How do you sum up a year in music at this late date in our fractured cultural history, an era in which AI slop is encroaching at a rapid pace and traditional media outlets — by which I mean those that dutifully edit and fact-check content — are going the way of the floppy disk? Consensus is useful to a point — that many people like the new Geese record that rabidly? But there is just too much music in the digital era to absorb even a tiny fraction of what’s currently flooding the interwebs. Attempting to create a definitive “best of” list is as futile as trying to limit the ways in which Vivek Ramaswamy is annoying.
But that’s not to say it isn’t fun and/or useful to seek out “favorite” album lists at a time when context and discerning taste are in short supply. On a personal level, it’s surreal that I’ve put together a list for publication every year since 2001 — initially for CityBeat, followed by several years for The Village Voice’s now-defunct Pazz & Jop critics poll and more recently for the also now-defunct Uproxx poll. With that in mind, here are my 10 favorite albums of 2025 (in alphabetical order), a few of which could drop out in favor of a dozen more (possibly even the new Geese record) depending on mood, day of the week or the latest Bengals debacle.
Alex G — Headlights
Alex Giannascoli is a tunesmith of the highest order. His Elliott Smith fetish is in full bloom on a set of intimate songs that revel in texture and mood. Some worried that his major-label debut might yield a compromise, but Headlights is as transportive as anything in the Philly native’s bountiful discography. Things crest early with the sweetly swaying “Real Thing,” the jaunty, mandolin-driven “Afterlife” and the slow-burning “Beam Me Up,” which finds Alex in rare autobiographical mode: “Some things I do for love/Some things I do for money/It ain’t like I don’t want it/It ain’t like I’m above it.”
The Beths — Straight Line Was a Lie
Straight Line Was a Lie contains wistful, hook-laden power pop driven by an ample rhythm section and crafty, intertwining guitars. New Zealand-based singer, guitarist and lyricist Elizabeth Stokes digs deep through introspective ruminations about a lack of joy, best laid plans and this heartfelt plea: “Mother, don’t cry for me/I have done enough injury/I wanted to hurt you for the hurt you made in me.”
Deafheaven — Lonely People with Power
Stanley Kubrick would love these guys — Deafheaven’s “blackgaze” offerings conjure epic cinematic vistas. I wrote this in 2018 about the San Francisco fivesome’s newly released Ordinary Corrupt Human Love: “Yet another immersive experience, more than an hour of dynamic soundscaping that deftly moves from corrosive guitar riffage and jackhammer drumming to pensive, piano-laced atmospherics, often within the same song.” Well, here we are again, complete with an album title that can’t help but nod to the sad creatures currently wielding power.
Hannah Frances — Nested in Tangles
Unpredictability runs through Nested in Tangles’ mixture of folk, jazz and progressive ambient music. Compositional U-turns appear out of nowhere, altering moods as if a sunny day has gone dark. Frances’ versatile voice (think a less grandiose version of Joanna Newsom) and guitar work shift from the highly technical to free form, resulting in an evocative, sometimes elusive set of songs from a performer who seems like she could go anywhere.
Momma — Welcome to My Blue Sky
Where have you heard this before?: Wistful, hook-laden power pop driven by an ample rhythm section and crafty, intertwining guitars. Brooklyn-based singers, guitarists, lyricists and best buds Etta Friedman and Allegra Weingarten dig deep through introspective ruminations about lust, broken relationships and this observation: “My dad is getting older/Got a lot on his cold shoulder/Their world is getting smaller/But they did it all for their younger daughter.”
Nourished by Time — The Passionate Ones
Marcus Elliot Brown (aka Nourished by Time) brings a refreshingly earth-bound approach to his lo-fi R&B and pop tunes. The Baltimore native’s sophomore LP exists on its own wavelength, as if early Prince and a scrappier version of Blue Nile collaborated on songs both lovelorn and politically astute. Choice, emblematic admission from “Idiot in the Park”: “Everybody’s out there protecting their heart/I need a love that leaves a scar.”
Stereolab — Instant Holograms on Metal Film
It’s as if they never went away. The Euro institution — led by onetime couple/songwriting duo Tim Gane and Laetitia Sadier — returns with their first new album in 15 years, 13 songs in nearly an hour with nary a dud in tow. While not as adventurous as their 1990s peak, it’s reassuring to find the familiar ingredients — hypnotic, krautrockian grooves and oblique, politico lyrics sung with sweetness — are as tasty as ever.
Jeff Tweedy — Twilight Override
Warm and inviting, this is the best thing Tweedy has been a part of since at least Wilco’s Sky Blue Sky. A world-building triple record consisting of 30 songs that range from the rip-roaring “Lou Reed Was My Babysitter” to “Parking Lot,” a desolate spoken-word tone poem that is somehow among the most affecting things this tireless artist has yet conjured.
Wednesday — Bleeds
Creative head-honcho/singer Karly Hartzman continues to refine Wednesday’s ramshackle aesthetic over time, just as her personal relationship with bandmate MJ Lenderman took a turn — the duo’s romantic breakup couldn’t help but influence Bleeds. The North Carolina outfit’s sixth studio album is sleeker but no less visceral, carried by Hartzman’s vivid storytelling and unorthodox vocal delivery. Multiple tunes here recall early Pavement crossed with The Mekons, twang-injected gems that transcend that description.
Billy Woods — Golliwog
I saw Billy Woods at what ended up being the final Pitchfork Music Festival in 2024, a low-key but penetrating performance anchored by his winding wordplay and Kenny Segal’s slow-motion beats. Golliwog is even darker than usual — the sound of a 47-year-old man coming to terms with his country’s ongoing corruption and complicity. Cue the addictive, guest-aided “BLK XMAS,” which is simultaneously alarming and amusing, the aural equivalent of a fascinating nightmare.