As you may have noticed, there was a big epidemic of death in 2024 — it’s funny how that happens. Welch and Rawlings provide a suitable elegy for all we lost this year: “You’re another sun that done gone down / Put another good one in the ground / Good lord, it’s going round.” —Willman

SZA’s late-year album entry with “Lana” presented a slate of mood music interrogating the woes of being in a relationship. But earlier this year, she orbited “Saturn,” a dreamy, despondent tune about wanting to leave our planet after said relationship hits the skids. SZA is so adept at capturing the hopelessness of feeling alone, or that your time has been wasted, that “Saturn” plays like an affirmation. “If there’s a point to being good, then where’s my reward?” she asks. Expatriating to another planet is, admittedly, extreme, but she makes it so convincing that you feel like it’s the only solution to heartbreak. —Horowitz

If anyone tries to convince you that commercial country sucks across the board, play them a Lainey Wilson song like this one, and watch their resistance melt. (Play it for yourself, if you’re the suspicious party.) This also works, actually, if your complaint is just about truck songs: Yes, no one on or around Music Row ever needs to write another one, and yet, if the hook here could make the worst cynic indulge the fantasy of laying down a down payment on one, just to have an even better reason to sing along with Lainey. The title, as simple and elemental as it might seem, is classic country cleverness boiled down to just five letters or digits, and the song has a real sweetness to it as Wilson affirms both that she usually likes being in the driver’s seat and that there’s real romanticism in riding shotgun. —Willman

Easily one of the best pop songs this year, Jade’s “Angel of My Dreams” instantly carved a space in the pantheon of iconic debut singles. It’s a rollercoaster of a track, shifting tempos and refrains at a heel’s turn, ruminating on the trappings of fame and the adulation that comes with it. It’s the meta reflection of what it’s like to be persistently in the public eye — her years in Little Mix give her that credence — and she greets it as a reborn solo artist by examining what it means to be famous, and how to sustain it. That she does it with one of the biggest risk-taking singles in recent memory is tantamount to the career she has ahead of her. —Horowitz

Here is definitely the only song on our 2024 best-of list that is set in 1916. “Crisis” comes from O’Donovan’s concept album about the women’s suffrage movement of the early 20th century, and many of the songs use language that is literally taken from speeches or other writings of the period, adapted so mellifluously that they suffice perfectly as lyrics. “Crisis” is one of the more stirring songs off the “All My Friends” album (which is a good complement to the unrelated Broadway musical “Suffs”). It posits the anxious notion that the window on women earning the right to vote may have been closing at the time, as basic as that privilege seems today. A swell of orchestration and a girl’s choir rise up behind O’Donovan as she sings: “Oh, America, look up at that north star, one day it’ll come down…The woman’s hour has struck… The woman’s hour is now.” In the year of the tried-and-failed Kamala Experiment, we may still be waiting. —Willman

Candescence of the dance floor is something that electronic and pop musicians have been trying to capture for decades. But making it feel authentic is bound to the artist confecting it. Shygirl, the English artist who warmed up crowds on Charli XCX and Troye Sivan’s Sweat tour throughout the year, has consistently managed to capture the out-of-body rapture that powers some of dance music’s best, and “Mr Useless,” included on her “Club Shy” EP, does it without breaking a sweat. “Never needed you, never needed any pieces of my heart,” she sings over a thwacking beat. “Never needed Mr. Useless from the start.” Her nonchalance is what sells it; the pop sensibility is what makes it stick. —Horowitz

The so-called women’s movement in country remains strong, even if only one song by a woman made it to No. 1 on the country airplay chart this year. (Scroll down to Ella Langley’s entry for that.) “No Caller ID” wasn’t a chart-topper, but it helped further establish Moroney as the post-Lainey rising female country star of today, somebody who keeps it real in her music without needing to put her tongue too far into her cheek in the cause of heartbreak balladry. Here she debates whether to take the late-night calls of an ex, who’ll provide momentary comfort but probably stand in the way of developing anything serious with the new guy she’s met. Decisions, decisions. —Willman

All Jamie xx needs is a breakbeat, bongos, piano hits, and machine gun horns to harness a sense of euphoria that comes with the abandon of a night at the club. On “Baddy on the Floor,” he assembles a factory line of electronic touchstones that pummel and delight. Sure, it sounds like a first cousin of Daft Punk’s “One More Time,” but it manages to keep a steady rhythm in its own right. It’s the type of track that he’d cue up at a festival performance, with unknowing attendees experiencing for the first time and losing themselves in the feel-good halo hovering above it. —Horowitz

Not the longest-running No. 1 song of the year — and one of the longest-running of our lifetimes — for no reason. “A Bar Song” is such an immediate charmer, reaching across all demographic and genre borderlines, that it doesn’t require any explanation from these quarters about why it works. Having a solid interpolation never hurts in establishing instant familiarity, but it’s Shaboozey’s gift to have taken that basis and turned it into something that could be sung along with in any bar in the country, bar none. It was practically the one thing America found consensus on in 2024. —Willman

The first collaboration between this pair of silky-voiced singers lived up to their predetermined hype. Of course, the Spanish-language track includes one of the sultriest saxophone solos of the year with a smooth bassline guiding the pair in honeyed harmonies. There’s a beat switch in the middle of the track, slowing it down to allow both singers a cappella solos. —Garcia

“Only God Was Above Us” was a hell of a return for the band. In this highlight, Ezra Koenig marvels at how some bleak and cruel eras of history have gotten boiled down to the beautiful works of art or architecture that managed to endure and fool us into thinking repressive societies were the height of elegance. That’s a deep subject for a rock song, but naturally, Vampire Weekend made it sound like rollicking fun, albeit with an emotional ambiguity that goes hand-in-hand with the band’s musically tricky delights. —Willman

Ferrell’s star as a roots-music queen rose so much higher this year, thanks to co-signs by Zach Bryan and Post Malone but also just thanks to the work she’s put in on the road establishing her own legend as a worthy headliner. Funnily, at most dates, you won’t find her singing “Wish You Well,” because it is so freaking sad, and she is so much of an idealist that she has a conflict within herself about putting more sorrow out into the world. We have no such problem embracing the melancholy, and can tell you this track is a killer. It also really does put across Ferrell’s positivity in the end. When she sings “Though you hurt me, I still wish you well,” you can imagine country singers who might put that across with a bit of spite, but with Ferrell, you can believe she really does want nothing but the best — for the one who did her wrong, and for the audience she’s hoping to do right by. —Willman

Do you ever come across a song that is so ineffably sad, you’re not sure you can listen through all the way to the end, or that it’ll even be good for you if you do… and yet the scouring beauty of the track makes it impossible to turn off or turn away? That’s a long-winded way of describing the reaction you might have to several songs off Father John Misty’s “Mahashmashana” album, which kind of manages to feel like both his most impressionistic and his most melancholy album. (In the case of that latter adjective, at least, that’s saying a lot.) He’s writing cuttingly about the entire existential human condition, and here he starts off by singing, “It’s always the darkest right before the end” — note that the promise of “dawn” does not come up. There’s a haunting, anthemic lift to the ironic “Stay young / Get numb” chorus, along with sarcastic or mournful references to baptisms, cigarettes, sex, lies and lights-out. The end is in sight and it feels too weirdly beautiful. —Willman

Rachel Chinouriri planted her flag as a stripes-on-sleeve pop-punk acolyte with her debut album “What a Devastating Turn of Events,” one of the most sorely underrated projects this year. Its lead single “Never Need Me” established her as an answer to who could potentially take the baton from, say, Paramore, whose influence is sprinkled all over it. Chinouriri keeps her cool as the guitars chug behind her and she spins one of the most infectious choruses out of England in recent memory. On “Never Need Me,” a call from an old flame is met with apprehension, and self-confidence: “If you can’t change, I doubt that I can help you / I’ve made plans and sorry they’re without you,” she sings. —Horowitz

Much of Rothman’s latest album, “The Plow That Broke the Plains,” has a more subdued Americana vibe. But for the single “Poster Child,” Rothman hooked up with their friend Jason Isbell to collaborate, and the result might be the hookiest rock song either of them has written. The lyrics are deeply personal, and fairly ironic: As a music business veteran who’s flown a bit under the radar for several albums, Rothman describes how industry handlers previously encouraged them to use a sometimes troubled life story as fodder to land press coverage. Rothman apparently resisted that then, but now lays it all out in song, for the sake of music instead of PR. The amazing thing is how much true confession Rothman packs in while they and Isbell make this also manage to make this as catchy as anything released in 2024. You might even end up putting it on repeat as the year’s “poster song.” —Willman

“Igual Que Un Ángel” was the cherry on top to Kali Uchis’ flowery “Orquídeas.” The disco pop song makes the most of her cinematic vocals – always breathy and glimmering. Uchis assumes the role of “La favorita de Dios” (“God’s favorite”) and corridos star Peso Pluma easily joins her in a chorus that is worth more than a couple replays. The song became Uchis’s highest-charting song to date, and propelled Pluma’s career to new dimensions. —Garcia

Lynne has spoken in recent interviews (like this meaty one with Variety) about how she gave up drinking in recent years. The toll of alcohol abuse comes up in “Regular Man,” which is not directly about her but about a couple of the men in her life — a long-ago boyfriend who went heavy on the sauce, in the first verse, and her father in the second. “Love’s an empty bottle shattered on the wall,” she sings. Lynne does a tremendous amount of soul-searching in her remarkable “Consequences of the Crown” album, but it was just as stirring when she searched the souls of a couple of the tragic men in her life to see how as “regular” a drug as liquor helped take them down. —Willman

Is “Smoke & Fiction” really the final album from X, arguably the greatest punk band of all time? They’ve left a little wiggle room in that, and we’ll take it, because this is not a group that sounds like it’s looking for the door, even if by rights of tiring years on the road, they should be. Nearly every slamming song on this possible swan song sounds like it was written to be either the opening track or the climactic one. Since we have to pick one, let’s make it this one, for the classic John-and-Exene interplay, plus the meta aspect of acknowledging a possible end in sight. I don’t think they’re using the word “sweet” ironically — there has always been something slightly sweet about the band, to go with the aggression of controlled chaos. And here, as always, there’s an actual sense of legit poetry to the music, shared with almost no other punk bands — it’s still too early to let them give up on providing that service. —Willman

Anyone who has been following along knows that Tinashe has had numerous hits in the cannon, whether they impacted or defected. (More often than not, the latter, unfortunately.) It’s why “Nasty,” which plays to all of Tinashe’s strengths, felt so gratifying as a smash single. After a TikTok sent it into the viral stratosphere, it took hold for the reasons it should: a catchy hook; sharp, smart lyrics; and a refrain that takes out a lease on the apartment complex in your brain. Tinashe is so talented at making excellence look like a day job that “Nasty” rightfully, and gratifyingly, reminded everyone what she’s capable of achieving. —Horowitz

Once you get past the singing pregnant belly in this body horror music video, “Sáo Paulo” is a must-add to any playlists dedicated to getting your heart-rate going — whatever activity you may choose. It’s a high-speed race of a song built on a wall of in-your-face instrumentals and tightly-cut production, courtesy of Mike Dean, and also features Brazilian pop star Anitta’s computerized vocals on something that sounds more like a sample. It’s not the most layered song in the Weeknd’s vault, though it does build on the recurring dark or ominous themes of his ongoing album cycle. —Garcia

Although Lambert hasn’t talked in terms that are too direct about this song, timelines make it clear that it was written some years back in the wake of her divorce from Blake Shelton — and her current husband was the one who convinced her to finally take it off the shelf and record it for an album. It’s a bracingly honest look back at what can go wrong in a marriage or any serious relationship, casting blame on both parties for avoiding hard truths as things went south but ultimately taking responsibility for the urge to flee: “I owe you a lifetime of apologies / I’m tellin’ the truth now / I loved you so much / I’m sorry for lyin’ about who I was… I always was gonna run.” If, as a listener, that doesn’t kill you, maybe nothing will. —Willman

Period piece music can go one of two ways; those designations are clear. Yet Tori Kelly dipped her toes into the 1990s R&B well like a pro — if you’ve seen one of her award show performances, then you’d know she nails it every time — and “Thing U Do” captures the dizzying boom bap that permeated airwaves around the turn of the century. “Thing U Do” pulls from so many corners of music — the interpolation of Suzanne Vega’s “Tom’s Diner,” the pitter-patter of Timbaland drums — that it feels like a callback to the time when effervescence was key. Kelly has looked for an endemic sound for years, and this passes with spades. —Horowitz

I’m not normally a fan of barroom-set “come-on line” songs, but this one practically redeems the whole subgenre. With it, Langley not only got her first No. 1 country airplay song but the only one that any woman got in the entirety of 2024. It’s not a slight to all the other women who also should have gotten there to say she deserved it. Her drawl is so matter-of-fact that it nearly disguises just how randy this song is. Oh, who are we kidding? The message is clear: Make America Horny Again. —Willman

Tasjan doesn’t fit any stereotype of what anyone might expect an LGBTQ+ artist to be or sound like, with his mixture of glam-rock, Americana, singer-songwriter, power-pop and vintage dance-pop styles. Which still might not cover all the bases on his actually stellar “Stellar Evolution” album. He did bring gay themes — for lack of a better term — more to the fore on this project, even as the music, if anything, is more broadly accessible to all possible audiences across the board this time. “Horror of It All” is a wonderful curio — a song about terrifying the community by having been recognized as gay in high school… set to the tune of what kind of comes off as an ’80s Aha homage. —Willman

There’s a lot to consider as great on Normani’s debut album “Dopamine,” the eternally delayed record that defied eternity. But there’s something so particularly satiating about opener “Big Boy,” which plays like a lost Neptunes banger from the early aughts. It’s classic braggadocio, with Normani letting taunts and chest-thumps ring out like a badge of honor: “Thicker than smoothies, only see this type of shit in the movies, only ever see this shit type of shit once in your life,” she asserts, confident as ever. Everyone who has been following along the Normani saga knows she’s one of one, and she knows it, too. —Horowitz

Brandi Carlile’s longtime bandmates and co-writers struck out on their own with a “solo” (as in duo, of course) debut this year, and “Broken Homes” — a ballad about children of divorce — was the song that effectively kickstarted the project. The twins originally offered it to Carlile, who finally decided she couldn’t feel it deeply enough to sing it, not having divorced parents herself. Her willing loss was music’s overall gain, leading to a side project that allowed blood harmony to stand on its own apart from Carlile’s usual CSN-worthy three-part harmonies. Of course, when Phil and Tim sing together, it’s the opposite of brokenness, in the service of celebrating what can grow stronger in a family after a schism. —Willman

The moral of the story is, don’t sleep on Chenayder. Her smart blend of indie pop and R&B hallmarks are what drive her unique sound — soft vocals, introspective lyrics, lush production — and her gleaming single “For One Last Time.” With a touch of drum and bass, the song is so conversational that it comes across like a conversation with herself. You can picture her obsessing over a farewell to a lover (“I wish you the best, couldn’t say it to your face”), as if she’s trying to convince herself that the path of least resistance is the only one forward. —Horowitz

Even if you didn’t recognize Rosanne Cash chiming in on background vocals, you might think: This sounds a little like a great lost Johnny Cash song. Catching himself holding a grudge in the midst of a domestic stalemate, at least one that is lingering that way in his head, Burnett reasons his way into moving past it, singing: “I’m gonna get over this someday — I might as well get over it now.” The chorus of tis hooky country song can serve as a mantra to plant in your head for the next time you’re feeling a little resentful on the home front. It’s self-advice for the ages. —Willman

That last entry was described as sounding like a lost Johnny Cash classic. This next entry literally is that. It’s hard to believe this song was locked up on a vault for all these decades, until you hear about the studio surgery that was required to augment and flesh out the crisp, wonderful, woofer-rattling baritone vocal that Cash laid down when he was demo-ing some newly written songs in the ’90s. Surely if he’d lived long enough, he woud have eventually come back around to formally cutting this, but John Carter Cash finished the job, with the Black Keys’ frontman adding a vibey electric guitar part that really brings it home. The song has Cash puckishly exploring what drives people like himself to get up in front of audiences — hoping the spotlight turns you into a shining star without also lighting up all your deepest, most fucked-up flaws. Good luck with that, he seems to say… but of course we wanted Cash blemishes and all. —Willman

Dance floor divadom comes naturally to Gavin Turek, who spun a whole retro thread with her sophomore album “Diva of the People.” To do it so flawlessly and execute it with such flair is what makes Turek a captivating force, one who parses out her relationship woes across the record. There are so many good songs to pick from — the sour plucks of “Outta My Mind,” the funk-popped “Back on the Market” — but “Heaven Knows” feels like a fitting summation. It’s like an homage to Michael Jackson’s “Rock With You,” squiggly synth included, contextualized in the aftermath of a breakup. To make that heartbreak sound so good and immediate is something only a true disco diva can achieve. —Horowitz