Do you still listen to albums?
In this era of iTunes and YouTube and Spotify, records have lost some of the prominence that they once enjoyed. Songs are usually appreciated in isolation, randomly shuffled, suggested by algorithms, or compiled into playlists with tunes by a variety of artists. These new listening styles have their perks. We’re busy people, busier than ever before, and sometimes a few upbeat background tracks are all we need. Additionally, there’s so much great music at our fingertips, just waiting to be explored. With all these options, all this potential for surprise and discovery, why limit ourselves to a single piece of work by a single artist?
It’s a valid question. Throughout high school and college, I curated all my music in playlists. This practice exposed me to many singers and songwriters whose music I still enjoy today. However, in recent years, I’ve found myself gravitating toward albums, either listening through entire projects online or picking out stacks of CDs from my local library (yes, I’m that guy). After working my way through hundreds and hundreds of albums, I’ve grown to love the album as an art form, to appreciate what a well-crafted record can be. Like a great novel or film, which draws power from its scenes or chapters but isn’t reducible to them, the whole of a masterful album is greater than the sum of its songs. There’s a unique beauty in cohesiveness – in the connections between disparate lyrics that unfold themselves over time, in the way one tune flows into the next, in the mood or overarching narrative that binds tracks together. Sure, it takes time and patience to explore a record front-to-back. Not all albums reward the effort (looking at you, Album #4). But over and over again, I’ve found the experience of thoughtfully attending to longer musical works to be an enlivening and enriching one.
So, without any further ado, here are my reviews of seven albums that I listened through for the first time this summer – some celebratory, some critical, and all fun to write about. It’s been quite a year for music, and there’s lots of interesting stuff to talk about. Let’s get to it!
1. Brat by Charlie XCX
My score: 3 stars
Brat summer, anyone? I really enjoyed my first experience of listening through Charlie XCX’s sixth studio album, which is currently the highest-rated record of 2024. I’ve never been a huge fan of dance music (and not just because I can’t dance to save my life), but the unique blend of electropop that Charlie and her producers have served up is infectious, shot through with blistering beats and a dizzying array of sonic flourishes. Just when you think you’ve caught a song’s wave, it turns on a dime, heading in an entirely new direction.
Those things said, I’ve found that this one sags a bit on re-listen, particularly due to the weakness of Charlie’s lyrics. Dance tunes aren’t usually known for their profundity, but Charlie delves beneath the surface here, offering up vulnerable reflections on love, family, fame, and self-image. Unfortunately, lackluster writing can make it harder to empathize with those sentiments. For me, Brat didn’t live up to the hype (which, in fairness, has been massive). But the album’s still a banger from front to back, well worth a summertime spin.
Favorite Track: “Sympathy is a Knife,” because that bass and percussion slap so hard.
#2. Hit Me Hard and Soft by Billie Eilish
My score: 3 and 1/2 stars
The opening track of Billie Eilish’s third album contains these stunning lines:
People say I look happy
Just because I got skinny
But the old me is still me and maybe the real me
And I think she’s pretty
Right there, folks, are the sharp songwriting and soul-baring honesty that have made this young artist a global icon. I’m a big fan of Billie and her brother, Finneas, who has co-written and produced all his sister’s records. The duo has already scaled astounding heights: ten Grammys, two Academy Awards, and counting! Hit Me Hard and Soft isn’t their best work (that title goes to their dark and brooding debut masterpiece, When We All Fall Asleep, Where Do We Go?), but it’s still a groundbreaking album, one that adds new hues to their consistently colorful musical palette (an apt metaphor, as these siblings share the unique gift of synesthesia). Surprises lurk throughout. Mournful ballads and eerie confessions transfigure themselves without warning, morphing into orchestral detours, walls of synthesizer chords, and driving dance beats. What will these wunderkinds do next? Hard to say. If they keep innovating like they have been, the sky’s the limit.
Favorite Track: “Lunch,” because it’s a witty, delightfully irreverent love song, and I can’t get enough of that old-school lead guitar.
#3. Stick Season by Noah Kahan
My score: 4 stars
I love so much about this album: its vivid sense of place, its unflinching self-examination, and its catchy folk-rock vibe, to name a few. Eager for inspiration, Kahan returned to his childhood home in New England, re-immersing himself in the joys and heartache that accompanied his journey to adulthood. It was clearly a painful process. Time may have passed, but not all of Kahan’s scars have healed. Yet, as bitter as the weather that menaces his hometown may be, he still approaches that fraught place with grace and love, seeking above all to remember and understand.
Kahan’s stories hum with authenticity. Like any skilled writer, he knows the value of “Show, don’t tell,” and he employs that technique admirably here. The melodies on Stick Season‘s songs might be fairly predictable, but let me assure you that they also lend themselves to passionate belting on long car rides. Looking up Kahan on Wikipedia after my first listen, I stared at his list of musical inspirations: Hozier, Counting Crows, Paul Simon, Mumford and Sons. No wonder he’s such an honest and gifted songwriter.
Favorite song: “Stick Season,” because Kahan’s lyricism is achingly precise.
#4. The Tortured Poets Department by Taylor Swift
My score: 1 and 1/2 stars
Ah, yes. Album #4. Here we are. When I reflect on this gargantuan double album, which smashed a bunch of records and ignited a frenzy of internet debate, the word that keeps coming back to me is “juvenile.” Let me explain.
Last year, my wife and I listened through all of Taylor Swift’s albums. We also listened to commentary on each album, trying to dig deeper into Taylor’s stories and songs. The experiment deepened my appreciation for her songwriting chops and her cultural influence. I’m no Swiftie, but I can understand why Taylor’s music has resonated with so many people, and I’ve enjoyed several of her records (Red, 1989, and Lover, especially).
Which is why I found The Tortured Poets Department so disheartening. Taylor has a massive platform, and she’s admired by so many people (including many of my 4th, 5th, and 6th grade students). At this point in her career, as she approaches middle age, you would hope that her songwriting would have matured, too, delving into new lyrical territory, sharing hard-won lessons, and setting an example for youngsters to follow. Sadly, that simply isn’t the case. More than anything, the songs on Taylor’s eleventh album bear a striking (and unflattering) resemblance to teenage poetry. It isn’t just that the lyrics feel haphazard and underdeveloped (The title of a recent New York Times‘ review is telling: “On ‘The Tortured Poets Department,’ Taylor Swift Could Use an Editor”); they’re also incredibly petty. Rightly or wrongly, Taylor has long been criticized for elevating herself by dragging her exes and enemies through the mud. On The Tortured Poets Department, she leans into that tendency wholesale, alternately spilling tea, bragging about her power, wallowing in perceived injustices, and castigating those who’ve broken her heart. Is there a time and place for such songs? Absolutely. But Taylor has covered this ground before, over and over again, and it’s getting really old (at least for this writer). If you’re looking for thoughtful, mature introspection here, you aren’t going to find it.
Add to all that the lack of musical inspiration (the beats on these songs sound like they were lifted straight from the same retro synthesizer catalog) and Taylor’s unwillingness to share the Billboard charts with younger artists (see Anthony Fantano’s YouTube video “Taylor Swift is Petty” for more details), and there’s not a lot going for this record beyond its commercial success, in my humble opinion. Hopefully, Taylor can try something new with her next project, but it’ll be a hard sell for me moving forward.
Favorite Track: “I Can Do It With a Broken Heart,” because the chorus has a pretty cool beat, and… yeah, that’s about it.
#5. Cowboy Carter by Beyoncé
My score: 3 and 1/2 stars
Is this album the landmark reinvention of American country music that many people think it is? I’m not convinced. Is it a super fun and musically inventive listen? You betcha. Beyoncé’s Southern homecoming straddles a wide variety of genres, incorporating folk, rap, hip-hop, flamenco, and even opera (check out her gorgeous rendition of “Caro Mio Ben” on the song “Daughter”). Her goal is a noble one – to spotlight the invaluable (and oft neglected) contributions of black musicians to country music – and she hits it out of the park. I came way late to the Queen B’s party, but I’m so glad I finally showed up. Cowboy Carter might not reach the sonic and lyrical heights of Beyoncé 2016 masterpiece, Lemonade, but it’s another stellar entry in a hugely influential catalog.
Favorite Track: “II Most Wanted,” because (to quote YouTuber HT Haze) someone oughta give Beyoncé and Miley the award for “Best Duet of 2024” right now.
#6. If This Is the End by Noah Gundersen
My score: 4 and 1/2 stars
Have you ever encountered a song or album that felt like a message in a bottle handwritten for you? If This Is The End was that kind of album for me this summer. I discovered Gundersen through his 2009 song “Jesus, Jesus,” which is still the most poignant song about religious doubt that I’ve ever heard. I listened to Ledges and Carry the Ghost, enjoying the first and struggling with the second, but I wasn’t prepared for the transparency and artistry of Gundersen’s most recent project.
In song after song, Gundersen channels his longings and regrets with breathtaking immediacy. His phrasing is straightforward, complemented by tasteful instrumentation that beckons you into his stories. Yet the simple lyrics are freighted with meaning, layers and layers of it. They nail that elusive balance: general enough to resonate widely, specific enough to seem tactile and real. I can’t relate to Gundersen’s meditations on the perils of fame, but there are dozens of moments on this album that struck a chord with me. On If This Is the End, we witness a talented artist taking stock of his journey, making peace with his failures, and passing on wisdom to whoever cares to listen. Gundersen and Taylor Swift are the same age, and she could learn a few things from this under-appreciated indie songwriter.
Favorite Track: “Everything Is New,” because of Gundersen’s vocals, the wondrously evocative string arrangement, and the gentle reassurance I needed this year.
#7. Ghosteen by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
My score: 5 stars
Where on earth to begin?
On July 14, 2015, singer-songwriter Nick Cave was notified that his 15-year-old son, Arthur, had taken LSD and fallen to his death from a cliff near the family’s home in Brighton, England. For decades, Cave had been renowned as a pioneer of aggressive post-punk and gothic rock. In the aftermath of his son’s death, Cave’s music underwent a dramatic transformation, one that reflected a seismic shift in his posture toward the world. His recent book, Faith, Hope, and Carnage, recounts that journey. And his 2019 album Ghosteen puts it to music.
I checked out Ghosteen after hearing that it was the best-reviewed album of the 2010s, tied with Kendrick Lamar’s To Pimp a Butterfly (one of my all-time favorite records). On a whim, I downloaded the album from Apple Music, put on my headphones, and went for a run. I had no idea what to expect, and I couldn’t have prepared myself for what I heard. Ghosteen is first and foremost an expression of profound, unimaginable grief. Cave has described the album as a kind of seance – an attempt to communicate with his son beyond the grave and to receive absolution for his own shortcomings as a father. The album’s cover reflects its lyrics, which are chock-full of mythic, fantastical imagery – kings and queens, fiery horses, flying ships, stairways to the sky, black trees, dragons in the sea. This fairytale tapestry becomes a language that Cave can use to make sense of his sorrow, broken occasionally by vivid images of mundane family life – Cave’s wife at the kitchen table right before the tragic news arrived, the hotel stay where Cave’s son was conceived, drives to the sea in the wake of Arthur’s death. As he expresses his loss and longing, inviting listeners along for the ride, Cave wrestles with God and finds solace in the unutterable mysteries of the human condition.
Despite its heavy subject matter, Ghosteen remains suffused with hope and light. Few works of art have filled me with so much wonder at my place in the cosmos, the fragile and fleeting glory of life on planet Earth. This, Cave suggests, is the antidote to our deepest sorrows – a turning outward, an opening up of the heart. His album eschews traditional melodies, rhythm, and song structures, opting instead for swelling, shimmering ambience that carries his words like ocean tides. On the song “Fireflies,” Cave sings, “We are photons released from a dying star / And I am here and you are where you are.” Listening to the music of Ghosteen, one can almost feel the breath of that interstellar transit, flickering like candlelight in the expanse.
Favorite Track: “Bright Horses,” because Cave grapples with nothing less than life’s biggest questions as he turns his sorrow into beauty.
Words for Wayfarers 