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.