This is my final newsletter of 2024, which means it’s time to share my favorite music from the year.
But first, a few quick stats:
I listened to 575 albums this year, plus all the singles I curated for this newsletter. Yes, I track everything in a spreadsheet. Yes, I know it’s a bit obsessive. Out of those, about 80 albums stood out as GREAT, and another 100 fell into the GOOD category.
So, you can see why narrowing it down to a top five is both challenging—and maybe even unnecessary.
But I’m going to try anyway...
Sometimes, at the end of a long year, I like to reflect on the beautiful moments. What were the beautiful movies I watched? The beautiful places I traveled? And, of course, the beautiful albums I listened to.
Patterns in Repeat is, above all else, a beautiful album. Not only is the music stunning and peaceful, but so is the subject matter. It’s largely about parenthood—about Laura’s transition into motherhood, with her baby girl by her side.
The album is remarkably simple, primarily just guitar and vocals with the occasional flourish of strings. It often feels like a lullaby, gently carrying you off to sleep—which, fittingly, is the title of one of the tracks.
In a world that constantly demands so much of us, it’s refreshing to encounter a piece of work that offers the opposite. This album provides space to relax, to seek comfort, to simply be.
The first time I listened to this album, I went in hoping I would enjoy it. I had liked the singles they released leading up to the album’s debut, so my expectations were high. But then I got to the fourth track, a song called “Connect,” which I hadn’t heard before—and I was completely blown away.
I had never heard anything quite like it. And yet, it sounded exactly like the old Vampire Weekend—the Vampire Weekend I grew up with. It was this strange and thrilling mix of familiarity and novelty, of knowing and not knowing.
It’s like Vampire Weekend decides to pick the weirdest sounds they can find and then asks, How can we throw all of these together into one song? While listening, there are moments where you think, Wow, that instrument really doesn’t belong here. It’s kind of grating. But somehow, it fits perfectly. It sounds amazing.
Maybe it’s the classical aesthetic that draws me to this album. Most contemporary music avoids sounding “too classical,” but Vampire Weekend leans into it unapologetically.
This album is full of contradictions, something that demands repeated listens to even begin to unravel. And maybe that’s why I kept coming back to it, again and again.
I was fortunate enough to see Adrianne Lenker perform live at Union Transfer in Philly just before Thanksgiving. During her set, she played many songs from this album, including several I had previously overlooked.
I can’t stress this enough—what Adrianne Lenker achieved that night with just her voice and a guitar was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
When she first stepped on stage, there was a brief, electric silence that hung in the air. The entire crowd—hundreds of people—waited in quiet anticipation. And then she began to play. Not a single phone was out. It was incredibly intimate. As the night went on, I saw people to my left and right quietly weeping, tears streaming down their faces as Adrianne’s music flowed through the room. By the end of the night, I felt like I had just witnessed Bob Dylan or Joni Mitchell at their peak.
In my opinion, Adrianne Lenker is the greatest folk songwriter of my generation. This album is yet another testament to her extraordinary gift.
Every once in a while, you come across an album that flows so seamlessly it’s hard to imagine it didn’t always exist this way. At one point, it was just a collection of random sounds and ideas that had to be recorded, arranged, pieced together, and polished into a finished product, ready for the world to hear.
In my opinion, Imaginal Disk is one of the best-paced albums I’ve ever heard—an impeccable balance of grounded lows to complement every soaring high. There were moments that felt truly transcendent, transporting me to places I didn’t know synthpop could reach.
Beyond the pacing, the album is beautifully written, blending genuinely catchy pop tracks with atmospheric interludes. The textures they created are, at times, otherworldly, at times heavy and chaotic, and at times peaceful and light.
I simply loved the journey this album took me on.
It’s incredibly rare for a piece of work, regardless of medium, to achieve both critical acclaim and cultural impact in the way Brat did. It’s like writing Harry Potter or filming Star Wars—a creative benchmark that defines its era.
Take the Barbie movie from last year, for example. Incredibly successful, with $1.45 billion at the box office—a staggering commercial achievement. And yet, it garnered only an 83% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes and a 6.8/10 on IMDb. Good, but not legendary.
My point is this: Charli XCX has been shaping the future of pop music for more than a decade, and the world is finally ready to follow her lead. Over the years, she’s collaborated with some extraordinary talents like A.G. Cook, who have helped her refine her sound. But ultimately, it’s Charli—visionary and architect of her own aesthetic—who pushes the boundaries of pop in ways that most mainstream stars, like Taylor Swift or Beyoncé, simply don’t.
Brat wasn’t just an album; it was a phenomenon. It marked a collective moment when countless young people said, “Yes, Charli, you’re my #1.” It was the catalyst for aspiring pop artists to create the next wave of “club classics.” It was an anthem for young women, capturing the confusion of being a girl while reminding them they can always “work it out on the remix.”
The world moves faster than it used to. Cultural shifts are harder to bottle because everything changes so quickly. But something tells me my generation won’t forget how Brat summer made us feel.
In my opinion, ranking top songs isn’t really worth it. There are just so many incredible tracks, and honestly, my opinions aren’t all that different from most others. That said, here’s a quick recap of a few of my favorites this year:
And then, of course, there are the obvious standouts:
Listening to 575 albums this year was, frankly, something I didn’t know I could accomplish. It’s an astonishing number—more than one and a half albums per day.
And yet.
I’m not sure it made my listening experience any better. In fact, it often detracted from my ability to truly enjoy music.
Music is one of my favorite parts of being alive. But there were moments this year when I felt a compulsive need to “catch up,” to listen to more and more so I could feel informed—as if I’d heard everything worth hearing. The truth is, that’s impossible. Over 100,000 songs are uploaded to Spotify every day.
Because of this, curation has become more important than ever. People want someone they trust to tell them what’s worth their time. It’s the reason I started this newsletter in the first place.
But I’ve also learned that trying to listen to everything means I spend 70% of my time on music that’s just not good—or that I actively dislike. That leaves only 30% of my time for the music that truly fills my soul. And that’s no way to live.
So next year, I plan to do less—a lot less. I’m not entirely sure what that will look like yet, but I felt it was worth sharing.
Isn’t it wonderful that we can change course whenever we need to?
To close, I want to thank everyone who reads this newsletter. There aren’t that many of you, but it means so much that anyone at all takes the time to read what I have to say.
Have a happy holiday, and I’ll see you in the new year.
This is my final newsletter of 2024, which means it’s time to share my favorite music from the year.
But first, a few quick stats:
I listened to 575 albums this year, plus all the singles I curated for this newsletter. Yes, I track everything in a spreadsheet. Yes, I know it’s a bit obsessive. Out of those, about 80 albums stood out as GREAT, and another 100 fell into the GOOD category.
So, you can see why narrowing it down to a top five is both challenging—and maybe even unnecessary.
But I’m going to try anyway...
Sometimes, at the end of a long year, I like to reflect on the beautiful moments. What were the beautiful movies I watched? The beautiful places I traveled? And, of course, the beautiful albums I listened to.
Patterns in Repeat is, above all else, a beautiful album. Not only is the music stunning and peaceful, but so is the subject matter. It’s largely about parenthood—about Laura’s transition into motherhood, with her baby girl by her side.
The album is remarkably simple, primarily just guitar and vocals with the occasional flourish of strings. It often feels like a lullaby, gently carrying you off to sleep—which, fittingly, is the title of one of the tracks.
In a world that constantly demands so much of us, it’s refreshing to encounter a piece of work that offers the opposite. This album provides space to relax, to seek comfort, to simply be.
The first time I listened to this album, I went in hoping I would enjoy it. I had liked the singles they released leading up to the album’s debut, so my expectations were high. But then I got to the fourth track, a song called “Connect,” which I hadn’t heard before—and I was completely blown away.
I had never heard anything quite like it. And yet, it sounded exactly like the old Vampire Weekend—the Vampire Weekend I grew up with. It was this strange and thrilling mix of familiarity and novelty, of knowing and not knowing.
It’s like Vampire Weekend decides to pick the weirdest sounds they can find and then asks, How can we throw all of these together into one song? While listening, there are moments where you think, Wow, that instrument really doesn’t belong here. It’s kind of grating. But somehow, it fits perfectly. It sounds amazing.
Maybe it’s the classical aesthetic that draws me to this album. Most contemporary music avoids sounding “too classical,” but Vampire Weekend leans into it unapologetically.
This album is full of contradictions, something that demands repeated listens to even begin to unravel. And maybe that’s why I kept coming back to it, again and again.
I was fortunate enough to see Adrianne Lenker perform live at Union Transfer in Philly just before Thanksgiving. During her set, she played many songs from this album, including several I had previously overlooked.
I can’t stress this enough—what Adrianne Lenker achieved that night with just her voice and a guitar was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced.
When she first stepped on stage, there was a brief, electric silence that hung in the air. The entire crowd—hundreds of people—waited in quiet anticipation. And then she began to play. Not a single phone was out. It was incredibly intimate. As the night went on, I saw people to my left and right quietly weeping, tears streaming down their faces as Adrianne’s music flowed through the room. By the end of the night, I felt like I had just witnessed Bob Dylan or Joni Mitchell at their peak.
In my opinion, Adrianne Lenker is the greatest folk songwriter of my generation. This album is yet another testament to her extraordinary gift.
Every once in a while, you come across an album that flows so seamlessly it’s hard to imagine it didn’t always exist this way. At one point, it was just a collection of random sounds and ideas that had to be recorded, arranged, pieced together, and polished into a finished product, ready for the world to hear.
In my opinion, Imaginal Disk is one of the best-paced albums I’ve ever heard—an impeccable balance of grounded lows to complement every soaring high. There were moments that felt truly transcendent, transporting me to places I didn’t know synthpop could reach.
Beyond the pacing, the album is beautifully written, blending genuinely catchy pop tracks with atmospheric interludes. The textures they created are, at times, otherworldly, at times heavy and chaotic, and at times peaceful and light.
I simply loved the journey this album took me on.
It’s incredibly rare for a piece of work, regardless of medium, to achieve both critical acclaim and cultural impact in the way Brat did. It’s like writing Harry Potter or filming Star Wars—a creative benchmark that defines its era.
Take the Barbie movie from last year, for example. Incredibly successful, with $1.45 billion at the box office—a staggering commercial achievement. And yet, it garnered only an 83% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes and a 6.8/10 on IMDb. Good, but not legendary.
My point is this: Charli XCX has been shaping the future of pop music for more than a decade, and the world is finally ready to follow her lead. Over the years, she’s collaborated with some extraordinary talents like A.G. Cook, who have helped her refine her sound. But ultimately, it’s Charli—visionary and architect of her own aesthetic—who pushes the boundaries of pop in ways that most mainstream stars, like Taylor Swift or Beyoncé, simply don’t.
Brat wasn’t just an album; it was a phenomenon. It marked a collective moment when countless young people said, “Yes, Charli, you’re my #1.” It was the catalyst for aspiring pop artists to create the next wave of “club classics.” It was an anthem for young women, capturing the confusion of being a girl while reminding them they can always “work it out on the remix.”
The world moves faster than it used to. Cultural shifts are harder to bottle because everything changes so quickly. But something tells me my generation won’t forget how Brat summer made us feel.
In my opinion, ranking top songs isn’t really worth it. There are just so many incredible tracks, and honestly, my opinions aren’t all that different from most others. That said, here’s a quick recap of a few of my favorites this year:
And then, of course, there are the obvious standouts:
Listening to 575 albums this year was, frankly, something I didn’t know I could accomplish. It’s an astonishing number—more than one and a half albums per day.
And yet.
I’m not sure it made my listening experience any better. In fact, it often detracted from my ability to truly enjoy music.
Music is one of my favorite parts of being alive. But there were moments this year when I felt a compulsive need to “catch up,” to listen to more and more so I could feel informed—as if I’d heard everything worth hearing. The truth is, that’s impossible. Over 100,000 songs are uploaded to Spotify every day.
Because of this, curation has become more important than ever. People want someone they trust to tell them what’s worth their time. It’s the reason I started this newsletter in the first place.
But I’ve also learned that trying to listen to everything means I spend 70% of my time on music that’s just not good—or that I actively dislike. That leaves only 30% of my time for the music that truly fills my soul. And that’s no way to live.
So next year, I plan to do less—a lot less. I’m not entirely sure what that will look like yet, but I felt it was worth sharing.
Isn’t it wonderful that we can change course whenever we need to?
To close, I want to thank everyone who reads this newsletter. There aren’t that many of you, but it means so much that anyone at all takes the time to read what I have to say.
Have a happy holiday, and I’ll see you in the new year.
