In a chronically online, AI-slop-embedded hellscape, Don’t Tap the Glass is Tyler, the Creator’s surprise social experiment. Determined to inspire intimacy and reconnection with community away from our screens, the rapper breezes through a melded curation of bouncy R&B, Miami bass, and funk cues in just 28 minutes. Whether he solves the worldwide existential dilemma is debatable, but he ejects listeners onto the dance floor without “a fear of being filmed,” even if briefly. —India Roby

Recorded in a sauna-studio in the Norwegian woods, Bassvictim’s debut album bravely asks, “What if Mother Goose had a synth pad and a subwoofer?” In their most feral showcase of “basspunk” yet, tracks like “Mr. President” and “Grow Up!!!,” that fuse Maria Mannow’s bratty chants with blown-out sub-bass, feel like a mosh pit in the schoolyard. —Hajin Yoo

Former LOONA member Yves has come a long way since she twirled onto the scene with 11 other girls in matching tennis minis. Soft Error: X is already Yves’ third EP since leaving her previous label in 2024, signifying her eagerness to make music on her own terms. Sonically and visually, the album unfolds in a series of little glitches — warped synths, and choppy vocals. Put otherwise, “soft errors” that culminate in a newer, more honest version of herself. —HY

British singer Olivia Dean strips bare on her sophomore album, The Art of Loving. It's a perfect, no-skip compilation of heart-wrenching ballads that touches on all facets of love, backed by an orchestra of snazzy trumpets, trombones, and saxophones. At 26, Dean doesn’t have this love thing figured out but, as she croons on the intro, the pursuit is “something lost and something gained.” —IR

“I don’t do IG models, only do Tumblr models!” Thirteendegrees exclaims on “Talkin 2 Much (Knockout).” That’s a pretty succinct snapshot of the Chicago rapper’s interests and general shtick: everything outlandish and anachronistic. In April, he packed a hometown venue to play music he claims he made on an iPhone 4, and Clique City Vol. 2 is equally as vintage, a barrage of #OOTD reports and sexcapades with “Supa Hot Girlz.” Through it all, Thirteen’s melodic runs swoop, soar, shoot for the stars, carving hooks into some of the plushest beats you’ll hear all year. —Vivian Medithi

This astonishing, pathos-drenched dance record is an ode to inner conflict, catharsis, and the savory, snug loneliness of a very late night. Fiddle player and electronic tinkerer Brittney Parks steps out as Gadget Girl here, a humanoid alter ego in an existential tug-of-war with the machine. But it’s sensual as hell, too — highlight “MS. PAC MAN” exemplifies the computerized horniness of it all, and the obvious fun Parks had constructing this open-world gamespace. —Leah Mandel

“Life’s so funny it gotta be a joke,” raps Edward Skeletrix, and he wants to be in on the punchline. Consider him the perfect comedian for our ironypoisoned, AI-addled era, a self-avowed troll and conceptual artist whose raps prod at the materialism and violence that define modern life. Museum Music mutates the tropes of contemporary trap music, like if you put SpaceGhostPurrp, Playboi Carti, and Young Jeezy in a blender with Damien Hirst, Marina Abromavić, and Chris Burden. He chooses feverish, clickbait titles (“Drug Dealer Injects His Fentanyl (Psychosis)”) and warps tracks until they barely constitute a song. But every “misstep” feels intentional, a series of gestures forming a compelling portrait of the artist on sale. —VM

Québécois producer Marie Davidson finds humor and propulsion in Shoshana Zuboff’s study of our extractive, digital economy, The Age of Surveillance Capitalism, the non-fiction book that explicitly inspired Sexy Clown. On it, Davidson skewers influencer performativity, hustle culture, and modern, polarized politics. Her whispered lyrics contrast with her production, a world of saber-toothed synths and topsy-turvy rhythms. Theory has never felt so fun. —Tobias Hess

True open space was in short supply in 2025. Vanities, French ambient producer Malibu’s full-length debut, is defined by its scope and breadth. Swelling synths, punctuated by low notes of piano, kissed by the fog of Gregorian chorals and Malibu’s own ethereal and immediate vocals. The album becomes a place to lose and find your sanity. —TH

kwn knows how to drag a heart through every stage of love, sex, and heartbreak. with all due respect enjoyed a breakout year because of the London singer-rapper’s expert balance of sultry seduction and honest balladry delivered over beats that knock one minute and caress the eardrum the next. This is music for lovers, the kind that sounds as sweet blasting out of car speakers as it does in the heat of the bedroom. —Dylan Green

The first thing you’ll notice on Jordan Patterson’s audacious debut is her voice: It’s shifty, low, and saturated in breath. The next is the North Carolina-born artist's songwriting, which is wide-eyed and refreshingly true. Whether she’s recalling an imaginary friend named “Jim,” contemplating a metaphorically rich race car, or simply staring at the sky, Patterson has an almost childlike ability to capture whimsy. —TH

After winning Best New Artist at the 2024 Latin Grammy awards, Ela Taubert has solidified herself as Latin pop's new It girl. On her debut, Preguntas a Las 11:11, the Colombian singer-songwriter channels her late-night thoughts into confessional and heartfelt anthems. Max Martin contributes to the sharp "¿Es En Serio?" and Joe Jonas on the angst-driven "¿Cómo Pasó?" Cosigns that signal the arrival of a new pop princess. —Lucas Villa

This Gallium-coded, rage-y reggaeton out of Chile blew up this autumn thanks to a Rosalía cosign on viral track “Shiny.” Metallicky and club-oriented, I'M PART has a tender core. My favorite moments are the softer, almost folky ones, when Easykid sings like he’s serenading someone in a window above a dark street. It feels familiar, homey, a heart-to-heart on the bathroom line. —LM

Essex Honey is a deceptive album about grief. It’s not obviously sad-sounding, and Dev Hynes does not place his sorrow — thick coiled, and unresolved — at the forefront. Instead, its 14 songs provoke stark feelings of environment and place: “Look At You,” a dew-covered countryside at sunrise; “Mind Loaded,” a grey Sunday at your childhood home; “The Train (King’s Cross,)” the bustle of the city in which you grew up. Written after the passing of his mother and reconnecting with his hometown, Hynes made an album about losing a part of his life and then finding pieces of it still here, scattered in the winds of the world. —Steffanee Wang

The American Dream in Molly & Her Week of Wonders is a little bigger than life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. She’d like creative fulfillment, a Porsche Cayenne, and true love too, thanks. Santana's more than tough enough to compete with the rage rap boys’ club but on her latest she reveals that her sing-song flow can carry unexpected emotional heft, too. Whether she's spiraling or feeling dejected, Molly & Her Week of Wonders reminds us that fairytale endings can have nightmarish beginnings. —VM

Does being reborn mean having to shed what makes you, you? Not according to Sol ChYld, who spends the majority of her fourth album exploring how to keep her heart in her hometown of Camden, New Jersey while ensuring her music reaches as many ears as possible. A soothing mix of neo-soul, hip-hop, and a touch of southern trap, ReBirth.Theory makes it clear that wherever she ends up, she’s always got the crib with her. —DG

R&B rooted in safe, healthy love is the angel on your shoulder; Ruger's Afrobeats sleaze is the devil. The pink-haired heartbreaker flaunts his toxic persona like hell: “Call me a devil, there’s no angel in this world.” There’s passion and blunt honesty about his fear of abandonment behind his music, but no willingness to change. This will get him booted from any therapist’s couch, but a permanent spot in dancehall's future. —Kylah Williams

Vayda’s Get In The Car plays out like one long joy ride; “Pam Grier” speedily drifts in as the opener, asking, nay, demanding listeners to heed the imperative in the album's title. Once we’re off to the races, “Bubblegum” and “Kiki” zoom in and out like a car-chase scenes, broken up by mellower tracks like “No Neighbors” that feel like driving down a long road at sunset. —HY

MIKE’s albums are so consistently great, and he drops so frequently, that it can be easy to take him for granted. “Of course Showbiz! digs at the heart and soul of the New York rapper-producer and 10k head honcho in his late 20s,” you might say. But missing the opportunity to hear him wax poetic and celebrate life over increasingly varied beats — warped samples, StepTeam-esque 808s, hazy plugg-adjacent bangers — would be a grave mistake. —Dylan Green

Simply put, this is a work of nonchalant genius. Gordian and algebraic, shreddy, and sneakily partly a banging dance record, it really is a beautiful place to be, here, in the Rachel Brown-Nate Amos contained world. The music gets shrewder and more intricately netted with each listen. I have a thousand more awe-stricken adjectives to throw like roses at the feet of Water From Your Eyes. —LM

“No sleep, bus, club, another club, new lover, another break up, plane, next spot, no sleep”—that’s a play-by-play of this album, a summer that's been fully lived in. The Nigerian-London singer-songwriter carries us through Miami with Leon Thomas, London, and Nigeria. It’s an 82-degree June day that you’ll be missing by the album's end. —KW

Exo is a concept album about insects made on warped Tascam tapes by three N.Y.C. punks. On one side, buzzing, glittering portraits of Ladybug ("Mechanical"), Butterfly ("Got flowers on my mind"), Mantis ("I eat the night"), Fig Wasp ("I taste the juice"). On the other, a 15-minute sound collage that’s like a Buñuel short about a crazed spider spinning her web. It seems almost a manifesto, as in, Here’s what punk can be: beautiful, intricate, mystical, attentive. —LM

Earl Sweatshirt likes shit, and to a certain extent, he’s outside. Zeal is everywhere you look on his sixth album, an affectionate ode to the family he’s building with his wife Aida Osman, the community he’s built as a rapper-producer, and the lingering anxiety of what could happen if he fucks it all up. “I need the love, gang,” he says intently on “gamma (need the <3).” He’s closer than ever to maintaining it. —DG

Top Hits, Ballads, etc... bears a thoroughly modern and cheeky name but it's songs feel inspired by very ancient and classical beauty. Spanish singer Amore's songs are rich silks of plush synth and flourishes that mimic what would be filtering in if you were lounging in the Garden of Babylon. Feed yourself grapes whie listening to one of the most sumptuous records of the year. —SW

Essayist Eliot Weinberger once said, “I think of myself more like a furniture maker.” For sonic architect Cate Le Bon, this is literally true: She’s a fine furniture school graduate. Her craftsman mindset is tangible on Michelangelo Dying; I hear a geometer writing a poem with marble, glass, and rock. Set it in a Remedios Varo painting hanging on a wood wall in a cabin next to a window out of which very green grass leads to foggy mountains. It's melancholic but vivid, full of life-spirit. —LM

The ready-to-rumble debut from Berlin's trancehall producer bambinodj (a.k.a. Henry von Roenne) hits like a tropical breeze, with plush riddims that zigzag between spectral and playful. Tracks like “Carrier” and the Phillip Jondo collab “Auf Log” command body and atmosphere, where flips like “Missin You” demonstrate the magic that von Roenne could conjure if ever tapped to produce for someone like Masicka. If all is just in this world, it’s only a matter of time 'til that happens. —Salvatore Maicki

The sound of “Fruitiger Aero” is hard to capture. It’s equal parts Microsoft boot-up chime and a bubble about to burst. But this L.A. duo has managed to bottle our collective vision of Y2K utopia into this shimmery, trip-hop EP. If this is nostalgia bait, then I’m hooked. —HY

One minute into Safe Mind’s ridiculously fun debut record, Cooper B. Handy drops the hardest gym metaphor of all time: “Like Planet Fitness, you’re on the run / Don’t know what you lost but it looks like you won.” On Cutting The Stone, he and fellow pop experimentalist Gus Muller (of Boy Harsher) build a playground of new jack swing and synthscapes, effortlessly reaching anthemic heights at every turn. It’s the soundtrack to the house party you’ve always wanted to be invited to. —SM

Beneath a veneer of mantras, musings, and A-list features, Justin Bieber’s SWAG doesn't actually share much. Still, the album indulges in such an extreme stylistic shift away from pop that it feels just as vulnerable as him stepping into the booth confessional style. It says that he's long been frustrated with his status quo and wants to try being something, someone, else. To me, there’s nothing more human than the world’s biggest pop star surrendering to his imperfections. —India Roby

Feid capped off a decade in the industry with his ambitious album, Ferxxo Vol X: Sagrado. The Colombian singer-songwriter produced, mixed, and mastered the LP, that sees him letting go and leveling up. He pays tribute to his country on the lush "CAFERXXO" featuring Nidia Góngora; and infuses his sentimental reggaeton with R&B, hip-hop, and paisa swagger on the alluring "I MIXX U." —LV

choke enough was the album that came and stayed. French experimental singer Oklou released it in February to the eager reception of a small yet committed audience. By now, the album has brought the newly postpartum Oklou on an impressive stateside tour, made Billie Eilish a superfan, and dominated music conversations online. It’s no mystery as to why: This 13-track rumination is full of addicting contradiction; it’s drumless yet rhythmic, quiet but sticky, timeless yet years ahead. —TH

The horrors of billy woods’s GOLLIWOG are unsettling in their banality. A pet cat, half-crushed, being put out of its misery; dead friends revisiting his dreams as ghosts from his past; a wounded fly trapped in a glass jar as a metaphor for colonialism. woods’s baritone finds the pathos and dark humor in it all, turning a suite of beats from indie rap stalwarts into a creaking showcase of memories ripped from the headlines and his own brain. —DG

Jim Legxacy’s major-label debut puts Britain’s music scene in his hands. For 34 minutes, I’m cosplaying as a 25-year-old mandem (I’m a 29-year-old American Black woman), group-chatting with his day ones, entangling shorties, wailing in grief, and blocking doubters. Paramore-esque melodies, Drake-in-his-prime hooks, and layered vocals and samples shape a vivid audio thesis on Black British identity. —KW

Ouri’s delicate electronic album takes its name, of all things, from a bomb. “Daisy cutter” is the deceptive moniker for a device designed to wipe out everything at ground level, and the French Guianan–born singer's record lives in that same tension of destruction and tenderness. Ethereal, R&B-esque tracks meet classically precise harp, cello, and piano. The quiet devastation is like watching a bomb go off in slow motion. —HY

The redlining 808s on OsamaSon’s psykotic sound like the end of the world, but the true joy of his latest album is his frenzied, frenetic bars. The South Carolina rapper creates an overflow of new ways of saying the usual fly shit. He’s dancing madly through imploding 808s one minute (“Inferno”) and hammering his verses into your subconscious the next (“Habits”); the unfettered chaos is carefully leveled to melt your speakers. With psykotic, OsamaSon is laser-focused on remaking trap in his own image and moving a generation. —VM

Theodora is France’s coolest young artist right now, and her music’s thrilling merging of Afrobeats, Caribbean zouk and bouyon, R&B, rap, and pop has changed the nation. MEGA BBL, a re-released and expanded universe of her breakout 2024 record, is shameless, sexy, playful, and global: all the things needed to counter a dull, fascist future. —SW

Big City Life is a tongue-in-cheek title given that the album is about living in the quaint city of Oslo. But “big” is less the key word than “life.” The Copenhagen-trained and Norway-based alt pop duo makes music that mines the mundane for its cosmic potential, from a night of drunken frivolity (“Feisty”) to the loving leisure of romance (“You got time and I got money”) to simply strutting on the busied streets (“Roll the dice”). —TH

Upon Baby’s release, a portion of TikTok dubbed it “hootin’ and hollering’” music, and listen: those who don’t get it, just won’t get it. Those who did were rewarded with the Los Angeles alt-heartthrob’s most unraveled, life-pulsing music ever: an album that’s so supercharged with feeling, it feels like everything’s going to fling apart at any second, just like living. —SW

In the music video for his reggaeton banger "Loco," Netón Vega slides on his sunglasses with his middle finger. After penning hits for Peso Pluma, the Mexican singer-songwriter is redefining música Mexicana with the swagger of GTA badass CJ. His debut album, Mi Vida Mi Muerte, blends corridos with Chicano rap. In a sea of NPCs, Vega is a maverick. —LV

“What happened to GoldLink?” is the first result when you Google his name. After getting basically canceled for his bizarre, 2019 Mac Miller statement, the DMV rapper is back. ENOCH is named after a biblical figure who was lifted to heaven without dying, just like GoldLink crawling out from the internet's underbelly. Rapping in double-time, he summons an immortal flow as he picks apart the culture's life-death cycle. “Why these niggas even try to cancel me on Jesus?” We are no judge nor jury, only witnesses to an impressive resurrection. —KW

In a music era that has been almost entirely subsumed by streaming, Clipse brought back the art of the spectacle. Cocksure as ever, on their fourth album, brothers Pusha and Malice return to their inimitable formula of narcotic world-building, with longtime collaborator Pharrell scoring their world-weary couplets on life, loss, and aspiration with a pointedly menacing tinge. Now wizened veterans, the dizzying flurry of their references to obscure cars and locales gives way to earnest meditations on both the allure and danger of being driven by one’s vices, pharmacological or otherwise. As tastemakers continue to speculate over rap’s decline, Clipse emphasize the power of sticking to the formula that brought them to new heights in the first place. —Shamira Ibrahim

No ketamine, coke, or molly was taken while writing this blurb, unfortunately. But it's highly suggested you do when listening to the Ghanaian altè singer’s BLACKSTAR. My best friend calls this “Amaarae’s brat,” and I'm living for the Fountain Baby hitmaker girling-out over expensive-sounding electronic production. I’ve seen a few people hesitate to fuck with this project, but when your last album was as special as Fountain Baby, meeting expectations becomes impossible. Which is exactly why Amaarae breaks free of them. —KW

After years spent as part of the U.K. girl group Little Mix, JADE is ready to be a leading lady. Her debut solo album, That’s Showbiz Baby!, embraces a chaotic meld of disco, electroclash, and techno as she etches diary entries about her complex feelings toward fame and slings double-entredres to shady ex-business managers. She relishes the attention just as much as she hates on it, all while "laughing at her trauma” and churning out pop-perfect gems like her lead single, “Angel of My Dreams.” —IR

This year, unintentionally, I listened to a lot of immersive, spacious albums. I guess it was my brain subconsciously trying to heal me from my 23-other-hours of continuous doomscrolling. Lifetime ended up being one of the most memorable ones, an album that arrived as a surprise and marks a peak in de Casier’s already very influential career. This is trip-hop made by a mood and transportative master; It makes you wanna put on a cool fit and go on a long walk; lay on the bed and stare at a wall; do things that make you say, yeah my attention span is just fine. —SW

There are few albums I would compare to a podcast as a compliment; West End Girl is the exception. This musical play-by-play about the dissolution of Allen’s marriage could come off as tactlessly literal, but Allen turns blunt honesty into its own form of poetry. From ruminating on whether she should open her marriage, to discovering her ex’s boundary-crossing affair with “Madeline”, to finding a sexual grab bag in his “Pussy Palace," the listener is put into the position of voyeur and stand-in. By the end you're asking, “Maybe I, too, am a ‘West End Girl?’” —TH

Halfway through Funhouse Deluxe, prettifun can’t keep smiling any longer. “I’ve been through pain [...] This shit feel pointless / and I get emotional.” He’s grieving, exhausted, on the verge of tears, and still, somehow, singing his heart out. We listen to music to feel less alone, or at least less misunderstood; sometimes that means pretending we’re strong and sometimes that means admitting we’re weak.

prettifun understands this truth better than most, despite being too young to buy a beer and the fact that his life is pretty good right now. At its most carefree, Funhouse Deluxe presents a kaleidoscopic reconfiguration of SoundCloud rap, heavily indebted to the breezy melodies of Pi’erre Bourne and the freewheeling cadences of Lil Uzi Vert. Still, depression gnaws. He can’t help but trace the fingerprints left on his psyche by deceased ancestors, ex-friends, and lost lovers, and catalog his regrets and their failings. These are things that prettifun, admirably, is determined to use to get stronger one day at a time: “Self reflect, don’t deflect, that’s the only way to run it.” —VM

After spotlighting music from the Caribbean on his last record Un Verano Sin Ti, Bad Bunny zeroes in on his home island for this year's sprawling DeBÍ TiRAR MáS FOToS. The Puerto Rican superstar continues to push reggaeton into the future on bangers like "EoO" while modernizing the sounds of his ancestors. He flexes his salsero side on the breathtaking "Baile Inolvidable," taps into plena for the nostalgic "DtMF," and channels música jíbara to call out the gentrification of Puerto Rico in "Lo Que Le Pasó a Hawaii." The record is a snapshot of Bad Bunny's artistry and impact as a global pop star. —LV

We are living through godless times: our scriptures can be artificially generated, our clouds are filled with our data, our heaven on Earth is starting to feel a lot like hell.

When Rosalía bleached a halo into her hair and dropped LUX, it really did feel like the closest the culture might get to divine intervention in the year 2025; a confluence of language and symphony that elicits a sense of ascension. Borrowing elements of her previous work and shining them through an orchestral prism, the album asserts that Rosalía is (and always has been) a pop artist — there’s nobody at her level even attempting to craft bodies of work that are this magnificent in scope.

Peerless as she may be, on LUX, she’s surrounded by feminine saints and mystics whose stories upholster her own introspection, devastation, and transformation. On “La Yugular” she invokes Sufi poet Rabi’a al-Basri at one moment and Patti Smith the next; later, on “Focu Ranni,” she sings of Saint Rosalia of Palermo, who traded her wedding gown for a life devoted to the lord. Each bit of personal detail ties into a narrative greater than her own, illuminating truths that supersede the specificities of the present. Whatever darkness lies ahead, may the divine feminine light our path. —SM

Instead of adding to the chorus of voices complaining about the decline of club culture, Rochelle Jordan took the crisis into her own hands and released Through The Wall, a throbbing, sensuous album that leans into the frenzy of a rambunctious night out as much as it explores the humming sexual tension that radiates on a dance floor.

Layered in every breathy note are the fingerprints of dancefloor divas, past and present: Donna Summer’s dazzling disco sensibility, Janet Jackson’s powerfully restrained eroticism, Brandy’s ear-melting harmonies. The vocals are hypnotic, veering between a self-assured rap verse on the dizzyingly cosmopolitan “Ladida” to purring, husky melodies on the delightfully cheeky “The Boy.” Tying the heady melodies together is a sleekly produced sound that braids together dance music and R&B via the funk and soul that anchor both genres. Janet may have already taken us across the velvet rope, but Jordan is here to make sure we indulge in our every desire. —SI

After years of having more relatively unknown albums take the No. 1 slot on The FADER’s year-end albums list, I initially struggled with the idea of a fairly mainstream pop record occupying that position for this list. Is it too obvious? Could it go to a more underground project? After a while, however, something that james k said in my interview with her from September kept replaying in my mind: that Addison Rae is a tragic pop star, and that’s what makes her so brilliant.

Among words like “absurd” and “dystopic,” tragic, to me, is a most ringing descriptor about life in These Times. We're living in a country that’s decades past its golden days, taking rights away from its citizens, embracing tech efficiency over creativity, the list goes on. Addison’s album is, of course, not about these big, pressing issues. But it is about the other important work: finding a way to fully live in the face of tragedy, when it can otherwise so easily bring you down.

“Wish my mom and dad could’ve been in love,” goes the best lyric of the record from “Headphones On,” a song about tuning out your troubles to tune into the music you love; “Times Like These,” a melancholic pop blur, sounds like gazing at a rapidly changing cityscape from the backseat of a car, helpless in stopping it, resigned to accepting it. These 12 songs (made by three women, no less) capture a messy humanity of indulgence, paranoia, insecurity, and, most crucially, unashamed joy.

Is this why her music so feverishly, so unexpectedly, resonated with so many this year? It was, at least, the case for me and for so many others on The FADER’s staff. In it we saw a kind of universal truth, and chose to dance along with her. —SW