Tamar Berk

Favorites of 2025: Tamar Berk – ‘ocd’

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Why Tamar Berk deserves your attention

Tamar Berk is one of those rare musical talents who not only pour raw emotion into her songs but also writes, records, and produces them herself — forging a sound world that’s intensely personal, lo-fi‑grounded, and vivid. On her new 2025 album ocd, she delivers what many consider her most ambitious and emotionally immersive work yet: a reverb-soaked journey into looping thoughts, obsessions, and the restless inner life.

Raised on classical piano and early Disney soundtracks, Berk eventually gravitated toward influences like The Beatles, David Bowie, Liz Phair, and Elliott Smith — a mix that shaped her instinct for melody, emotional catharsis, and lyrical truth. What she makes now, though, is something singular: indie rock and dream‑pop fused with DIY grit, emotional honesty, and the courage to bare her inner world.

In what follows, I want to explore Tamar Berk’s strengths as a musician — her multi-instrumentalism, her knack for mood and texture — and how on ocd she channels overthinking, vulnerability, and occasional panic into songs that feel like listening to someone thinking aloud.

Multi‑layered musician: instruments, production & power of solo control

One of the most striking aspects of Tamar Berk’s work is how much of it she controls herself. On ocd, she handles not only vocals and songwriting but also guitars, piano, synths, Wurlitzer, organ, bass, strings, programming, percussion — often layering sounds to produce something both intimate and richly textured.

That DIY ethos gives her music a special honesty. Because she’s involved in nearly every aspect, nothing feels over-polished or disingenuous — the distortions, reverb, and ambient murkiness all serve the truth of her emotional landscape. The result: a sound that lingers, unsettles, and stays with you.

In musical terms, that means ocd isn’t strictly an indie‑pop or alt‑rock album. It’s more like a fever dream — alternately noisy and delicate, sometimes urgent, sometimes hazy. The instrumentation shifts fluidly: thick, fuzzy guitars and sparse, somber piano; ghostly synths and grounded bass; literal sonic loops echoing the mental loops the lyrics describe.

At times, Berk leans into distortion and echo to evoke disorientation; at others, she strips things down to nothing but light keys, soft vocals, and a sense of fragile introspection. That dynamic — the back‑and‑forth between chaos and calm — is exactly what gives ocd its power.

Lyrical honesty: overthinking, mental spirals, and the beauty inside the mess

If the music gives you the frame, the lyrics are the beating heart of ocd. This is an album that wears its anxieties on its sleeve — about obsession, memory, identity, self-doubt, longing, and the loops of anxiety and overthinking. As Berk puts it, she called the album ocd because she “lives in loops. I overthink everything. But this record helped me make a little bit of beautiful sense out of that.”

The lead single ‘Stay Close By’ sets the tone for the album: dreamy guitars and soft vocals weave around lyrics of indecision, longing, and inertia — “I don’t know why I can’t reply on time, or can’t make up my mind,” she sings. The result feels like a confession whispered in a quiet room: vulnerable, real, and ache-filled.

But not all of ocd wallows plaintively. The title track ocd itself confronts mental spirals head‑on, repeating lines like “I got OCD … over and over and over,” rendering the relentlessness of intrusive thoughts in musical form: looping, dizzying, claustrophobic.

Elsewhere, Berk’s songwriting explores memory, regret, longing, and desire for escape — or at least some kind of emotional catharsis. The songs move between bleak introspection and moments of fragile hope, capturing that tension many of us live with: the part that fears and ruminates, and the part that still wants connection, meaning, or release. As one summary puts it, ocd “invites listeners into her inner thoughts” — messy, complicated, yet somehow familiar and human.

A sonic and emotional arc: ocd as a map of inner turbulence

What makes ocd compelling — and perhaps unique in the indie scene this year — is how well its musical and lyrical elements align to create an overall arc: it feels less like a collection of songs and more like a single, immersive experience. Berk seems to want to draw listeners into her mind, step by step, track by track.

The album shifts between dream‑pop haze and rock‑tinged fervor, between introspective hush and emotional outburst. That dynamic — of contrast and layering — mirrors the experience of anxiety, overthinking, and identity searching. On one track you might be floating in soft guitars and wistful melodies; on the next you’re confronting distortion, repetition, and confessional urgency.

That tonal range reflects the alternation many of us know well: memory and regret, hope and despair, the attempt to control thoughts and the surrender when it becomes too much. In that sense, ocd isn’t just music — it’s a kind of emotional landscape, felt in sound as much as in words.

Importantly, Berk doesn’t pretend to provide tidy resolutions. Her voice doesn’t promise that overthinking will end, or that clarity will come. Instead, she offers catharsis, empathy, and solidarity — a map for all the tangled thoughts, the dark nights, the loops. It’s messy. It’s real. But it’s shared.

Why ocd matters as growth

For longtime followers of Tamar Berk, ocd may feel familiar in some ways: there are still fuzzy guitars, melodic hooks, and a DIY spirit. But this album marks a new level of ambition and vulnerability. As one review noted, this is her “most personal and intense work yet.”

Her growth is obvious — not just as a songwriter, but as a producer and composer. The fact that she plays multiple instruments, layers them herself, and co-produces the record gives ocd a cohesiveness and authenticity that few albums achieve. The emotional weight doesn’t come across as polished or packaged — it feels lived, raw, and human.

Moreover, at a time when mental health, overthinking, and the pressures of modern life feel increasingly pervasive, ocd offers something rare: a mirror that’s honest but compassionate. It doesn’t romanticize anxiety; it doesn’t idealize healing. It simply says: this is what it feels like. And maybe that’s enough — maybe that kind of honesty is exactly what art should do.

In that sense, Tamar Berk isn’t just writing songs — she’s doing what few musicians do: giving voice to inner chaos, shaping it into melody and texture, and inviting you to sit with it all. ocd isn’t easy listening. It’s hard, sometimes disquieting. But it’s real. And in its messy honesty lies its power.

Final thoughts: Tamar Berk as a voice for the over‑thinkers, the dreamers, the stranded

There’s a long tradition in music of turning pain into beauty, chaos into catharsis — but few artists do it with as much rawness, intimacy, and creative control as Tamar Berk. On ocd, she doesn’t just invite you in: she opens the door, hands you something fragile, and says, “this is what it feels like.”

That willingness to expose uncertainty, loops of thought, doubt — is an act of bravery. And as a listener, you’re not just a spectator: you become a companion in the spirals. Maybe you don’t walk out with answers. But you walk out with somewhere to begin.

If you’ve ever felt your thoughts spin too fast, if you’ve ever felt stuck in loops of regret or longing — ocd is for you. And even if you haven’t, this record might just show you what you never knew you could feel so deeply: the strange beauty of overthinking — and the power of turning it into art.

Give it a listen. Turn the lights down. And let Tamar Berk lead you through the loops.

What is it that drives the feel in indie music?

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Indie music unites us because it thrives on authenticity, creativity, and emotional honesty. Unlike heavily commercialized tracks, it often reflects personal stories, experimentation, and unique perspectives that feel relatable. Fans connect through shared emotions—heartbreak, joy, longing, or defiance—finding meaning in sounds and lyrics that resonate with their own lives. The community around indie music also matters: attending shows, sharing discoveries, and supporting artists fosters a sense of belonging, where people celebrate individuality while feeling part of something bigger.

The Beths’ Best Laid Plans exemplifies the power of rhythm and groove in creating an irresistible musical experience. At its core, the song is anchored by tight, punchy percussion and a driving bassline that create both energy and momentum. This rhythmic foundation gives the track a sense of forward motion, allowing the melody and vocals to shine while the listener is physically engaged—tapping toes, nodding heads, or even dancing along. The combination of percussive precision and melodic bass makes the song feel immediate and alive, illustrating how the “feel” of a song is just as important as its harmonic or lyrical content.

This attention to rhythm and groove is a hallmark of many artists across indie and alternative music. Tamar Berk, for instance, uses nuanced percussion to build layers of tension and release in her music, creating songs that feel both intimate and expansive. Bird Streets similarly blends melodic hooks with a driving rhythm section, demonstrating how bass and drums can define a track’s emotional pulse. Guided By Voices, with their lo-fi yet meticulously arranged recordings, often showcase how a tight rhythm section can make even a chaotic-sounding song feel cohesive and infectious. The Connells and The Cords similarly emphasize song craft, where the music propels the storytelling and emotional impact.

Meanwhile, vocalists like Kim Ware and her effort, The Good Graces, highlight the interplay between rhythm and vocal delivery. In Kim’s songs, the percussive drive and melodic bassline not only support the vocal narrative but enhance the emotional resonance, creating moments of release and catharsis that linger with the listener. Just as The Beths use rhythm to energize Best Laid Plans, these artists leverage bass and percussion to make the music physically and emotionally engaging, proving that the “feel” of a song—its groove, drive, and momentum—is a central component of its power.

Ultimately, what unites these artists is a deep understanding of how guitar, percussion, bass, and overall feel can transform a song from a static composition into a living, breathing experience. From The Beths’ infectious grooves to Bird Streets’ emotive rhythms, from Guided By Voices’ lo-fi magic to Kim Ware’s soulful pulse, these musicians remind us that feel, texture and rhythm are not just accompaniment—it’s a force that connects listeners, moves bodies, and conveys emotions that words alone cannot capture.

Video of The Day: Tamar Berk – Chicago

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“CHICAGO” OR: HOW TAMAR BERK FOUND A MIRAGE IN THE MIDDLE OF A DYING DREAM

So there I was, chin-deep in a bowl of Frosted Flakes, when “Chicago” dropped through the ceiling like a sigh you forgot you were holding for thirty years. I was reviewing music and videos for YTAA when Tamar Berk, that sparkle-voiced assassin of suburban malaise, spins up something here that’s not quite a love letter, not quite a breakup note, sort of a tear stained note to her hometown. Or perhaps it is something more like a sonic postcard from the corner of hope and loss.

The song opens with this gauzy, aching shimmer—guitars jangling like they’re trying to remember what joy used to feel like. And Berk’s voice—wow, that voice—it floats in like an old Polaroid burned around the edges. It’s part Liz Phair, part Aimee Mann, and all that unnamable ache you get when you realize your childhood bedroom is now a guestroom with beige walls.

“Chicago” is about the place, sure, but also not. It’s about your Chicago—whatever town you left and keep returning to in your heart. Tamar doesn’t sing to the city as much as she sings through it, like she’s tunneling under Wicker Park and digging up old mixtapes and unread diaries. There’s a part where she sings, “It’s not that bad, it’s just sometimes I get so sad,” and if that doesn’t make you want to cry into your last CTA transfer, you’re probably already lost to us.

And the video! God. It’s a melancholic fever dream dipped in filters, grainy and glorious. We see Tamar playing the song, but the video also wanders through neighborhoods, streets, and venues that used to be the places she played in the past. Those places have a hold on us, a feverish dream of what was and isn’t where we are now, but has become inescapably a part of our identity. She doesn’t posture, doesn’t play cute—she just exists, like a memory you can’t delete, even though the file’s corrupted. There’s a stoic poetry to it all, like she’s auditioning for a role in the past and already knows she’s gonna get the part.

What Berk manages to do here—somehow, miraculously—is take nostalgia, which is usually just a cheap phony thought, and make it ache honest. “Chicago” is not some gimmick about going home; it’s a reckoning. It’s the realization that going back doesn’t fix anything, but you keep doing it anyway because sometimes ghosts are better company than strangers.

In the end, this song isn’t about Chicago. It’s about you. Me. All of us who traded in magic for rent payments, who look at our hometown skylines and see a mausoleum instead of a monument. Tamar Berk nailed that feeling to the wall like a love letter returned unopened. And for that, I thank her.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go cry in a parking lot outside a now-defunct Denny’s.

A YTAA Partial List of Album Favorites of 2024

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In 2024, the whole idea of picking a “favorite” album has become a weird, near-impossible task. The rise of streaming and electronic releases means thousands of songs and records are loaded onto streaming services. While the music industry continues a myopic focus on a handful of pre-selected artists, even if one is focused on a particular genre, thousands of records are still released annually. So, consider this essay part 1 of a process.

You can’t even hear every album released in a year, let alone listen to it enough to form an attachment. We’re swimming in so many options, flooded with algorithms, data-driven playlists, and music on demand, it’s like trying to spot a needle in a haystack of needles. Is it even possible to have a favorite anymore, or has music become like fast food – consumed and forgotten as quickly as you can hit “skip”?

The sheer volume of albums released across every genre is staggering. Every week feels like a new universe of sound waiting to be explored, each project just another entry in an endless scroll. And even if you could sit down and spend the time with each record, there’s no guarantee it would even stick—music’s lifespan has shrunk. It’s not about being obsessed with one album anymore; it’s about how quickly you can absorb the next wave of songs that everyone is talking about.

Then there’s the issue of context. How do you even judge music anymore when the experience is so fragmented? You might be listening on headphones while juggling a dozen other things, or streaming on a platform that throws random playlists at you every day. Did you even listen to that album, or did it just buzz in the background while you were doomscrolling on Twitter? The very act of consuming music has become disjointed, superficial, almost disposable. And that’s not even to mention how every album is now fighting for attention in a hyper-competitive marketplace, where an artist’s moment of cultural relevance can be over before the album’s out of the top 50.

So yeah, picking a favorite in 2024? It’s almost like picking your favorite slice of sand. In a world where every track is a click away, music’s becoming more about the journey than the destination. It’s not about finding one album that speaks to you; it’s about surviving the endless flood of everything else.

And with that major caveat and due diligence, I still want to share some albums that did resonate with me. Sharing a list of your favorite albums from the year is a declaration of your personal battle with the noise, a way of saying, “This is what mattered to me in this overwhelming, chaotic universe of music.” It’s not about being a gatekeeper or playing curator; it’s about creating a map of your own emotional and sonic landscape. In a world where we’re buried under an avalanche of new releases, these lists are worthy lifelines. They cut through the static and say, “Here, this is what survived, what made the trip worth it.” Because music, like life, needs to be seen and shared. Sure, it’s idiosyncratic and deeply personal, but it is not worthless. It is like one side of an argument, this may mean something to some others who agree but it is still one perspective to be considered. Not truth. Make a case and perhaps other music listeners agree with you and some do not. This is why we prefer the term ‘favorites’ and not ‘Best of.’

So, here we go in no particular order:

Waxahatchee – Tigers Blood

Waxahatchee’s Tigers Blood is at the top of my favorites for the year. A record that feels like a masterclass in songwriting, crafting lyrics, and confessional yet accessible songs. Tigers Blood is an emotionally fierce, raw, and unapologetically beautiful record that feels like the sound of someone finding their own fire again, rising out of the ashes, and realizing they’ve got the guts to burn everything down in the process. Yet maybe what is needed is awareness not anger. From the moment the opening track hits, you know this isn’t some soft, introspective folk record—it’s an album of reckoning, self-discovery, and picking apart the ugly truths you’ve been avoiding from yourself. Katie Crutchfield doesn’t just sing on Tigers Blood—she exhales her soul into every line, every chord, every heartbreaking note that shines with authenticity as powerful as the slide of her compelling and unapologetic accent.

The album pulses with an energy that is somehow both tender and vicious, each track pulling you deeper into her world. Crutchfield’s voice is sharp (when she wants it to be) but vulnerable, cutting through the thick haze of instruments, notably acoustic and electric guitars, piano, and steady drums with a rawness that feels earned, not forced. There’s this magnificent tension between the fragility of the lyrics and the power in the music itself—a constant push-pull between moments of delicate reflection and damn catchy hook-laden catharsis. It’s the sound of someone who has been through the fire and come out the other side not unscathed, but stronger and more alive.

Songs like “3 Sisters”, “Crowbar”, “Bored” and “Right Back to It” (featuring MJ Lenderman) carry this weight of yearning and anger, but with such a beautiful clarity that you can’t help but feel every emotion bubbling up and spilling over. There’s no hiding behind metaphors here—Crutchfield is direct, honest, and relentless. She sings about heartbreak, self-doubt, and the aftermath of it all, but somehow there’s a catharsis in it all, a feeling of release.

Tiger’s Blood is an album of quiet explosions—each song a declaration, a confession, and a battle all rolled into one. The build is worthwhile, the entire time. It’s one of those records that grabs you by the throat, makes you confront your own demons, and leaves you standing on the other side, a little bruised but more whole for it.

Nada Surf – Moon Mirror

Nada Surf’s Moon Mirror is the kind of record that saunters up to you and says ‘Hi There!’ It is an album that wraps itself around your heart before you even know what hit you. It’s a masterclass in rock and roll architecture, sophisticated wordplay, and emotional subtlety, the kind of album that doesn’t need to shout to get your attention, but instead pulls you in with its perfect rock and roll musicianship and depth. This is a band that has spent decades honing their craft, and on Moon Mirror, they capture that perfect balance between indie rock, melancholic pop, and the kind of songwriting that feels true, like it’s been tested by time, pain, and triumph.

From the opening track, it’s clear that Nada Surf isn’t interested in playing the same game everyone else is. There’s a maturity to these songs, a knowing, a sense that they’ve weathered the storm and are now walking through the wreckage with open eyes. The guitars shimmer with an effortless grace, and the drums pulse with a steady, comforting rhythm, like the beat of your own heart when you’ve found peace after the chaos. But it’s Matthew Caws’ voice that really carries the weight here—his delivery is just so damn soothing, yet tinged with enough ache to make you feel every word.

Moon Mirror is full of songs that feel like they’ve been plucked from some kind of twilight zone, the space between dreams and waking. Tracks like “Second Skin”, “In Front of Me Now” and “Losing” are perfect examples of Nada Surf’s ability to create this expansive, emotional atmosphere. It’s not just about big hooks or electrifying guitar solos; it’s about crafting a moment that resonates, a feeling that sticks with you. These are songs that speak to the quiet, fleeting moments of life—the ones that linger in your memory long after they’ve passed — ensconced in the shimmer of power pop.

This isn’t just an album; it’s a world unto itself, and if you let it, Moon Mirror will pull you in and never let go. In an era of disposable music, this is a record that demands your full attention, and damn if it doesn’t make every second of it feel worth it.

The Umbrellas – Fairweather Friend

The Umbrellas’ Fairweather Friend is the sound of youth burned into a perfect snapshot—like the morning sun casting long shadows over an endless summer, yet tinged with the inevitable nostalgia that follows every great moment. There’s an aching sweetness to this album, a bittersweetness that’s as infectious as it is melancholic. The guitars jangle like they’ve been plucked from an old indie rock treasure chest, the kind of sound that drips with influences but never feels like a rip-off. They know their history, but they’re not here to mimic it—they’re here to breathe new life into it, to put their own mark on a genre that’s so often stuck in its own past.

From the first song, you know you’re in for something special. The Umbrellas take the jangly guitar pop we all know and love and mix it with a sense of unpretentious joy. There’s an immediacy in the way the songs unfold, a rush of energy that carries through every riff and melody. But beneath the surface is something deeper—a sense of longing, of impermanence, of trying to make sense of fleeting moments that always seem to slip away just as you’re getting a grip on them.

The band isn’t trying to reinvent the wheel, but they do something far more valuable: they remind you of the feeling that first made you fall in love with music in the first place. Songs like “Three Cheers!”, “Games” and “Goodbye” are drenched in that pure pop perfection, mixing upbeat tempos with lyrics that reflect the uncertainty of relationships, youth, and the fragility of it all. The energy is unmistakable, but it’s also undercut with that quiet sense of resignation that makes Fairweather Friend hit all the harder. The Umbrellas don’t need to be loud, they just need to be honest, and in doing so, they’ve crafted one of the year’s most memorable records.

Jr. Juggernaut – Another Big Explosion

Jr. Juggernault’s Another Big Explosion is the kind of record that punches you in the gut and makes you grateful for the bruises. It’s raw, ferocious, and doesn’t give a damn about rules or your delicate sensibilities. This isn’t about slick production or polished hooks—it’s about chaos, energy, and soul-scorching urgency. The guitars are jagged, the drums are a goddamn wrecking ball, and Juggernault’s vocals howl like a man/men possessed. The is a great guitar record. And we sure could use more of those. Every track feels like it’s on the verge of completely falling apart, but that’s the magic. This is music that doesn’t ask for your attention; it demands it. And you give it.

Palm Ghosts – Facades

Palm Ghosts’ Facades is a glorious, hypnotic propulsive attack of an album that makes you feel both like you’re drifting through a dream and stumbling through the wreckage of something you can’t quite recall. This album, a combination of EPs is a declaration. It’s like the band took everything that was ever great about post-punk, new wave, and shoegaze and smashed it all together, yet somehow came out sounding fresh, urgent, and dangerously alive. The shimmering guitars and languid basslines swirl in and out, creating this thick, intoxicating atmosphere that makes you want to dive deeper into the murk but also leaves you gasping for air.

The vocals are equal parts ethereal and gritty—softly crooning, yet laden with desperation. They balance somewhere between hope and despair, almost like the singer is talking you down from the edge of a nervous breakdown. And just when you think you’ve pinned the band down, Facades hits you with a groove that’s suddenly danceable, only to drag you back into darker waters. It’s a record that doesn’t do anything easy, and that’s what makes it remarkable. Palm Ghosts know their sound isn’t for everyone (even thought it really should be), but damn if they don’t craft an atmosphere so immersive you feel it in your bones. This isn’t just music—it’s an experience.

The Cure – Songs of A Lost World

Some returns are so welcome, and so anticipated that you cannot possibly measure up to the hype. And then there are those come-back records that remind you why you fell in love with the band in the first place. The Cure’s Songs of a Lost World is a revelation—a reminder that even in a world of endless streaming playlists, some bands can still shake you to your core with the kind of haunting melancholy that only they can conjure. It’s not just another nostalgia trip for the goth kids of the ‘80s; it’s something deeper, darker, and far more timeless. This record pulses with a yearning that hits like a gut punch. It’s a meditation on loss, on the passage of time, on the things that slip through your fingers and vanish into the ether.

Robert Smith’s voice is still as fragile and aching as ever, but now there’s a weariness, a quiet resignation that adds layers to every lyric. The guitars shimmer and wail in that unmistakable Cure way, but there’s an undercurrent of menace here—songs that start as sweet, glistening reflections of sorrow but unravel into something far more unsettling. The rhythms lurch and sway, dragging you through every emotional twist and turn. What makes Songs of a Lost World so vital is its refusal to rest on past laurels. It’s a record that doesn’t scream for attention but instead invites you in, all while leaving you with that delicious, bittersweet ache. It’s the Cure at their finest, and it’s still damn intoxicating.

Wussy – Cincinnati, Ohio

Wussy’s Cincinnati, Ohio is the kind of record you want to keep in your back pocket, the one you pull out at 2 a.m. when the world’s spinning just a little too fast and you need something to ground you. The album is rough around the edges, but that’s what makes it so damn beautiful. It’s that perfect mix of grit and heartache that’s become the secret weapon in the indie rock arsenal, and Wussy have honed it into something that sounds like both an escape and a homecoming.

From the opening track, you’re hit with a sound that’s immediately familiar and completely original. There’s a certain timelessness to it, a blend of alt-country, grunge, and that unmistakable Midwestern soul. It’s the sound of a band who’s spent years working through their demons and now, finally, have the scars to show for it.

The songwriting is what elevates Cincinnati, Ohio from good to great. Each track feels like it’s been lived in, like the band has been inside these stories, these struggles, for years. Whether it’s the punchy guitars or the way the vocals intertwine—especially the male-female harmonies—it all just clicks into place. Wussy doesn’t rely on bombast or big hooks; they know that sometimes, the most powerful moments come in the quiet, in the spaces between the noise.

This isn’t a record you just listen to; it’s a record you feel. It’s the sound of a band that’s found its voice and isn’t afraid to let it crack, shout, or whisper its way through every song. Wussy’s Cincinnati, Ohio is an honest, unpretentious masterpiece, and in 2024, that’s worth celebrating.

Tamar Berk – Good Times for a Change

Tamar Berk’s Good Times for a Change is one of those albums that hits in just the right way. Berk has released some of the finest indie rock records of the past few years. If there was any justice in the musical world, her talent would be recognized and celebrated by all. Yeah, that might read like hyperbole but go listen to Berk’s last few records and you will know it to be true. Good Times for a Change is indie rock at its finest—meaningful, emotionally vulnerable, and raw, yet unflinchingly melodic. Berk’s latest record is simply overflowing the brim with a kind of honesty that feels like a breath of fresh air in a world of hollow, algorithmic pop. From the opening chords, Berk grabs you and doesn’t let go. The guitars vibrate with just the right amount of fuzz, the drums crash with a sense of urgency, and Berk’s voice—oh, that voice—sounds like she’s been singing for years in dim-lit rooms full of cigarette smoke and spilled beer. It’s full of heartache, but there’s a joy in it, too, like finding solace in a song after the world’s been unkind.

The album’s title is perfect because this is an album about change—change in yourself, in the world, in relationships—and it hits that balance of hopefulness and disillusionment that so many fail at. Tracks like “Good Impression” and “Artful Dodger” are power pop rock confessionals, but they’re not angry—they’re just real. Berk doesn’t pretend to have all the answers, but she knows exactly how to channel confusion, frustration, and moments of fleeting joy into something visceral and unforgettable. There’s no grandiose pretension here, just songs that feel like they matter.

What’s so remarkable about Good Times for a Change is how effortlessly it sneaks under your skin. It’s the kind of record that becomes your companion through sleepless nights, the soundtrack to your own quiet rebellion. Tamar Berk doesn’t need to shout to make a statement—she’s already made it with every note. This is an album that sticks the landing.

American Werewolf Academy – Beyond Lost Days

American Werewolf Academy’s Beyond Lost Days is a record that howls at the moon and drags you right along with it. It’s messy, it’s urgent, it’s every bit the cathartic ride you didn’t know you needed. From the first crashing chords, you know this isn’t going to be some polished indie affair—it’s the raw energy of a band that’s living in the music, not just playing it. The guitars rip with an intensity that borders on unhinged, yet every track carries this feeling of control—like they’ve found a way to channel their chaos into something purposefully beautiful.

The vocals are an attack, somewhere between a howl of frustration and a cry for freedom. There’s a defiance in every word, and you can’t help but get swept up in it. The rhythm section pounds away, relentless, like it’s pushing against something bigger, something unknowable. And the lyrics? Well, they don’t come easy, but they’re worth deciphering. Beyond Lost Days is a record about searching, about finding meaning in a world that seems to run on autopilot.

What makes this album so gripping is its honesty. It’s not afraid to be ugly, but somehow, that’s where its beauty lies. American Werewolf Academy doesn’t just play rock music—they live it, and they make you feel every second. This is a record that demands attention, and damn if it doesn’t deserve it.

Jeremy Porter – Dynamite Alley

Jeremy Porter’s Dynamite Alley is the kind of album that grabs you by the collar and says, “Wake up!” It’s a swaggering, heart-on-sleeve dose of Americana-infused rock ‘n’ roll that doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not—there’s no smoke and mirrors here, just straight-ahead songs about life, love, and the endless grind. It’s gritty, it’s raw, and it’s as real as the grease under your fingernails after a long day of work. Porter isn’t out to impress you with fancy tricks or studio wizardry. No, he’s here to kick your ass with songs that feel like they’ve been lived in, songs that make you remember what it’s like to feel alive.

The album opens with a bang, a combination of dirty guitar riffs and that unmistakable punk-meets-Americana energy. Porter’s voice—rough around the edges but smooth enough to catch your ear—sells every word with a sense of urgency. Tracks like “Big Spender” and “I Don’t Want to Break Your Heart” burst with an energy that’s impossible to ignore. It’s the kind of music you want to hear blaring from the jukebox in a smoky dive bar, the kind that makes you want to crack open a beer and sing along.

But don’t mistake this for self-indulgent country or down-on-your-luck rock and roll. There’s depth here. Dynamite Alley is about reckoning with your mistakes, growing up, and facing down the tough times. It’s not just a collection of songs—it’s an experience, one that you don’t just listen to, you live it. Jeremy Porter proves here that sometimes the simplest rock ‘n’ roll is the most enduring. This album is a hell of a ride.

Assistant – Certain Memories

Assistant’s Certain Memories is the kind of album that feels like a revelation, not because it’s flashy or groundbreaking, but because it’s honest in a way that most bands can’t even imagine. This is a record that grabs you by the heart and gives it a good shake. From the first track, you’re thrown into a landscape of wistful reflection and emotional complexity. The guitars shimmer like fading stars, the drums pulse like a heartbeat, and the vocals—oh man, the vocals—are a raw, aching reminder that music is about feeling, not just technique.

There’s a subtle tension in these songs, like the whole album is held together by the thin thread of memory. Assistant doesn’t need to throw a bunch of noise at you to make you feel something. Instead, they build these slow-burning, intricate soundscapes that stick with you long after the last note fades. Tracks like “My Phone Began to Ring” and “Overwhelming” reveal a band not interested in grand gestures, but in those quiet, fleeting moments that make up a life. This isn’t an album for the casual listener—this is the kind of record that demands your full attention, the kind you put on when you need to work through something when you need to connect with your own memories.

What makes Certain Memories so powerful is its emotional restraint. It’s a meditation on loss, time, and those little moments you can never quite forget. It’s the sound of a band that isn’t trying to impress you—they’re just trying to make you feel the pain and the hurt that we surround ourselves with and try not to drown in it. And in that, Assistant has succeeded in a way most albums can’t touch.

mxmtoon – Liminal Space

mxmtoon’s Liminal Space is a haunting record, the kind of album that creeps up on you with its delicate, almost fragile beauty, yet has a resonance that lingers long after the final track fades. The thing about this album is that it doesn’t scream for attention—it whispers and invites you into its world. You can almost hear the vulnerability in every note, the raw honesty in every lyric, as if mxmtoon is letting you peek behind the curtain of her mind, one soft melody at a time. It’s both an exploration of the self and an attempt to make sense of the chaos surrounding us.

There’s a certain melancholy that pervades Liminal Space, but it’s not the kind that crushes you. Instead, it’s the kind of melancholy that comforts you, that makes you feel like you’re not alone in your own internal mess. The production is minimal but powerful—simple arrangements that leave plenty of space for her voice to shine through. mxmtoon doesn’t need to rely on fancy effects or flashy instrumentation; her voice is a raw, unfiltered force that captures every bit of the longing, the doubt, and the quiet hope that infuses these songs with a whisper.

Tracks like “dramatic escape” and “passenger side” feel like whispered confessions, full of wonder and insecurity, like she’s trying to make sense of this strange, liminal phase she’s in. The whole album is a journey through a transitional space, where you’re not quite sure who you are or where you’re going, but you know that, somehow, the act of going through it matters.

Liminal Space isn’t just an album; it’s an invitation to sit with your feelings, to lean into the uncertainty. And in a world that moves too fast, that’s something we could all use more of.

Some favorite re-releases

Re-releases—yeah, they’re a cash grab for labels, but every so often, one comes along that makes you realize why we ever needed the song file, the vinyl, cassettes, or CDs in the first place. These aren’t just remasters; they’re time capsules that blast you into the past, forcing you to reckon with that pure, unfiltered emotional chaos you felt the first time you heard a record that changed your life. Take a great album, throw in unreleased tracks, remixes, liner notes, and a couple of live performances, and you’re not just hearing it again—you’re hearing more of it, from angles you never thought about before.

Think about it: Exile on Main St. with its dusty bonus cuts, or an album like Electric Ladyland, which becomes a new experience every time you dive into the bonus material. Those “special editions” that seem like a cash grab end up being roadmaps to understanding an album’s true genius. They’re not just nostalgia—they’re revelations, shedding light on the songs you thought you knew and making you hear them in a way that makes them feel like they never left.

Yeah, re-releases can be a racket. But when they’re done right, they turn a record you’ve played a thousand times into something new, something worth loving all over again. And sometimes, that’s exactly what you need. For me, there were a few very special re-releases in 2024 that I want to talk about.

The English Beat – Special Beat Service

The re-release of Special Beat Service is one of those glorious moments where nostalgia and revelation collide. The English Beat’s 1982 album has always been an overlooked gem in the ska-pop universe, and this expanded edition digs deep into the soul of a record that deserved more attention back then—and deserves even more now. Sure, it’s easy to dismiss them as part of the second wave of ska, lumping them in with the whole “Two-Tone” movement, but Special Beat Service is far more than just catchy hooks and horn sections. It’s a perfect snapshot of a band that could juggle upbeat, infectious rhythms with political edge and heartfelt sincerity, all without ever sounding too serious or smug.

The bonus tracks here are the real treat: unreleased demos, live cuts, and extended mixes that shed light on the studio experimentation that went into making this album tick. You hear the rawness, the groove, the soul in these outtakes, and you realize how much was left on the cutting room floor. But even the main tracks still feel fresh, urgent, and timeless. The mix of ska, punk, and new wave is an infectious cocktail of joy, and this re-release proves that the English Beat wasn’t just another band—they were a moment and that deserves to be remembered.

The Tragically Hip – Up To Here

The Tragically Hip’s Up To Here re-release is a full celebration of the raw, unfiltered power this band unleashed on an unsuspecting world in 1989. Let’s not kid ourselves—Up To Here isn’t just a debut album; it’s a statement. It’s one of those records that captures the spirit of a time and place but also transcends it with something deeply, hauntingly human. The Hip were never just another alt-rock band—they were Canada’s answer to what it means to feel rock ‘n’ roll in your bones.

The re-release pulls you back into the band’s early magic, with live tracks, demos, and studio outtakes that show how raw the whole thing really was. Sure, the band eventually became Canada’s band, but here, on Up To Here, you can hear them just on the cusp, still hungry, still working out who they were. Gord Downie’s voice is pure fire—gritty, passionate, and more alive than a lot of the bands that were hyped up in the same era. The way he intertwines cryptic storytelling with rock swagger is unmatched.

What makes this re-release so glorious is how it reminds you that Up To Here isn’t just nostalgia; it’s essential. The Hip’s spirit is still alive, and this record proves they were always ahead of the curve.

Thanks for reading!

Alright, if you’ve stuck with me this long, I owe you a drink—or at least a fist bump. I know I’ve thrown a lot of words your way, maybe too many, but that’s the thing with music: it demands the kind of attention that doesn’t always come easy. So, if you’ve waded through all this, through the ranting and the raving, through the digressions and the moments of pure, unbridled nonsense, I salute you. We’re all just trying to make sense of the chaos, and hell, sometimes it takes a little longer to get there. Thanks for hanging in. More thoughts on favorite albums and songs from this year are coming your way soon.

Full YTAA Faves of 2024 Show on Mixcloud!

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Every year, like clockwork, the music world implodes into its annual rite of passage: the “Best of” lists. It doesn’t matter whether we need them or not. We could all be listening to something that absolutely shreds, some obscure record that deserves reverence. Still, here we are, obsessing over arbitrary rankings, as if these lists will unlock some divine, objective truth. It is as if, somehow, this tiny, self-appointed cult of critics, bloggers, and tastemakers can distill the whole sprawling mess of 365 days of music into neat little categories that tell you what was really good.

It’s a bit comical, really. These lists are nothing more than trendy cultural currency, an exercise in opinion policing. As if, come December, we all need some authority to tell us what albums we should have liked. Sure, there are some gems in those Top 10s, some records that hit like a lightning bolt, that maybe wouldn’t have been discovered without the almighty guidance of Pitchfork or Rolling Stone. But let’s not kid ourselves – the list itself is a product, a marketing tool, another algorithm feeding on your desire for validation. The music may be real, but the rankings? Please.

Every December, the ritual plays out like a predictable drama: the same predictable indie hits, the same half-baked arguments, the same flavor-of-the-month that gets hyped until the world collectively shrugs and moves on. It’s all just noise. And yet, we devour it like it’s gospel, eagerly waiting for the validation that maybe, just maybe, our choices are “correct.” But here’s the thing: music is personal. These lists? They’re just noise. It’s time we recognize them for what they are: empty, meaningless packaging for a world that’s forgotten how to just listen.

And with all that said, we do an annual show featuring several hours of bands, musicians, songs and albums that impressed the hell out of us. But not going to make some silly rank order, just a bunch of songs that we thought were incredible. So, yeah if this is a bit speaking from both sides of the mouth, so be it.

Our YTAA Faves of 2024 show includes music from many excellent musicians, such as Tamar Berk, Wussy, Palm Ghosts, Nada Surf, Waxahatchee, MJ Lenderman, JD McPherson, Jeremy Porter, Former Champ, Jason Benefield, J. Robins, Dreamjacket, David Payne, Bad Bad Hats, Bike Routes, Brian Wells, The Campbell Apartment, Amy Rigby, The Armoires, Librarians With Hickeys, Bottlecap Mountain, Liv, The Popravinas, The Nautical Theme, Smug Brothers, The Cure, The Reds, Pinks & Purples, The Umbreallas, Nick Kizirnis, Guided By Voices, and The English Beat and The Tragically Hip re-releases.

So, if this is just another end-of-the-year ritual that nobody needs but everybody wants, then maybe it is worthwhile as a way to share some of the music that deserves to be heard.

Video of The Day: Tamar Berk – That’s Not a Lie

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Tamar Berk’s latest song, “That’s Not a Lie,” from her recent excellent album Good Times for a Change, dives deep and explores the critical themes of honesty and vulnerability within relationships (and in an expansive canvas not simply romantic connections) and addresses a central question about how ready are we for the vulnerability that all relationships require. Consider how much are we willing to risk? Are we prepared for rejection? For appearing to be the fool — or foolish — in the face of striving to say what we feel directly and honestly.

The song is front and center on the uncomfortable truths people often face, exploring the complexity of admitting past mistakes and accepting one’s limits and flaws. Because we all have flaws even when we do not want to accept them. They stay with us, with every breath, every moment. Set against a rock and roll dynamic soundscape of driving electric guitar and drums, Berk’s emotive vocals convey and evoke both rawness, presence, and nostalgia, adding to the song’s emotional depth from the first note that she sings. This track carries an introspective tone, as Berk reflects on personal accountability, the challenges of openness, and the power of self-acceptance within partnerships.

The music video complements these themes by adopting a playful retro, almost interrogative visual style that feels present around us. It’s as though Berk is confronting herself, embodying the intense self-reflection that characterizes the song — she is doing the work. In her lyrics, she addresses a tension between the desire for honesty and the fear of vulnerability, a feeling that resonates across the album. Vulnerability is a recurring theme in her work reaching back to Starball, tying into her broader artistic exploration of personal growth and relationships. Berk wants to make music that means something and while this is not an after-school special kind of false sentimentality but a real discussion on the heart and the challenge of being gentle and risky with one’s heart. Precarity is a necessary condition of any connection.

We are fans of Berk’s earlier music and notice her brilliant mix of introspection and compelling indie-rock, dare we say ‘wall of sound.’ The song’s production style easily draws comparisons to ’90s rock influences, with a pitch pure effective blend of rock authenticity and modern polish. Ultimately, “That’s Not a Lie” stands out as a powerful statement within Berk’s ever-expanding and captivating discography, capturing her unique ability to weave personal narratives into relatable and engaging music​ that matters.

Video of The Day: Tamar Berk – Permanent Vacation

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Musician Tamar Berk is a gifted, meaningful songwriter who has a rare talent to craft songs that hit with an undeniable power. She is able to weave deeply personal narratives that remain honest statements of life, loss, grief, joy and everything across that continuum. Evocative songs, such as ‘Permanent Vacation’ possess a unique ability to stir deep emotions and create a lasting impact on listeners. Sonic compositions like ‘Permanent Vacation’ often go beyond the surface, tapping into the realms of nostalgia, love, melancholy, or even inspiration. They have the power to transport individuals to specific moments in their lives or trigger a range of emotions that resonate on a personal level. And while writing about deep subjects with an unflinching approach, the music swings and swirls. Tamar Berk’s music is catchy, driving and undeniably captivating. This is one of the reasons that Berk’s 2023 album ‘Tiny Injuries’ was one of our favorite records of last year.

One defining characteristic of evocative songs is their ability to convey a narrative or a mood through a combination of powerful lyrics and emotive melodies. The lyrics may tell a compelling story, exploring themes of love, heartbreak, resilience, or social issues. Simultaneously, the music complements these themes, enhancing the emotional experience and leaving a lasting impression on the listener. Tamar Berk excels at shining a light on these experiences.

These songs often become timeless classics, transcending cultural and generational boundaries. Tamar Berk is an artist who excels in creating evocative songs are adept at capturing the essence of the human experience, translating complex emotions into a musical language that resonates universally. Whether it’s the haunting vocals or the dynamic arrangement, ‘Permanent Vacation’ is a song that possess an undeniable allure that goes beyond mere entertainment. However, the video for ‘Permanent Vacation’ possesses a sense of fun that highlights the friction between powerful statement and the need to move beyond the weights we carry and the burdens that hold us down.

Listeners often connect with evocative songs on a personal level, finding solace, inspiration, or understanding in the music. The power of these songs lies in their ability to mirror the diverse facets of the human condition, offering a sense of companionship and shared experience. They remind us that we are not alone. How we feel matters. What we feel matters.

‘Permanent Vacation’ is an example of an evocative and damn catchy song that shares the common thread of leaving a profound impact while creating a lasting emotional resonance that extends far beyond the duration of the song itself. It is alright to need a break.

Faves of 2023: Tamar Berk – Tiny Injuries

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Tamar Berk has made songs with a passionate and uncompromising melodic twist since the mid-90s in Chicago-based Starball. Her first solo record was released in 2021, the excellent “Restless Dreams of Youth.” Then a year later following the passing of her father she released the deeply personal and passionate “Start at the End.” This year she shared another impressive record, “Tiny Injuries” which holds a sonic roadmap of vulnerability and resilience. In the realm of musical exploration, where artists often delve into the complex tapestry of human emotions, Tamar Berk emerges as a distinctive voice. This captivating collection of tracks serves as a testament to Berk’s prowess as a singer, arranger, and songwriter. Tamar is more than a tripled threat –she contributes to this record across vocals, backing vocals, guitars, bass, piano, synth, organ, percussion, and even strings. She demonstrates over and over again her ability to weave intricate narratives through her music while the melodies and arrangements make every song accessible, and just damn catchy.

The album kicks off with the Cheap Trick like “if u know, u Know,” setting the tone for the introspection yet resilient journey that unfolds. Berk’s breathy vocals, accompanied by keyboards, guitar, percussion, drums draw the listener into a contemplative yet rocking song space. The lyrics may unfurl like fragile threads themselves, delicately explore the vulnerability that is an intrinsic part of the human experience wrapped in a direct rock and roll embrace. Who doesn’t want to dance around the room to your feelings?

Transitioning seamlessly into “sunday driving,” Berk showcases her versatility, incorporating classic rock and roll soundscapes that create a recognizable experience that rips out the heart while creating an imminently danceable track. The track resonates with a sense of driving away from your problems, as if the listener is wandering through the echoes of their own thoughts while driving “Three thousand miles away.” But, of course, you can drive as long and as far as you want but there is always the return to our problems, our work, our challenges the next day. The melodies and poetic lyrics invite introspection while you find yourself swaying to the infectious chorus making the song a standout piece on the album.

The third song on the record marks a hauntingly beautiful, “what’s become of me, my friend,” where desperation, desolation, and exhaustion reach a fever pitch where tears cannot come and the problems are inescapable to the point where the narrator no longer recognizes themself: “What has become of me, my friend.” The need for a break, a day of fun is not forthcoming. Again, you can drive away, you can go, you can try once more to get away but all that is left is personal writing of a desperate email that is never sent. As the song builds – the incidental piano that swirls before the bridge and the release of emotion and the song does not end with a whimper but an explosion. The crash of the cymbals, the pounding of the piano, strumming of a guitar merges into the voice and drums crying out by the end.

As the album progresses, “permanent vacation” introduces a dynamic sonic palate. The rhythmic pulse of percussion and the interplay of electric guitars add a layer of intensity. Berk’s vocals, now imbued with a raw emotion, carry the weight of shattered reflections and fractured memories. The song builds to a powerful crescendo, leaving an indelible mark on the listener. The inclusion of some trumpet only adds dimension to a brilliant song.

The beautiful “cash out” swings with an almost waltz like rhythm that encircles the listener. Perhaps acknowledging that no book, no self help guru can solve the problems that someone is feeling. We all eventually succumb to the wait of what we carry. And coming to terms with that fact is real understanding. The next song, “drop in the bucket,” feels as if the writer has pulled themselves up and dusted off and walked back into the fray. The keyboards create arpeggios of anxiety that heighten the tension of the song. Berk’s layering of her vocals creates harmonies that are inescapable, we may feel like we have to keep going but we do not have to like it or enjoy it. Berk’s exploration of sonic textures and unconventional arrangements adds a layer of intrigue throughout but especially on “i was saved by the beauty in the world” and “’til i get home.”

The song “1997,” serves as the heart of the album. Berk’s songwriting prowess takes center stage, crafting a narrative that explores the resilience found in life’s smallest wounds. The delicate balance of vulnerability and strength is artfully portrayed, creating a poignant anthem for those who navigate the complexities of existence within an unavoidably catchy rock and roll arrangement.

Consistently throughout the record, the lyrics, like breathy ephemeral whispered truths, float through the air, inviting the listener to decipher their just slightly hidden meanings. This departure from conventional structures showcases Berk’s willingness to push boundaries and venture into uncharted musical territories within rock and roll.

Closing with the introspective “if i could fix one thing,” Berk brings the album full circle. The minimalist arrangement and introspective lyrics create a sense of catharsis, as if the listener has traveled through the shadows of their own emotions and emerged on the other side. It’s a reflective conclusion to a musical journey that leaves a lasting impression.

“Tiny Injuries” marks a significant evolution in Tamar Berk’s artistic expression. Drawing on influences from folk, indie, rock, spoken word, and ambient genres, Berk crafts a unique sonic palette that defies easy categorization. The album’s production, marked by its atmospheric elements mixed with classic rock and roll guitar, powerful drumming and percussion and nuanced instrumentation, reflects a meticulous attention to detail.

Berk’s lyrical prowess is equally commendable, drawing inspiration from the human experience and the intricacies of relationships, goals, connections to one another both passionate and frayed. The themes of vulnerability, resilience, and self-discovery resonate throughout the album, creating a cohesive narrative that unfolds with each passing track. The album benefits from a stellar production, with notable contributions from all of the musicians – each instrument, each note is given the space and interconnection it needs to fully flourish. The attention to sonic detail is evident, with each instrument finding its place in the mix, creating a lush and immersive listening experience.

Collaborations with musicians add another layer of depth to the album. Standout performances from instrumentalists bring a dynamic quality to the tracks, enhancing the emotional resonance of Berk’s compositions. The synergy between Berk and her collaborators is palpable, resulting in a cohesive and polished sonic offering.

On her third solo record “Tiny Injuries,” Tamar Berk invites listeners on a transformative journey through the complexities of the human experience. The album’s strength lies in its ability to balance vulnerability with resilience, creating a nuanced portrayal of life’s intricate tapestry. Berk’s evocative lyrics, coupled with her almost ethereal vocals and inventive musical arrangements, establish her as a formidable force and for all of these reasons, and perhaps more, this is one of our favorite records of 2023.

As “Tiny Injuries” resonates through the speakers, it leaves an indelible mark on the listener’s soul. Berk’s ability to navigate the delicate nuances of emotion with authenticity and grace elevates this album to a place of musical transcendence. In a world saturated with sound, Tamar Berk’s “Tiny Injuries” stands as a beautiful example to the enduring power of art to touch the heart and soul — and in those most painful, most vulnerable moments remind us that we are not alone.

Favorites of 2023: Just the List

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This time of the year every music writer’s fancy turns to the ubiquitous quest for the best of/favorites of the year. We start with a list of albums and singles we played on YTAA at least three or four times. Then we consider what songs and records slipped into our consciousness and we spent more time simply thinking about that song, that album — those words. If there is a pattern to what we loved in 2023, it is a bit hard to pin down. If we take a wild stab at an answer, 2023 was a year of amazing music from powerful, strong, thoughtful women musicians. From the incredible voice of Sarah Rudy in Hello June to the authenticity of Kim Ware and Van Plating across to the irresistible guitar tones and perfect singing of Tamar Berk, Blondshell, Beth Bombara, and Lydia Loveless, so many outstanding records were made outside of the men’s club this past year — and that is a welcome change.

Every writer, just like every music fan, has styles and sounds that they are irresistibly pulled towards. Clearly, Dr. J loves guitar. For some writers the list is likely to be diverse, reflecting a fusion of genres and innovative production techniques. And that is fine. With the continued influence of technology, some writers are drawn to artists who experimented with new sounds and collaborate across musical boundaries, creating a sonic outcome that resonates. For other writers, the search for a pure direct authenticity of instruments lead them to the streets where the music is painted without electronics. Acoustic and stripped down arrangements played on traditional equipment bring gratitude to the heavens for that music from some writers.

When crafting a list of favorites from the year, some writers will consider representation. Genres such as indie pop, electronic, and hip-hop may continue to dominate, with emerging artists bringing fresh perspectives and pushing creative boundaries. Collaborations between mainstream and indie artists could lead to unexpected yet captivating musical experiences. Shoegaze, for example, has made many returns after some commentators spilled tremendous amounts of ink over the idea that shoegaze had come and gone. Music in the year 2023 saw several bands who represented that style.

Lyrically, many of the themes explored in 2023 revolve around social issues, personal growth, feeling whatever the artist needs or desires to feel, perhaps some of the “Best” representations for the year are the songs that grab and do not let go of the human experience. Artists may use their platforms to address pressing matters, providing listeners with thought-provoking content that goes beyond mere entertainment and that might be the magic that some writers are drawn to when considering all the records and songs that came out during one trip around the sun.

There are some ‘off limits,’ ‘don’t walk on the grass’ ideas for us here at Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative. Sure, the rise of virtual and augmented reality experiences may revolutionize the way music is consumed, offering immersive and interactive performances that redefine the traditional concert experience. But for us, human beings need to be part of the creation and experience of music. Streaming platforms might incorporate cutting-edge technologies to enhance the listener’s engagement with the music and while we can and should debate the lack of compensation, which is only going to get more challenging in 2024, AI generated melodies, tones, and arrangements of notes are not considered for inclusion on our favorites of the past year.

The best albums of 2023 could be those that not only showcase exceptional musical talent but also tell compelling stories or provide a unique perspective on the world. Artists who successfully blend innovation with authenticity may find themselves at the forefront of critical acclaim and commercial success and, to be entirely transparent, will immediate draw our attention for a favorites of the year.

Ultimately, the best music of 2023 will likely be a subjective experience, as individual tastes vary widely. However, it is important to consider this a reflective exercise. Every year is poised to be an exciting time for music enthusiasts, with a plethora of sounds and styles to explore, pushing the boundaries of what we thought possible in the world of music. Every year is full of promise. No annual march of the calendar is without merit and new experiences. So, to create a list of the music that moved you in 2023, is not to close the door to new auditory love but to remember we break our hearts so we can fall in love again with songs and albums we have not even heard yet.

The list below is our start on our favorites from this past year. A longer set of articles will come out exploring what it was that caught our attention in these albums and songs.

Favorite record for us in 2023:

Hello June – Artifacts

You can read our review of this fantastic record!

This music transcends time and place, resonating with listeners in their quest for meaning and understanding. The lyrics serve as a mirror, reflecting the innermost thoughts and emotions that often remain unspoken. Hello June’s “Artifacts” is a sonic masterpiece — and we are prepared to die on that hill to defend that assertion — that deserves a place in the hearts of all music fans. It is a timeless record that captures the essence of the human experience, a treasure chest of emotions waiting to be discovered with each listen. 

In no particular order of importance but records that we believe were mightily impressive:

The 1984 Draft – Best Friends Forever

The Replacements – Tim Let It Bleed Edition (Ed Stasium Mix)

Tamar Berk – Tiny Injuries

Smug Brothers – In The Book of Bad Ideas

Elephants and Stars – Get Your Own Army

The Nautical Theme – Get Somewhere

Palm Ghosts – I Love You, Burn in Hell

Van Plating – Orange Blossom Child

Lydia Loveless – Nothing is Gonna Stand In My Way Again

Kim Ware – Homely

Bottlecap Mountain – O Fantastik Melancholy

Beth Bombara – It All Goes Up

Nicholas Johnson – Shady Pines Vol. 2

The Pretty Flowers – A Company Sleeve

The Connells – Ring (Deluxe Edition)

Black Belt Eagle Scout – The Land, The Water, The Sky

Blondshell – Blondshell

Achilles Tenderloin – Tincture for Trouble

Mike Bankhead – I Am Experienced

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit – Weathervanes

Some of our Favorites of 2023:

Arthur Alexander – …Steppin’ Out!

Mommy – Be Your Own Pet

Frankie Rose – Love as Projection

Cold Expectations – Static Reactions

Connections – Cool Change

The Connells – Set The Stage

Dolph Chaney – Mug

En Attendant Anna – Principia

Graham Parker & The Golden Tops – Last Chance to Learn the Twist

Guided By Voices – Nowhere to Go But Up/Welshpool Frillies

H.C. McEntire – Every Acre

Jess Williamson – Time Ain’t Accidental

John P. Strohm – Ready for Nothing

Jphono1 – Invisible Futures and Make Believe Pasts

Louise Post – Sleepwalker

Love Rat – Howl at the Moon

Matt Moran – Heartache Kid (Acoustic)

The Radio Field – Don’ts and Do’s

Shannon Clark & The Sugar – This Old World

Special Friend – Selkie

Tino and DJ Marrrtin – La Pie Bavarde

Trapper Schoepp – Siren Songs

Singles

No One Sphere – Fingerz to Lips

Elephants and Stars – Bled Out At The Scene

David Payne – Best Intentions

We Met In Paris – Mont Blanc Massif

The National – Eucalyptus

sparkle_jets uk – He’s Coming Out

The Well Wishers – So Important

Tod Weidner – Raising Pain

Mike Bankhead – Latent

Given Names – Makin’ Eyes

Cowboys in The Campfire – Here We Go Again

Teenage Fanclub – Foreign Land

Hannah Jadagu – Lose

High on Stress – Over-Thru

Jeremy Porter and the Tucos – Five-Foot-Three and Tiger Eyes

Tyler Childers – Rustin’ in the Rain

Kurt Lee Wheeler – We Will Travel

Honorable Mentions

Yo La Tengo – This Stupid World

Amber Hargett – Coal Mine Canary

Brainiac – The Predator Nominate EP

Quiet Signals – Quiet Signals

Video of The Day: Tamar Berk – Shadow Clues

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Tamar Berk’s “Shadow Clues” from her record “Tiny Injuries” is a haunting brilliant masterpiece that weaves a tapestry of emotions with each delicate note and evocative lyric. Much like a detective searching for hidden truths, Berk’s songwriting skillfully unravels the complexities of the human experience, leaving listeners mesmerized and introspective.

From the very first chords, “Shadow Clues” cast a spell, drawing you into its ethereal lightless world. Is it dark because of our choices, the slow realization that we can only hold back the long night for so long? Berk’s voice, a rich and emotive instrument in its own right, resonates with a raw vulnerability that feels like a whispered confession in the dead of night. Berk’s singing evokes Rebecca Gates. Her phrasing and delivery are reminiscent of great music storytellers, yet there’s a contemporary edge that makes the song uniquely her own. The slow build of the song encapsulates the twists and turns of both discovery and disconnection.

The lyrics of “Shadow Clues” are a masterclass in epic storytelling. Berk paints vivid images with her words, offering glimpses into a shadowy world of secrets that linger in both delicate exploration and uncertainty. Consider lines like:

"Because all that you learned was a solid stare
And a stiff upper lip and a handshake grip
And a deadpan expression with a frigid touch
Unresponsive to the needles that stab you so much"

These lyrics evoke a sense of mystery and intrigue, while the chorus’s refrain of “You know I never know
What you’re feeling, Look for the shadow clues, On the ceiling” carries a sense of longing, fear, and nostalgia that is impossible to ignore. Yet you want to know what is being felt. But you can’t. Is this a song about losing someone we care about and watching them fade away from us when all we want is to see the life run back into their face, their hands, their spirit? It feels that way.

The arrangement of the song is equally captivating. The instrumentation is sparse and building, allowing Berk’s voice to take center stage, but every instrument is carefully chosen and expertly played. The haunting, almost cinematic quality of the music complements the lyrical themes, creating an atmosphere of suspense and melancholy that lingers long after the song fades.

In “Tiny Injuries,” Tamar Berk has crafted an album that explores the complexities of love, loss, and self-discovery through pain, and “Shadow Clues” stands out as a standout track that encapsulates the album’s emotional depth. It’s a song that demands repeated listens, revealing new layers of meaning and nuance with each playthrough.

“Shadow Clues” by Tamar Berk is a song that deserves to be celebrated and dissected, a beautiful piece of art that speaks to the human condition with honesty and grace. It’s a reminder of the power of music to touch the soul and stir the heart, and Tamar Berk is undoubtedly an artist more than capable of weaving a landscape of distance and closeness in unison. And this song catches in your throat like the effort to suppress a cry that traveled through you and within great distance in order to be released.

Tamar Berk Interview

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Dr. J spoke with Tamar Berk in the evening on Wednesday, May 11, 2022 for Your Tuesday Afternoon Alternative. Tamar spoke about the powerful new record Start at The End, her music career, songwriting and her approach to recording and producing her music.

Tamar shared some compelling insights as a songwriter in this interview! Anyone interested in the subject should explore her thoughts on the subject. Tamar was honest and remarkably introspective about how pain can be transformed into art through music. It was a real pleasure to speak with her about the music that she has made in her various music projects (Starball, Countdown, Pynnacles and Paradise to name a few). And it was a singular joy to talk to her about the exciting music that she has made in the past few years under her own name with The Restless Dreams of Youth (2021) and Start At The End (2022).

If you do not know these records, we highly recommend that you explore them. Tamar’s songs evokes The Spinanes/Rebecca Gates and Liz Phair but the musical space she surveys does not end there. She uses a variety of musical ideas to create a sound that paints with a rich pallet of color and texture. The music is infectious, passionate, personal and introspective in an adventure that leads the listener into a communal rather than singular experience. Start At The End is one of our favorite records of the year!

You can listen to Tamar’s music anywhere you stream but we recommend buying her excellent music at Bandcamp!

You can contact Tamar through her social media https://twitter.com/TamarBerk

Youtube

Instagram.com

For a complete list of her social media and music: https://ffm.bio/tamarberkmusic