The Best Songs of 2023

It’s like Rick Deckard of “Blade Runner” wrote a song about realizing he was a replicant: “Takin’ a drive, I was an ideal / Looked so alive, turns out I’m not real.” Only Barbie, in Greta Gerwig’s beautifully twisted creation myth, has the potential to become human. And so the rest of us, in Billie Eilish’s and Finneas’ brilliantly crafted ballad. It’s the best movie theme since their own “No Time to Die,” and probably for too many years to count before that, even. Part of the magic of it is the completely spare nature of each softly sung lyric — talk about a song that doesn’t have a quarter-inch of fat anywhere on it — and yet, within that sparsity of words, there are separate worlds, the Barbie character’s literal one getting its due right alongside the metaphorical applications for those among us who are only figuratively living in a doll’s house. Come for the novelty of a truly sad-ass song anchoring one of the classic film comedies of all time; then stay for the double- and even triple-entendres that provoke a chill down the spine. —Chris Willman

At least, the Sheryl Crow answer song we didn’t realize we were all waiting 30 years for. Phoebe Bridgers, Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker may agree they’re “not strong enough to be your man,” but they are more than mighty enough to be the boys we needed in 2023, and never more when they tag-teamed on this upbeat centerpiece for their album, “The Record.” This song in particular feels like a willful fallback to the glory days of alt-rock in the mid-’90s, when jangliness was next to godliness even when the material was tough-minded, and when it seemed like smart women with guitars might really rule the world. As much as “The Record” was filled with outstanding material that was dominated by one of the three singer-songwriters, they made an effort to make this one feel like a true showcase for the full trio, recognizing as the song was taking its seminal form that this had the makings of a big concert sing-along or radio song. It doesn’t let down, in that unashamedly anthemic regard. And what better to complement a song about not feeling quite capable enough than a real show of collective force? —Willman

Drake and J. Cole have a long history of collaborating, as far back as 2011, so when the latter claims “the Spider-Man meme is me looking at Drake” on “First Person Shooter,” it’s easy to justify the claim. The pair often brings out the best in one another—maybe in the spirit of sport, perhaps in competition—juxtaposing rhyming cadence and lyrical tenacity in hip-hop’s tallest arena. To think that their days of blog buzz are this far behind them, and they’re still just as hungry in their quest to be crowned the rap GOAT. —Steven J. Horowitz

Pure pop exuberance. But of course we’ve come to expect nothing less from Dua Lipa, whose “Future Nostalgia” was rife with it. “Dance the Night” was a stopover between eras, a centerpiece on the “Barbie: The Album” soundtrack that scored its most crucial dance sequence. It also stands on its own arched heels, swooping and gleaming with perfect precision. —Horowitz

This duet is a tearjerker-or-your-money-back experience… but maybe only if you’ve ever felt crushed by the weight of insecurity in your life, which obviously rules out nearly the entire population, right? Brandy Clark sings it as a duet with her producer and almost-namesake, Brandi Carlile. On paper, that shouldn’t necessarily work, because a song about how isolated self-doubt can make you would naturally seem like a lonesome job best carried out by a lone singer. But it works brilliantly, in part because the two Brandy/i’s have just enough similarity in their tonality that it feels like they might both be singing these lines into a mirror. What the song really is is a love triangle, between the narrator, the woman she’s falling for, and the anthropomorphized self-loathing that wants nothing more than to get in the middle of “fuck this up.” It’s ultimately the most therapeutic song of the year; you are officially allowed to skip your next session if you promise to really take this tune in. —Willman

Where to start in picking a favorite or “best” song off Rodrigo’s sophomore album? First you have to pick which of the two dominant strains you want to choose from — the rock ‘n’ roll ragers (“Ballad of a Homeschooled Girl,” “Bad Idea, Right?,” “All-American Bitch”) or the superlative piano stuff that make use of the star’s well-established license to drive balladry. It’s a ridiculous task… ridiculous, we say again. So maybe rather than pick one of the most obvious choices, you end up going with a relative cult song, like “Lacy.” Rodrigo is wearing her heart on her sleeve more often than not, but this song maintains a little mystery, most of all in who might have prompted it, real or imagined. Maybe the strikingly candid thoughts of jealousy and resentment were stirred by the same person everyone thinks inspired another song on the album, “The Grudge”… or maybe the “dazzling starlet, Bardot reincarnate” who manages to make the 19-year-old star feel strangely less-than is a pure product of her imagination. It really doesn’t matter: Rodrigo makes poetry out of insecurity like nobody’s business. And the featherweight chorus is drop-dead gorgeous: If a melody itself could be “Bardot reincarnate,” this is it. —Willman

Say what you will about the convo-starting “Pink Friday 2,” but Nicki Minaj is nothing if not one of hip-hop’s most enduring MVPs. It’s a title she’s earned. “FTCU,” perhaps an answer to Latto, Gangsta Boo and GloRilla’s 2022 track of the same name, is Minaj at her best: playful, sneering and lyrically pointed. Her bars are soundbytes, as usual, and one of her greatest strengths is she can still make it look easy. —Horowitz

By now, everyone is likely aware of the long trajectory Victoria Monét traveled to get here: songwriter in the shadows for Ariana Grande, aspiring solo star, and then wham—seven Grammy nominations for her debut album “Jaguar II.” Those with a keen eye on the liner notes would know that Monét has an inherent proclivity for shaping songs into vibrant R&B anthems, and “On My Mama” was just the beginning for her ascent as a standalone star. On it, she glides over resonant guitar plucks with cool self-confidence, leaving one-liners in her wake: “I’m so deep in my bag like a grandma with a peppermint” lingers like a taste of candy. —Horowitz

Isbell writes a lot of clearly autobiographical songs, as he did on his latest album, “Weathervanes,” but he’s better than anybody around at writing character songs that not only get in somebody else’s head but tell a whole story in a handful of verses. He’s like Randy Newman in that regard, only the twists he goes for are twists of unexpected empathy. With “King of Oklahoma,” Isbell gives us a narrator we wouldn’t naturally feel initially simpatico with — a copper thief — and then backtracks to show us how he got to this place and how poor his prospects look… for cash, for a lack of physical pain, for staying out of jail, and for keeping his woman from leaving. That’s a lot of weight to pile onto one short song, but “Oklahoma” bears it and even rocks a little besides. So many of us are not that many steps away from the lack of a safety net Isbell details here; this stands not just as a compassion kickstarter but maybe a necessary look into the mirror of our own fears. —Willman

After the runaway success of her breakthrough single “Munch (Feelin U),” Ice Spice proved her formula—a near-monotone flow over sugary Drill beats—has more gas in the tank. “In Ha Mood” is as fanged as it is sweet, with its pitched-up sample and hypnotic hook that opens up to nimble, weaving verses. Spice is an artisan of rap, fully formed upon arrival, and “In Ha Mood” extended the half-life on what may critics claimed was a fluke viral moment. —Horowitz

What a find Laufey was for many of us in 2023 — just your average, everyday Icelandic-Asian-American pop-jazz balladeer with a thriving and exponentially growing Gen Z fan base. The 24-year-old’s original songs often have the sound of the torch songs of the 1940s and ’50s, but there’s no doubt in listening to her lyrics that this is a torch that is very much aflame in the 2020s. The song that really expanded her audience this year is a light, fun bossa nova, “From the Start,” but a real starting point for anyone who wants to realize why Laufey connects with audiences across generations might be the more somber “Promise.” Singing from real experience about a relationship that went from bad to kaput, Laufey sings in her striking alto, “It hurts to be something / It’s worst to be nothing with you.” This generation needs to experience its own dark nights of the soul in the wee small hours of the morning, too, and Laufey is there to fill the one-woman niche of being this college-aged generation’s Sinatra. Elders will catch on in due time, too. —Willman

Allison Russell’s 2020 breakthrough, “Outside Child,” chronicled a tough upbringing beyond what most of us can imagine. Her followup, “The Returner,” was more about survivors’ glee. “Feel the stinger in my skin,” she sings in this song, but it’s not about being afraid or hurt — it’s a celebration of feeling. “Tell every bumblebee: I’m back inside my body!” she exults, in one of the truly great feel-good moments of music this year. There are moments on the latest album that surely have a lot more gravity to them (see “Eve Was Black,” or “Requiem,” for meditations on racism and mortality). But the funkiness of “All Within Without” brings the party, with a style rooted in classic soul that nonetheless feels utterly of 2023 thanks in part to truly ear-tickling band arrangements and studio production values, on top of Russell’s open spirit. She’s determinedly inviting us along to experience the balm after the storm. —Willman

At the peak of his fame, Gunna shipped off to prison for a year, putting a damper on his momentum. But he reemerged without losing a lick of his signature flair, namely on “Fukumean,” the most inescapable rap hit this year. It’s a title rightly earned as the track positions Gunna at the most comfortable in his skin, rattling through the track as a “yup” vocal sample dovetails against him. —Horowitz

In introducing this song in concert, Hozier said, “I’m just gonna take this moment in the set to lift the mood a little bit with a song about a memory of seeing an animal just after it’s been hit by a car.” At least he can laugh about his propensity for taking things very seriously. But what an odd linchpin for a song that ends up being a kind of romantic love song, or at least a tune about accepting the end of love. And it’s not in spite of but because of that lyrical density that “Abstract (Psychopomp)” ends up being one of Hozier’s core masterpieces to date. Well, that, and a gorgeous melody that leaves you wanting to buy a Bic lighter just so you can flick it to this during his 2024 tour. There’s so much to chew on in a “mood lightener” that likens someone helping a dying animal off the road to the spirit guides of mythology… and then likens all that to a breakup. “The memory hurts, but does me no harm,” he sings philosophically — remembering the critter and his ex. There’s so much sweetness in the sting. —Willman

Sometimes you have to own the worst thing that anyone can say about you, and it becomes a term of pride only you can use — see those who have adopted the N-word, the F-word and other epithets that became terms of internal endearment. Some of that same spirit pervades “Dumbest Girl Alive,” in which Laura Les goes heavy on the self-deprecation in owning the title phrase. Why does a song about being a fuck-up sound so impossibly happy? We may be too dumb to figure that one out, but with this song as our anthem, there’s no shame in that. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that Dylan Brady contributes probably the most exhilarating guitar riff of the year. You almost feel your emotional IQ going up, even as the song nearly makes denseness feel like an aspirational thing. —Willman

Given the gossip mill surrounding Joe Jonas’ divorce from Sophie Turner, “Summer Baby” doesn’t hold the same water as it did when it came as part of Jonas Brothers’ “The Album” in May. (“Still catching feelings for you,” he isn’t.) But alongside songwriter Jon Bellion, who worked with them at length on the project, the trio wrote a love letter to yacht rock (and their wives) that snapshots what it means to be doe-eyed in love, even if it has an expiration date. Veering into adult contemporary feels right for JoBros, particularly as they shed the skin of their tweendom past. —Horowitz

Swift knows how to milk a metaphor, and was never better at it than in comparing a relationship on the rocks to a dying patient in the ER. She is not the kind of superstar who will do interviews to confirm the actual subject matter of a song, but the world certainly thought it knew what “You’re Losing Me” was about when she put it on sale for one day only, as a digital and physical product, shortly after news of the breakup of her longtime relationship was confirmed. But the “From the Vault” tag was confusing — weren’t the sentiments about love being on life support eritably ripped out of today’s TMZ headlines? Well, yes and no. Many months after the song came out, producer/co-writer Jack Antonoff posted a photo of Swift with a caption saying it portrayed her finishing it… with a date of December 2021. The message seemed to be clear: Swift had been in the process of being “lost” for a long time (however much the lyrics of other “Midnights”-era tracks portrayed her as a happy partner). All of these ephemeral details about her real life could be besides the point, if it didn’t point toward how much of her appeal is about her ability to plug real life into her music — a superb diarist who maintains a slight bit of plausible deniability. You don’t have to look hard for the world-class heartbeat there. —Willman

Over a rattling Tay Keith beat, Sexyy Red goes on a tear on “Pound Town,” dropping quotable after quotable. Right out the gate, she puts it very crassly: “I’m out of town, thuggin’ with my rounds / My coochie pink, my bootyhole brown.” But “Pound Town” is more than its shock value. Red’s delivery teeters and wobbles across the instrumental, catching the tempo here and there, making for a disorienting yet propulsive listen. It’s easy to write it off as an artist who lacks lyrical skill, but even when she crams in syllables—“You know them dreadheads do it the best”—she always finds her center. —Horowitz

Hedonism is the name of the game for Troye Sivan, who teased corporeal indulgence on “Rush,” the lead single off his latest album “Something to Give Each Other.” And while the record at large doesn’t entirely partake in the pleasure-seeking that its first offering suggested, “Rush” is all sweat and grunts, with steam coming off its skin. Sivan surrenders to desire with intrigue and intent, exploding into a machismo chorus where his supple falsetto suggests a fleeting moment of bliss.  —Horowitz

Never vex Shakira. After her very public breakup with footballer Gerard Piqué, the Colombian icon staked her claim on her collaboration with Bizarrap as part of his Music Sessions series. Success is the sweetest revenge, and Shakira takes him to task for the flurrying drama that clouded their relationship, yielding a darkly-tinted club thumper about shirking your ex. If anything, she’s still got the fire after all these years. —Horowitz

The patriarchy has its merits. Ken’s a 10, here or anywhere else, in spite of himself. On screen or on record, Gosling has the necessary chops to make Ken sound simultaneously smug and baffled — a perfect combination for a spoof on macho ’80s-style rock. Comedy songwriting is rarely done well, and undervalued, so you could wish that the Academy could give Oscars to this and the Billie ballad, both. Mark Ronson and Andrew Wyatt have a bright future in pastiche, should they ever want to more fully claim it, or should Greta Gerwig buck the odds and somehow come up with a second MTV dream ballet. —Willman

Ben Folds has written the song for this particular sub-epoch of the Trump Era. He doesn’t name the man, but he doesn’t have to, as we know exactly who he’s referring to when he sings, “Did we really think we’d go back to normal? / Did we really ever think we could cut that cord? / ‘Cause look who’s coming back, coming back for more.” But really, it’s Trump-as-metaphor when we’re considering the malignancy of all the genies that have disrupted the old, civilized norms that will never be put back in bottles in our lifetimes. “Do you still believe in the good of humankind?” Folds asks rhetorically, before offering the surprising answer: “I do.” But, Folds concludes, speaking for more than a few of us, “Not sure that we can take too much more / Pray that there’s a bottom somewhere in sight / Brothers and sisters, hold tight.” His entire “What Matters Most” album is full of trenchant observations, well-sung, but boy, did this one in particular capture a moment. Or maybe an entire future American mood. —Willman

The songs on “DId You Know There’s a Tunnel Under Ocean Blvd.” that stay in a more languid mode are utterly captivating, too. But you can’t blame the world for most gravitating toward the song on the album that, in bifurcated fashion, starts out in that somber mode and then turns into something stranger, friskier and more overtly Antonoff-ish. Del Rey covers so much ground in this seven-minute epic, some of it seriocomic, some of it not the slightest bit amusing (there are references to a rape experience she says the world would not have believed). “Did you know a singer can still be looking like a sidepiece at 33?” she wonders aloud, apparently referring to the love of her life apparently having something going on under her nose. There’s some personal tragedy here, in that someone as distinguished as this artist can feel “invisible,” let alone like “an American whore.” Yet there’s what feels like levity in the closing chant-along of “Your mom called, I told her, you’re fuckin’ up big time.” She comes off clear wounded, but will not be denied the last laugh. —Willman

Light and airy, “Super Shy” follows the tried-and-true formula that K-pop collective NewJeans established with their debut in 2022. Put simply, though, it’s a great formula: percolating percussion, coy vocal delivery and very repetitive lyricism. It washes over you and sweeps you away with its puerility and innocence, all while hooking you in with dulcet melodies. —Horowitz

If you’ve forgotten why you loved country music, Megan Moroney is a one-woman memory prompt. The newcomer came up with the year’s best freshman effort out of Nashville, the album “Lucky.” And the title track is as good an introduction to her charms as anything, although the part of the world that has never stopped loving country learned about her through another great single, “Tennessee Orange,” which easily could have made this list, too. As clever as that No. 1 song was as a romantic ballad with an intra-state twist, the sensual feistiness of “Lucky” really does make you feel lucky just to be listening. May we get many decades of stuff this good out of her. —Willman

Long gone is the Kesha that brushed her teeth with Jack. It’s no secret that she’s grappled with her very public trials and tribulations, and she comes to terms with it on “Eat the Acid,” a meditative reflection on what it means to undergo a negative transformative experience. “You don’t wanna be changed like it changed me,” she sings over a mournful synthesizer, and while it’s about her mother’s recommendation not to take acid at a young age, it doubles as a warning shot for anyone looking for a happy ending in a sea of despair. —Horowitz

She may not like it, but the rest of us sure love it. Mitski’s “The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We” is quite an embarrassment of riches, when it comes to trying to pick a favorite track — the most obvious consensus pick being the soothing “My Love Mine All Mine.” But we most prefer our Mitski with a little tension amid the lushness, or a lot, in the case of “I Don’t Like My Mind.” It has the reverb and the faint country styling of a song picked up as a ghost signal from the 1950s, but the uneasily grandiose chord changes of the chorus are something you know you’ve never heard before, not even in a restless dream. It’s an anthem for anyone who knows not to trust their own brain to bring them peace, and one of the year’s great brain-ticklers besides. —Willman

One of South Africa’s breakthrough artists this year, Tyla drizzled R&B onto an amapiano base with “Water,” one of the sexiest, slinkiest Afropop tunes of 2023. The singer swishes across the beat with remove, doling out come-ons backed by a full-bodied chorus. Where its verses hypnotize, its hook sticks the landing, making for just a taste of what Tyla has to offer. —Horowitz

Killer Mike’s “Michael” dug deeper than ever before, parsing through his experiences growing up in the South and examining the Black experience. Perhaps the most affecting of the collection is his most personal. “Motherless” is a vivid manifestation of grief over losing his mother and grandmother. As he lays out his vulnerability and the pain over what’s no longer tangible, he chants, “My mama dead, my grandmama dead,” as if spinning in a disoriented haze. —Horowitz

Country music doesn’t get any more truthful (and by that, we mean any music doesn’t get any more truthful) than in this devastatingly candid ballad about how lies, little white ones or otherwise, can turn into a lifestyle… and a family legacy. “I hate that it runs in my blood / I hate how easy it comes / I wish I’d learned how to love the same way I / Learned to lie,” sings McBryde, one of the very best we’ve got, in any genre. If you can’t relate, are you being honest with yourself? —Willman

Surely, at 2:45, this has to be the shortest dance-floor anthem of the year. But Minogue aims to drag you off the floor to somewhere you can be alone together, so wouldn’t it be self-defeating to let it drag on a moment longer when you’ve got better and sexier places to be? OK, fine, let’s be honest: “Padum Padum” is too short, given all the pleasure it provides, but “leave ’em wanting more” is still a useful maxim. There are no wheels being reinvented in this track, and yet it still feels like there’s something completely fresh in the way “Padam (x2)” captures the exhilarating and heart-racing high of a momentary flirtation taking greater shape. She knows you want to see what’s under the hood, but she’s not being egotistical about taking ownership of that. She’s just stating facts. —Willman

The first “new” Beatles song since “Free as a Bird” and “Real Love” in the ’90s — and apparently the last ever — was bound to be controversial, with some fans feeling like the original 1960s canon needs to be left well enough alone. But if your approach to pop or rock music involves enforcing the rules of sacrosanctity… maybe you’re doing it wrong? “Now and Then” didn’t need to be as real-time/hands-on a collaboration as “We Can Work It Out,” say, to move us as an eras-spanning partnership between Beatles living and dead. What would John Lennon say if he were here today? Probably “Take yourselves less seriously, everybody” or else “You have no bloody idea what I would say.” Or, less prosaically and more pointedly: “I miss you.” The idea of Paul McCartney creating with his old frenemy in his headphones is touching enough. But moral, ethical or nostalgic issues aside, the song is just lovely… which is all the justification anyone needs in this world. —Willman

“Feed the Beast,” Kim Petras’ major label debut, sometimes felt like it was gunning for chart success, whether it was misusing a classic sample on lead single “Alone” or muting her vitality on “Thousand Pieces.” But she embraced what initially made her a pop outlier on “Uhoh,” reminding her Bunheads that she’s that girl. “Everything I drop is a banger / Every time I hop out the Phantom / I step in the place, baby let’s go / When they turn their heads, they go, ‘Uhoh,’” she sings on the chorus, and it’s hard not to see why. —Horowitz

We know Ron and Russell Mael are inveterate cineastes, if we’ve learned anything about them in their five-decade history as the sibling frontmen of Sparks. They put their knowledge of Hollywood lore to good use in their examination of the fall of the great 1940s star Veronica Lake. During WWII, when women left at home were busy keeping the war effort afloat on assembly lines,, Lake was encouraged to cut her signature “peekaboo” haircut, for fear that Veronica wanna-bes would get their flowing bangs caught in the machinery. There’s some debate among historians over whether her change of style is what really scotched her career, but it makes for good, ironic tragedy in Sparks’ pulsating tribute to the still-worshipped screen goddess. It’s proof that you can truly write a great song about anything — but then, Sparks has proven that on a tune-by-tune basis for 50 years. —Willman

In this country-flavored rocker from one of the most celebrated indie bands on 2023, Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman decides she might as well unload a lot of her least proud moments on her beau in one fell swoop. It’s a litany of “white trash” sins that skirts the line between comedy and something a little more depressing than that, full of Benadryl abuse and other youthful misadventures accomplished before she “woke up early and taught at the Sunday school.” (Hartzman is Jewish, so that one might be an embellishment, although much of the song has a confessional ring of truth.) The funny part comes with the hook — the cocky notion that, for all these self-degraded descriptions, her lover is extraordinarily lucky to have her. That part really rings true, actually; we’re all blessed to have Wednesday itself in our musical lives. —Willman

Jessie Ware largely teetered on contemporary R&B at the onset of her career, giving frequent glimpses into the dance floor commander she’d become. Her fifth album “That! Feels Good!” fully goes there, a bona fide study in disco and the liberation that it brings. “Pearls” is its crown jewel, outfitted in sequins and an updo, soaring to ecstatic heights as Ware’s bell-ringing voice hits the rafters. —Horowitz

Kelela has long seen the dance floor as a vessel for escapism and approaches nirvana on “Contact,” the drum’n’bass single off her second album “Raven.” Her breathy vocals coalesce in a fog until she slips away from her own body: “So high, and now I’m floating away, far and away / You know it feels so right.” —Horowitz

When was the last time we had a good trombone solo in the top 5 of the Hot 100? Anyone who’s done the research, please get back to us on that, but there is that much more easily quantifiable stat, that “Ella Baila Sola” is the first number under the “regional Mexican” banner ever to hit the mainstream top 10. The meeting of minds and grooves between the very contemporary superstar Peso Pluma and the more traditionally minded Eslabon Armado had what it took to attract even listeners who aren’t deeply steeped in Latin music to the crossover realm of corridos tumbados. With the video setting the song in an especially elegant milieu, there’s no other prospective New Year’s party that compares. —Willman

Best new artist Grammy nominee Abrams made a terrific full-length debut album with producer/co-writer Aaron Dessner, which established that there’s more than one artist who can turn a collaboration with him in his woodsy studio into worthy folklore. “Amelie” is the sort of song that intrigues fans with what it leaves out almost as much as what it includes. It’s not even about a one-night-stand, just a one-party-encounter with a woman who “doesn’t know my name,” but whose face the narrator has memorized by the time they part ways. Is this girl crush a Sapphic thing, inquiring minds wanted to know? Or was there something even beyond that easy a description that haunts Abrams after a brief encounter on a couch? All we know for sure is that it’s easy to share the strange infatuation when the circular melody unfolds and wraps around itself again this beautifully. —Willman

Whatever else his self-titled album established in 2023, it’s that Bryan has great taste in featured artists, Kacey Musgraves and Sierra Ferrell among them. For “Hey Driver,” he all but lets the husband-wife duo the War and Treaty take over the wheel; in fact, as the tape begins rolling, he even tells Michael Trotter Jr. that this is his song. Bryan doesn’t hand it over quite as thoroughly as that, but the sound of these voices together is undeniably magical. Bryan is a one-man phenomenon, and a self-made maverick, to be sure, but it’s promising, as his career explodes, that he’s placing such a high premium on harmony. —Willman

Singing with stars in his eyes, Daniel Caesar conveys his undying devotion on “Always,” the sappy yet endearingly sentimental ballad off his 2023 album “Never Enough.” It’s one thing to write a love song, but Caesar sends it up in its exploration of just how long his feelings will last: “And I don’t care if you’re with somebody else / I’ll give you time and space, just know I’m not a phase / I’m always.” Love can burn bright and die just as fast, which is why this vow to eternity feels so specifically charming. —Horowitz

The R&B singer’s surprise mixtape “Larger Than Life” played like a hat-tip to Virginian pioneers Timbaland and The Neptunes, drum kits and all, and “Last One Left” goes quite literal. Sampling Missy Ellliott’s 1999 deep cut “Crazy Feelings,” the woozy song sees Faiyaz slipping in and out of the groove’s pocket, putting down detractors of a relationship that isn’t, in itself, solid. Faiyaz is clearly a student of R&B’s pillars, and knows how to make them his own. —Horowitz

Paramore led off the group’s comeback release with a song about never leaving the house. But the tough reality is, when you stay in that much, at some point you are going to inevitably end up doom-scrolling. “The News” is about trying to hide one’s head in the sand as the national and international headlines get worse, demanding a compassion or even action we don’t feel we have it in us to muster. Imagine this song being written before the Middle East and Ukraine situations… but apparently the people of 2021-22 thought they had a lot to deal with, too. That alone might or might not make for an interesting song, but the weird, angular way in which this song swings establishes that Paramore isn’t just Hayley Williams’ backing band. That’s a unit there that’s as serious as the headlines. —Willman

Paul Simon created his “Seven Psalms” album to be listened to in its entirety, without separate streams created for each of the seven compositions. So if you put on “The Lord,” you’ll also be implicitly committing yourself to the six tracks that follow, but you won’t be disappointed if you stick with the whole thing. Well, we should say won’t be disappointed if you’re in the mood to contemplate mortality and all the things that come with seeing the end of the road ahead and thinking about some of the burned bridges of the past. In “The Lord” itself, Simon is a tricky psalmist; there’s surely an agnosticism in how he pictures the deity in both comforting and severe terms, as both “a forest ranger… a meal for the poorest” and “a terrible swift sword.” Leave it to pop’s arguably greatest poet laureate to still be contemplating the un-contemplatable so beautifully. —Willman

Pop’s sassiest theater kid arrived in the form of Chappell Roan, whose debut album “The Rise and the Fall of a Midwest Princess” hinges on sticky hooks and stickier lyrics. Armed with Olivia Rodrigo’s secret production weapon Daniel Nigro, Roan crafts a chugging queer anthem that falls in love with the thought of a person before truly getting to know them. She catches her breath on the first half of the chorus, only to settle back into her pitfalls as the song shakes out. —Horowitz

“Shucked” cast member Alex Newell won the Tony this year mostly on the basis of their first-act showstopper, a pithy paen to going it alone without a man in the sticks. Songwriters Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally give Newell some zingers about the pros and cons of not keeping a man around: “Don’t need a man for flatteries / Got a corn cob and some batteries.” But the best joke is a musical one, rhyming “modulated” with “operated” just as that favorite Broadway standby — a key change — kicks in. In any case, Newell delivers it with such singular bravado that you almost miss the jokes; there’s too much real life force going on there to laugh when you’re leaping to your feet to applaud. —Willman

A summer anthem through and through, “Pinot Noir” is as smooth as the title suggests, a top-down groove coasting on a thick bass line and casually deployed Khia sample. IDK, Jucee Froot and Saucy Santana each lay out the terms of what it takes for them to get “freaky” (i.e., “the bread right,” “the head right”) on one of the more invigorating sex romps of the year. —Horowitz

Alzheimer’s is underrepresented in popular song, given its high level of incidence, for probably super-apparent reasons. (Elvis Costello’s 35-year-old “Veronica” is one of the few examples that come to mind.) The brilliant singer-songwriter Robbie Fulks takes it on in “Momma’s Eyes,” a song from his album “Bluegrass Vacation” that’s not exactly recreational but does speak to a sad part of life some listeners will be happy just to have recognized in a piece of music. As a matriarch slips further away in cognitive decline, Fulks sings, “How the heart resists the breaking of the ties / But her heart had lost its path to Momma’s eyes.” This standout from Fulks’ first full-on foray into bluegrass is a beautiful exercise picking-and-not-grinning. —Willman

After her first few albums of perfect pop, Carly Rae Jepson toggled the formula to embrace more experimental turns—sometimes to great effect, sometimes not. It’s the freedom she’s earned as one of pop’s greatest silo stars, operating just outside the mainstream city limits with frequent dabbles in it. Like with many of her releases, she chased last year’s “The Loneliest Time” with a B-sides collection (appropriately titled “The Loveliest Time”), and with it one of her best loosies. “Psychedelic Switch” makes you once again wonder why she never released the disco album she once recorded and shelved. All the ingredients are there: the French Touch production, the burrowing hook, the feeling of letting yourself be consumed by the burning affectation of desire. This is the version of Jepsen where she shines brightest, a candle that can flicker but knows how to hold its light. —Horowitz

Almost a quarter-century after their celebrated “Painted From Memory” collaborative album, Costello and Bacharach got to work together one last time, as the latter legend sat in on a session that EC did with a full orchestra at Capitol Studios to complete a song they’d written for an unproduced Broadway musical. “You Can Keep Her” resists easy verse/chorus format, but its combination of symphonic lushness still speaks directly to strengths the two bring to the table — riffs that are right in Bacharach’s lilting/dramatic wheelhouse and the sense of lyrical vituperation that Costello naturally brings to a contested love triangle. Appearing as the highlight of a new “Songs of Bacharach & Costello” boxed set, this gorgeous and haunting tune is a fitting capper to a collaboration among giants. —Willman

It’s a shame that Ryan Beatty’s third album “Calico” wasn’t as widely adulated as it should have been. The singer-songwriter has a gift of translating small experiences into picturesque milieus, and “Cinnamon Bread” is a testimony. In an introverted hush, Beatty grapples with infatuation of a boy who invites him in, knowing full well that their intimacy has an expiration date. It’s forlorn, yet framed through the optimistic desire of puppy love that makes Beatty such an endearing narrator. —Horowitz

“Momma’s Eyes,” listed above, isn’t the only mother-related song from this year that will rip your heart open. In what feels like the most vulnerable song he’s ever written, Peter Gabriel sings about life going on after a mother’s death, and makes us all feel what it’s like to be orphaned at any age, even — maybe especially — a fairly advanced one. This epic song meanders between almost contrary chord progressions and vocal/string sections as the singer tries to reconcile overwhelming grief and the desire to go on feeling “I’ll carry you inside of me.” It’s wrenching stuff, whether you’ve been there with a loved one lately or not. —Willman

Raye’s “My 21st Century Blues” was one of the finest artist breakouts of the year, a mix of R&B and hip-hop and jazz that marked a real arrival. The British star made good on her established rep in her homeland by booking an orchestral gig at Royal Albert Hall, which she released as a live album, and some of the new songs sounded even more impressive in that roomy context. Amid all the autobiographical or topical concerns Raye addressed between these two releases (“Body Dysmorphia” among them), “Environmental Anxiety” is the one that may speak most to a generation, or generations, plural, as she looks at the sense of dread young people feel at the crises their elders are leaving behind for them (“She’s scrolling up and down her phone / She hates her life, she hates herself / And she’s 12 years old”). The symphonic treatment lends regality to this recap of the world’s dirty deeds. —Willman

It’s impossible to separate Childers’ tune from the heartbreaking, groundbreaking visual narrative conceived and executed by Silas House, (the current Poet Laureate of Kentucky), his husband, Jason Kyle Howard, and director Bryan Schlam. But there’s no need to separate them, even if Childers’ tune holds up onits own as a more universal love song, without any of the narrative associations in what ended up being a modern classic of a music video. In the visual treatment, two 1950s-era coal miners fall in love, then have that sweet romance end, not as the result of fear, suspicion or intolerance — although that threat looms in any viewer’s mind — but black lung disease. Music videos have rarely been more cinematically realized in recent times, but of course it wouldn’t exist without Childers setting the table so tenderly. —Willman

Alan Braxe established himself as one of the architects of French Touch dating to his work alongside Daft Punk’s Thomas Bangalter in the 1990s. He looked back on his oeuvre by reissuing 2005’s “The Upper Cuts (2023 Edition),” featuring a spate of his iconic singles including The Paradise’s “In Love With You” and Stardust’s “Music Sounds Better With You.” But he also threw a new contender into the ring with “Never Coming Back,” a sauntering diet disco track featuring unsung pop singer Annie. It’s an end-of-the-night concluder, for sure, but it also has blood pumping in its veins, a kiss-off to a suitor who’s destined to go home alone when the lights come on. —Horowitz

Maybe you’re a “Flowers” or “Used to Be Young” person. No shame in that, and you’ve got lots of company. But some of us prefer Weird Miley, or at least the version of herself that thinks nothing of collaborating with the Flaming Lips or taking a gloss on glam-rock. She’s still there on the “Endless Summer Vacation Album,” in between the big diva moments. With the Regrettes’ Maxx Morando as her collaborator here, Cyrus takes a detour on her vacation with a song that share some bravado genes with “Flowers”… but it’s a hell of a lot funnier. “You’re questioning the science, ’cause you don’t understand /
How I’m doing what I’m doing in a fucking handstand / You found it so impressive that I do it again / My other one is busy, so I use my left hand.” That’s practically up there with “I’m Just Ken” as comic writing… but at the same time, there’s not a doubt in the world that she means every word of this oddball braggadocio. —Willman

Daigle already had one of the most appealing voices in all of popular music. Working with producer Mike Elizondo on her self-titled album helped ensure that songs just as appealing were there to match it. “Thank God I Do,” as the primary single off the album, was a winning spiritual ballad that made sure Daigle will not lose her reputation as “the Christian Adele” any time soon. But ironically, maybe, it was the song from the LP that actually invokes Jesus in the title that might be the one with the greatest ecumenical appeal, as she and Elizondo marry a groove to her vision of a wildly creative deity. Given the politicization of religion, not everyone in the world is associating Jesus with the concept of delight, but Daigle’s soulful, charming song aims to put the eyes of believers and the non-faithful alike up to the looking glass. —Willman

Rum.gold’s “U Street Anthology” interrogates the hardships of Black America and being Black in America, inspired by the recent knowledge that he was adopted and raised away from his biological mother. The R&B singer sets it against the backdrop of Washington, D.C., his birthplace, and confronts its shortcomings with unease: “Oh this city wants to take my life / What a lovely place for dreams to die,” he sings on “Glory Days.” But love can be an antidote, if only for a moment, on “Water My Heart,” a supple collaboration with Mereba where they search for connection amid their loneliness. It’s romance for those who have been too bruised to fully trust in its power, even when its promise could very well heal all. —Horowitz

Tucker bears herself with a light countenance in real life — is there a funnier woman in music? — but she is unafraid to get down-and-dirty-and-dark when the right song calls for it. The right song, in this instance, was written by Shooter Jennings (sounding like he penned it just for her) and produced by Brandi Carlile for their second release as a creative trio. It starts with a gut-punch opening: “You could say these days / Are cold and sharp like razor blades / They twist and burn, and then, they fade / Like a kiss from long ago / I wouldn’t tell just anyone / Some days, I feel like a loaded gun…” That’s a real Delta dusk for you. It gets only a millimeter lighter from there, with the admonition to not “curse your mind with yesterday, or the love we could have found,” but find solace in the “sweet Western sound” invoked in the album title. Tucker has never sounded more committed to being real, which is saying something. —Willman

The National and Bon Iver are in a melancholy mood — surprise — with this heart-poking ballad of irrepressible memory and creeping regret. At first, the song seems to be sweetly focused on children growing up: “Memorize the bathwater, memorize the air / There’ll come a time I’ll wanna know I was here / Names on the doorframes, inches and ages / Handprints in concrete at the softest stages.” But this isn’t really a feel-good nostalgia number. Eventually Matt Berninger is apparently singing about an ex: “Your coat’s in my car, I guess you forgot” seems to be the opposite of the red scarf in Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” — a physical totem the other person couldn’t be bothered to retrieve. “I don’t know why I don’t try harder,” sing Berninger and Justin Vernon, admitting some defeatism as the crush of bygone experiences piles up. In the view of this song, maybe all goodbyes are weird. —Willman

Only three songs can be submitted for Oscar consideration from a movie, and only two can be nominated — which means no chance of further glory for “Pink,” the Lizzo-sung song that is heard twice in “Barbie,” first as an anthem of blitheness and the second time with “irrepressible thoughts of death.” A shame that the Eilish, Lipa and Gosling numbers and this one can’t be squeezed in, because musical-comedy writing this funny doesn’t come along that often in modern movies. Kudos to Andrew Wyatt, Mark Ronson, Eric Frederic and Melissa Jefferson for the deadpan comic sharpness; to Ronson and Wyatt for cutesy-ing it up within an inch of its life; and to Lizzo for playing against type and suddenly sounding like the most adorably milquetoast narrator on earth. Has there been a better bridge in 2023 — maybe in recent history — than: “P, panic / I, I’m scared / N, nauseous / K, death”? —Willman

Who said hyperpop was dead? Canadian singer-songwriter Alex Porat kicks into overdrive with “I’m Not Crying,” a harmonic blast that belies the humdrum nature of the lyrics. Self-pitying is at an all-time high — “‘Bout to spend the whole day bawling” — but it’s nothing that a little retail therapy can’t fix. “I’ma buy the whole damn store,” she sings, with each verse exploding into a patchwork of interlocking vocal runs. —Horowitz

In a number that is a two-minute poem as much as a song, Woods list all the best attributes of the partners she has loved and left behind, in bulk. She seems to have led a charmed love life, but of course this is an exercise in only remembering the good. For anyone who has ever looked back on their exes with any fondness at all, this may be an especially tender prompt to wax nostalgic, not resentful. “I never left any of them, not really,” she says. “I just went somewhere new.” —Willman

The title almost sounds like a variation on a Morrissey theme, although in Sufjan Stevens’ hands, the thought of being unlovable doesn’t come with any twists or irony or extensions to make the titular sentiment any longer or more adorned than it needs to be. It’s not as if Stevens is pretending he’s lived a life of forced chastity. The narrator puts qualifications on the real thing he says he hasn’t experienced, wanting to be loved “for good reasons / Without grievance, not for sport.” Sport? Apparently the singer here agrees with Amy Winehouse that love is a losing game. But, as lifelong forfeitures go, it’s an awfully pretty one. —Willman

As you may have noted, this has been a one-song-per-artist best list, as is customary for these things. But it feels like an exception ought to be made for the songs from Boygenius’ “The Record,” which is an album filled with true group songs (“Not Strong Enough”) but also has standout numbers that are primarily written and sung by one of the trio’s members, with augmentations. So if we get in the mindset of those being solo songs — which is admittedly just a bit of a cheat — let’s offer some individual props as well. Lucy Dacus’ “True Blue” is the most wonderfully warm relationship ballad of the year (even with an “except for that one time” caveat amusing thrown in); resistance to melting is futile. Julien Baker’s “Satanist” is also a song of friendship, the possibly rude song title and concept notwithstanding, and was one of the great true rock ‘n’ roll songs of the year. In the face of all that friendly bonding, Phoebe Bridgers’ “Letter to an Old Poet” proved the group can still wield a scalpel, devastatingly tearing into a partner so toxic she’s capable of wishing harm. These three songs could have ended up on solo albums, in some form, it feels like, but we’re grateful for their contributions to the spirit of the collective in 2023. —Willman