Like a Grandma With a Peppermint: The Best Albums of 2023 (#82-41)
Veeze's Ganger would've been #83 I swear
Taj Mahal (Photo by Matt Sayles via Invision/AP)
82. Aesop Rock, Integrated Tech Solutions
One of those rap albums that’s a little long but lacking any obvious lags to cut. You can’t chop the Van Gogh meditation “On Failure” or the half-time “Living Curfew” that threatens to turn into an acid-house raver before instead revealing itself as the year’s 37th Billy Woods masterpiece. Almost every song has a synth riff that snaps like a turtle and rapping like a hyperactive hare even as the star nears 50. Best of all is the Silicon Valley-lampooning intro, which makes you wish he’d delve even further into pointed satire if he could sit still long enough to stick to a theme.
81. Withered Hand, How to Love
Nine of Dan Willson’s hookiest (not to be confused with Semisonic’s, though these would be some of his most in years, too), starting with a surprise tango leading into the more familiar “Crippled Love,” which should play well in season finales of not-quite-prestige shows I don’t watch. It’s not his fault that Waffle House has become a less esoteric locale in song. But ain’t it a bitch when an artist’s most “fun” album is the one that least resembles themselves in writing or performing? I’ve returned to his wobblier, more quotable “better” albums so seldom since he last checked in with 2014’s New Gods that what the hey. Maybe his best!
80. Iris DeMent, Workin’ on a World
Her best since she cosplayed both wife and wife-swapping with the late John Prine back in the ‘90s. “Goin’ Down to Sing in Texas” is so lively it can march to eight minutes naming states “where anyone can carry a gun” in the name of progressive justice because at 62 years old for 62 minutes she’s out of hiding “working on a world I may never see.” And because no one’s madder at racist Republican horseshit than Christians who actually do good, the fire in her belly and the spirit of the thing will carry you past the many slow moments, including the one where she sounds out “magnanimity” a few times.
79. Algiers, Shook
This is a band I’ve always wanted to enjoy more. And with each successive release they’re slowly mastering their own synthesis of dystopic fire-and-brimstone protest-gospel-rap-rock by upping the collectivism with the first of Billy Woods’ lengthy streak of 2023-stealing cameos along with Backxwash, Zack De La Rocha, et al. But somewhat akin to Run the Jewels, I measure this success by how much less exhausted I feel as their collective effort strips down to essentials rather than how much more enjoyment I’m gaining. This is their most satisfying, complete, and impactful record by miles. Now saw the hour-long thing in half.
78. Ratboys, The Window
While they might someday see the #46 spot on Pitchfork’s year-end Top 50, they haven’t broken out of the Stereogum Discord yet because they don’t have any shoegaze in them. With the Chris Walla stamp of approval they’re a bit archetypal in gen, not the Beths because they don’t have a star guitarist or tunes in that league. But they do have tunes with the variety I crave — check the nine-minute ‘70s jam “Black Earth, WI,” — even some star guitar bends on “It’s Alive!” (wait, do those count as shoegaze). The title song is one of the pandemic’s saddest. I think they’re further away from a masterpiece than the Discord does, but that’s no reason not to root for the young and clean.
77. Zach Bryan, Zach Bryan
I’ve been resisting the guy as a working-class hero alternative to sodden pricks like Morgan Wallen, unwitting fascists like Jason Aldean, and Russian eggs like Oliver Anthony. He broke through with a triple album and his fans shout every overweening word back to him like he’s putting on Dashboard Confessional’s MTV Unplugged episode nightly. And his voice is too achy-breaky for me, without enough band to mitigate. So to properly access this album, I think back to Bright Eyes of all people. He’s a better turner of phrases than Dashboard for sure; lovely closer is called “Oklahoman Son” because the full line is “You will always be Oklahoman, son.” Every song is tuneful, including the spoken-word starter, but especially his duets with Sierra Ferrell and the number-one hit with Kacey Musgraves I can enjoy easier knowing it didn’t sweep the Grammy noms. Now I’m even starting to wish it did.
76. Margo Price, Strays
Unlike, say, Stephen Malkmus (“Gardenia,” “Senator,” “Vanessa From Queens”), I don’t wish she would zero in on her concise pop side (“Radio,” “Time Machine,” or last album’s new-wave classic “Heartless Mind”) for an entire go-round. Those are knockout peaks on the mountain of her voice, which is also powerful and sweet enough to get lost in for the six-minute Americana epics I can’t abide from Ms. Del Rey. Or for that matter, Stephen Malkmus.
75. Spiritual Cramp, Spiritual Cramp
I don’t buy into the “hardcore is an ethos not a sound” thing but it’s cute and all. Of course I get that it’s commercially and personally preferable to comparing yourselves to Electric Six and Jet. “Herberts on Holiday” is even a good enough Elvis Costello song to go on Green Day’s Warning. But enough about them. “You’re always talkin’ on the Internet,” they rail. Well, yes.
74. Palehound, Eye on the Bat
Close-miked real talk with genuinely surprising guitar is all I ask from anyone with this much proximity to Speedy Ortiz.
73. bar italia, Tracey Denim
I’m down with what a.s.o. is doing, sure. Please bring back trip-hop, I would like more additions to my 30 favorite albums of all-time. But the Fader list toppers ultimately hew closer to chillout music than the sexually miserable slow-motion breakdowns proffered by Portishead, Maxinquaye, et al. This much drier London trio come closer to evoking that claustrophobic tension on the more close-miked and funky-drummed of their two 2023 full-lengths. Lest you start to think of the xx, all three of them sing/whisper/warn they don’t believe in heaven. So when I mistook one of Sam Fenton’s lines for “can you turn me on?” it hit me that what they’re doing is PJ Harvey’s Is This Desire? Which believe you me was better than most second-tier trip-hop albums.
72. Doja Cat, Scarlet
The post-fame self-destruct album being somewhat one of my specialties, this one’s doing funny numbers. Lil Uzi Vert’s number-one rainfall for the hiphop drought was a flood of fan goodwill; just notice how everything but the rock songs charted on the Hot 100, not even the System cover, but this bona fide (meme-launched, Grammy-winning) pop star with bars might actually save charting rap if the CEO Trayle stans will admit it. The first half of this scorched-earth smorgasbord honors 50 years of Roxanne Shanté by hating haters over sweet, sweet boom-bap (yes, “Wet Vagina,” but oh, “97”) and a good 25 years of Baduizm with the second act of woozy R&B hookier than Yachty’s — which makes two weirdos of yesteryear in this capsule I can’t believe I’m still talking about. Amala Dlamini is the one I can. I can also believe that all three aren’t too weird to spam the algorithm with too-long long-players.
71. Bailey Zimmerman, Religiously. The Album
I’m not hard to please, I swear. Just turn a phrase like “Fix’n to Break” and affix it to a well-harmonized tune and we’re square. Of course, stretching the word “ends” into a whole taffy-pulled arena-rock coda and buffing Moby’s Alan Lomax hit into a shredfest can bypass the requisite smarts; it’s not like Night Moves was so witty. This is basically a brainful and heartfelt Fuel album that occasionally transcends and rarely lapses. How’s that for religious?
70. The Feelies, Some Kinda Love: Performing the Music of the Velvet Underground
A few years ago, Haledon’s finest performed one of the all-time bullseyes — certainly up there with Olivia doing “You’re So Vain.” It’s so obvious it’s not even superfluous, and there’s still guitar nuances for them to unlock in not just “Run Run Run” and “I Can’t Stand It,” but “Sweet Jane.”
69. Low Cut Connie, Art Dealers
Full disclosure: My band’s first real shows were opening for my friend Adam Weiner and his ever-expanding company in their native Philly. Not that the New Yorker’s 2020 Pandemic Person of the Year needs my endorsement, when E. John, B. Springsteen, and B. Obama are three of his biggest fans. But Weiner’s commitment to utopian classic rock has transformed Low Cut Connie from the best bar band in the world to the best live act that you can see for under $50, period. I’d be lying if I said the studio versions of “Big Boy,” “Tell Me Something I Don’t Know,” “Are You Gonna Run?” and so forth were the best ones I heard this year. But continuing to fill his oeuvre with clever, muscular, empathetic albums is how a “song and dance man” survives to kill another show. And the Asbury-ready “King of the Jews” is how a classic rocker gets to claim no precedent when he juxtaposes “deep feeling for the rhythm and blues” with “motherfuckers got to pay their dues.”
68. Ice Spice, Like..? [EP] [Deluxe Edition]
News of this surprise drop sounded as lazy as her Barbie and Taylor contributions and Like…? was already a mite too unbothered for my midyear list, a slight, incomplete (where’s “Name of Love”!) catchall more cash-in than “EP” even if said singles were (like…?) iconic, I guess. So the real surprise is that most of what she dumped on top of the original tracklist that meant nothing to her anyway actually does build something resembling an album around “Gangsta Boo,” “Bikini Bottom,” “Munch,” et al.; “In Ha Mood” benefits from some foreplay from “Butterfly Ku” and “Deli.” And “How High?” is her most songlike creation to date even if it fades as suddenly as a Pet Sounds deep cut. But at a still-lean 24 minutes, why not further pad a cash-in with “Name of Love,” not to mention “Boy’s a Liar Pt. 2”? And even McLaren-era Bow Wow Wow wouldn’t have stooped to putting both mixes of “Princess Diana” back-to-back, er, BBL-to-BBL.
67. Purelink, Signs
Thing with ambient is, if you keep on gazing through the fog to try and make out the shape of what’s in front of you, you’re falling for it whether you think it’s less fully realized than Huerco S. or not. But as always, I do prefer their drum ‘n’ bass.
66. Taj Mahal, Savoy
Music that’s unquestionably richer if you have more sense of it than I do, maybe if your age is a bit closer to have been stompin’ at the Savoy ballroom than mine. I don’t really have a feel for Sinatra or “Baby It’s Cold Outside,” and couldn’t pick out the Louis Armstrong or Duke Ellington titles in a blind test; the selection I’m most familiar with is “Summertime.” But it sounds great, and this quite old material makes the 81-year-old vocalist sound rejuvenated, which is ultimately what these songbook things are supposed to do: Revive the living with injections from their youth.
65. Young Nudy, Gumbo
I haven’t checked in too attentively with this guy beyond ascertaining that I must be playing the wrong ones if he and Pi’erre Bourne are among their generation’s best beat-pickers. Loved the title, art, and DOOM-style food aesthetic on this one so I returned enough to ascertain he does know how to pick the — what did his generation call it? — vibes. It’s even got some beats.
64. Sonic Youth, Live in Brooklyn 2011
Look, it’s my favorite band’s final show in their homebase. The set is weighted oddly as always, though their other live albums worth owning are keyed to surer shots: 2008’s Battery Park, NYC: July 4th, 2008 to Daydream Nation (though I was there and the real thing had more Dirty, including a “Drunken Butterfly” where Kim stopped, threw her arms around Thurston, kissed him and mumbled “I forgot the words” — you never would’ve foretold their dissolution) and Live in Los Angeles 1998, centered around A Thousand Leaves, my all-time favorite album. But this one’s mostly 1985’s Bad Moon Rising, their first with potential (which might be why they chose to highlight it), with room for improvement (which might be why this was released). Mastering their pre-mastery selves is a welcome thrill surrounding “Starfield Road,” “Sugar Kane,” “What We Know,” and the undeniable “Eric’s Trip.” Steve Shelley’s hobby of definitively curating their oeuvre live will never equal what it is offstage. But it sure beats touring with Mark Kozelek.
63. Corook, Serious Person (Part 1) [EP]
Having decided I can’t abide the open-mic feel of Olivia Rodrigo’s “Scared of My Guitar” or Joanna Sternberg’s nonbinary blues without giving another try to this bleeding heart who’s since parlayed the virality of The Tenderqueer Fish Song into a children’s book about avoiding internet harassment, I was caught off guard by how much the vulnerability of the opening two knockouts affected me, or the too-relatable “I’m Not Doing Well” (“don’t know how to ask for help”). But Corinne Savage is closer to Boygenius with harder-hitting lyrics and no instinct for what’s cool. Those things aren’t mutually exclusive, but I admit I’d rather hear “We’re in Love” than the Tenderqueer Fish Song if you asked me right now.
62. Armand Hammer, We Buy Diabetic Test Strips
I’d say 2022 is when the best rapper alive minted his imperial phase with the bottomless geographical depth of Aethiopes and the more personal, equally stunning Church. But I’m not mad that 2023 is when the world caught up — never happens for too many other best rappers alive and even some dead. Billy Woods continued doing what he does best on the relatively lighthearted travelogue Maps, which often concerns delicious things he’s eating or smoking while skipping soundcheck. But his duo with Elucid kept up the attractively foreboding abstractions on We Buy Diabetic Test Strips, which was at its most winning when it deployed an avant-jazz band in the service of Armand Hammer’s post-apocalyptic prophecies. If a second rapper is destined for a Pulitzer, Woods remains your best bet.
61. Homeboy Sandman, I Can’t Sell These Either
“I am oblivious to the new trends” he raps over — lol — amapiano. More sincere: “Put so many records out that I lose track.” I liked this year’s Rich but I admit his albums have become harder to recall in the infinite scroll of things. So it’s a shame for his sales numbers that his pay-what-you’d-like mixtapes from this and yesteryear have proven once again how awesome beats can be minus the constraints of copyright law with carefree rhyming to match: “It’s been a while since I’ve rapped about how good I rap / I was really good at that.” This series is a reminder of how jacked beats are an ideal mode of transport through hip-hop history; “Beautiful Life” sent me back to Q-Tip and Busta Rhymes’ 2013 The Abstract and the Dragon, which was considered a letdown for shrewdly repackaging old material. Turns out it rules.
60. Kelela, Raven
More stamina for an hour than just 35 minutes of reunited Everything but the Girl if you want unbothered rave, with soul and breakbeats to spare.
59. Superchunk, Misfits & Mistakes: Singles, B-Sides & Strays 2007-2023
After eight albums before 2001 that struggled to sustain their high points, they haven’t released one that’s less than great since reuniting in 2010. So you could approach these 50 barrel scrapings with trepidation (yes, 50) or gluttony for an indulgence they’ve now earned. Their own good taste is what earns the bloat; no fewer than a dozen re-record or strip down (but don’t rework) their own greatest songs I’m always elated to hear again. At least another dozen excellent cover choices stake and define their claim on combining punk and pop history: The Cure, Patti Smith, Destiny’s Child, Tom Robinson Band, Corrosion of Conformity, Ramones, Minutemen, The Misfits, Sisters of Mercy, Bananarama, the Go-Gos (before inviting Jane Wiedlin herself for the Circle Jerks’ “Group Sex”). That leaves 20-some previously uncollected originals honoring the Jon Wurster era that aren’t all as superb as 2013’s anthemic “This Summer” but sometimes are. Much too much when you’re not in the mood, not one track you’ll skip when you are.
58. ICECOLDBISHOP, Generational Curse
More arresting than it is engrossing, at least until the screaming-intense finish that sounds more like Prince’s Black Album than Backxwash. Unlike last year’s stupendous JID marathon, this year’s m.A.A.d city award goes to something short enough that you have no excuse, and he’s even more shameless a ventriloquist, launching multiple voices into the air in conversation with each other in that demonic depiction-of-addiction mode with a bit more DJ Quik and even Stankonia and some Dilla time in its jagged bounce, and who doesn’t want ominous P-funk that isn’t G-funk? The confidence and wholeness of it is why anyone who walks into the room will ask which Kendrick it is. If he ever surpasses his source materials he might be able to time it perfectly to their falloff. And there’s not a high keyboard sustain in sight.
57. Buck 65, Punk Rock B-Boy
Easier to resist than King of Drums or Super Dope! because having established his comeback era he’s less inclined to show off. So the beats are a little less nonstop but they still pick up when they’re horn-y and so does he. Maybe “the dildo of consequence seldom arrives lubricated” but he’s still “betting on myself like Pete Rose” and hey, now that it’s considered old-school, he’s game for hashtag rap: “My underwear edible / Crazy motherfucker in a manner of speaking — Oedipal.” And yes, “all the way live like The Trinity Sessions” is a Cowboy Junkies joke lest you forget he’s Canadian (don’t worry, you won’t).
56. DJ Black Low, Impumelelo
That stuttering logdrum-synth drop that hooks the moderately ominous “Akulalwa” is more what I play amapiano for than Asake’s slicker fare. But even this more vocal-heavy and thus crossover-ready follow-up to the outstanding Uwami distinguishes itself with the agile rapping of Dea Rebbedy followed by a coupla bluesy chillout tracks that nevertheless retain the genre’s intensity. How about the fucking vibraphone on “Oskido?”
55. The Replacements, Tim: Let It Bleed Edition
Bleed indeed: All that’s standing between you (well, me) and Pitchfork’s “best reissue of 2023” is $72.93 on CD (chin up, that’s -19% on Amazon!) and double that on vinyl. Release the Ed Stasium mix from this prison as a single disc and I'll buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy, buy.
54. Pest Control, Don’t Test the Pest
Neo-thrash will always be the metal I love, emphasis on the “neo” because I couldn’t have come to terms with it before 21-minute albums were the norm. Reigns in blood — the Pink Flag for the Satanic set — are so much more plentiful now than the heyday of the alleged big four. Those bands didn’t have women in them either.
53. Feeble Little Horse, Girl With Fish
Shoveling shit into shoegaze almost helps as much as the words. As with Wednesday’s Karly Hartzman, Lydia Slocum’s band adorns her frail, cracking vocalizations in dense noises with less context: no world-building yarns or parallel twang to match, production more oddly compressed (and on last year’s Hayday, actively trolling with Pi’erre Bourne abruptly sampled à la Billie Eilish’s “My Strange Addiction”). Unlike the relatively spotless settings of their spiritual forebear Frankie Cosmos, that made it harder to hear the tunes, except when they annoyed me, like the tweefest that chants “do you wanna be in my pocket,” ad infinitum. And as with any good band, the annoyances turn out to be what you really identify with, what endears you, and draws you in, though “Slide” and Hayday’s “Tricks” are irritant-free. So I’m ready to love the opening salvo “I know you want me, freak” and “How can you be satisfied / She’s 5’1 and you’re 6’5” in the aural fact as much as I do on the page, though I was admittedly hooked once I heard the tunecraft in the noises themselves (especially “Tin Man”) rather than the frail, cracking vocalizations. As with Wednesday.
52. Lewis Capaldi, Broken by Desire to Be Heavenly Sent
Back in my day, we didn’t have the luxury of AI to fully realize whatever musical thought experiments popped into our heads. So we had to build “what if a Michael Bolton album was good” from scratch. Favorite climax on an album almost entirely comprised of them: duh, “How This Ends.”
51. CMAT, Crazymad, For Me
OK, so Ireland’s Ciara Mary-Alice Thompson has more in common with Dusty Springfield or maybe even Adele than the Grand Ole Opry. Which she demonstrates by opening not with a departure to “Nashville” but “California” this time out, which rhymes with “don’t say I didn’t warn ya” in her best-in-show hook. But per 2022’s “I Wanna Be a Cowboy, Baby!” her pole-vaulting idiosyncrasies and trills would fit perfectly in some era, maybe even Patsy’s if not k.d. lang’s sophisti-pop. Last year’s If My Wife New I'd Be Dead was fresher and funnier — aforementioned highlight laments “Always the cowboy and never the cow / I hate the way my life turned out” — but this is at least as catchy, with song lengths down. Have fun!
50. Boygenius, The Record
What do you want me to deny? That they’re not all funnier, louder, more harmonically varied, monoculturally eventful than I ever expected them to get? Lucy digs Billy Woods, Phoebe digs the Handsome Family, and I eagerly await these influences showing up in their music, not to mention Illuminati Hotties’ Sarah Tudzin, who engineered. The most likable thing about them is that none of them thought Barbie was good. Along with an army of activated Swifties, they may be poised to deliver the white women vote against Trump in 2024. And like Ms. Swift, they occasionally satisfy the deafening hype. I’d single out the leadoff “$20” and its lead-in “Within You Without Them,” “Leonard Cohen,” “Satanist,” “We’re in Love,” maybe even “Not Strong Enough.” Just don’t ask me to replay Punisher.
49. Snõõper, Super Snõõper
All I know about the dichotomy of egg/chain punk is that every review of this album is the first time I’ve ever seen either mentioned in paid writing (twice). From these motley Jack White discoveries I get Gecsified, monoxide-huffing Times New Viking; your mileage may vary. Unlike a lot of tuneless garage hyperactivity from the Burgerverse, Snõõper’s jarring little moments and wrong-chords slammed on like brakes don’t take more than a few plays to distinguish themselves. They’ll stõõp to tunes when they’re either no longer cool or about to break up, probably both. For now the roar of their “Precision Auto”-style leads pairs nicely with Wednesday’s icky mettle.
48. Gina Birch, I Play My Bass Loud
Few things are more heartwarming than a 68-year-old punk bassist/painter/filmmaker rediscovering the studio as her playground. Emphasis on “play”; the prerogative of Birch’s solo debut is f-u-n as you can see from the videos. From Breeders-honoring alt-rock to dub reggae, these songs are defined by her commitment to the groove as much as the concept, which is often narrated more than sung. The political content is plainspoken: “I Will Never Wear Stilettos,” “Feminist Song,” “Pussy Riot.” But it’s always there, even in the title tune, which employs no fewer than five women on low end. And the funniest track, “Big Mouth,” is a polycule comedy of errors.
47. SWAGGERBOYZ, Plug Park 1 y 2
Argentinian 15-year-old rappers made the hookiest thing I’d heard all Q1, about smoking a J as fat as Peter Griffin (cue lighter: click, click), beyond that don’t ask me. Their delightfully buffoonish (“Legalicen la heroina!”) late-2022 video mixtape Plug Park 1 y 2 has at least a few more hooks as infectious as “como como Peter Griffin” and plenty of beats as bright. By the time I finally found it on Soulseek, they’d released at least three more long-players, two of which have the word “stiffy” in the title. I’ll uh, get to those.
46. Lil Wayne, Tha Fix Before Tha VI
Because the dual institutions of “The Grammys” and “Lil Wayne” no longer matter, it was not newsworthy that 2021 Album of the Year upsetter Jon Batiste next took his elegant piano to the world’s greatest rapper to extol the joys of shy girls who want to be choked in bed. Later our little devil claims she uses his pubes as dental floss and claims he’s not just talking shit, he’s “gargling the toilet water.” So never underestimate the Trump pardonee’s weirdness, whether it’s the “Birds” beat or five brain-melting minutes of “Tity Boi” dedicated to exactly the two things it looks like. The latter speeds up and slows down disorientingly throughout. It would be impossible to phone it in. Weezy F. Baby and the F is for forever upending XXX-pectations.
45. Morgan Wade, Psychopath
This “‘80s Movie” jangle-pop is more like it, which is why she’s touring with Alanis (who gets a tribute song) and Joan Jett (who might sing a tune called “Losers Look Like Me” but not one that thinks the world was kinder at age 16). The most country she gets is on the gorgeous title track, where the mantra is “Was there life before there was us?” Then again, has there ever been a more rock’n’roll sentiment than that, the narcissism of youth? Less so is the gorgeous closer, where she won’t join any “27 Club” that would have her as a member. And good.
44. Amaarae, Fountain Baby
Not the instant pop sensation Pitchfork claims, of course. Her extreme high-pitched affect took more getting used to than Grimes’ soprano because it’s often chopping up syllables in the M.I.A.-Rihanna continuum, and her flair for musical variety is still in transit. Still: rebuilding Clipse’s steel-drum symphony “Wamp Wamp” from scratch with a live band (and blessing upon the riff a new three-note envoi!), rocking out uglier than Corinne Bailey Rae on the second half of “Sex, Violence, Suicide,” and furnishing her best pop hook (“Disguise”) from something akin to Karin Dreijer swaddling reggaeton is a hell of a bid.
43. Mahlathini and the Mahotella Queens, Music Inferno: The Indestructible Beat Tour 1988-89
If the subtitle “Indestructible Beat Tour 1988-89” means anything to you, this is not a drill. You’d be hard-pressed to find prettier music than prime Mahotella Queens, period — all the more reason they should be paired with the legendary “goat voice” himself, for flavor, and on this astoundingly reproduced document, drums that smash and pound unlike any mbaqanga I’ve ever heard, including the flawless Thokozile and Paris-Soweto. In fact, these 76 rawer, exhilarating minutes mount quite the argument that the band’s as powerful as the voices. It’s not. But they wouldn’t be much without it.
42. Joanna Sternberg, I’ve Got Me
The main problem with this album is the vicious parts are way more striking than the kind ones and I don’t think they planned it that way. Without the give of a single attempted joke, you’ll sing along with the darkest indictments by the first indie-era songwriter I can ever remember being compared to Carole King, starting with “People Are Toys to You.” Generational trauma and mental illness as songwriters in the round. If that doesn’t sound fun, fair enough, but Sternberg’s a first-class arranger, folding a surprise bouquet of strings into the otherwise intimate “I Will Be With You” and impressing with post-Roches, post-post-ragtime piano touches every which way. If only it didn’t end on such a bummer.
41. 2 Chainz/Lil Wayne, Welcome 2 Collegrove
Exactly the kind of major-label album heads used to take for granted if not outright protest. Rhyming more than efficient, plenty of laffs — show-stealing Fabolous verse still his calling card at 46, most musical variety of beats Chainz has ever had. Even the Usher song hits for the sake of hitting because there’s nowhere for it to cross over. Predictably gets long; brevity is the soul of the dumb, the only lesson they should take from 2023 rap. Bonus utility: Telling your new kitten a few times a week she deserves the pretty pussy award.