2021 was a year of tragedy for me. As such, I found myself attaching to albums about pain and sadness and death and regret — and on and on and on. There was just no avoiding confronting the truth, and music was a salve. Not to be too melodramatic, but many of the records on this list quite literally saved my life. And then there are a few records that just made me feel good and reminded me what it means to alive and feel the world around my feet.

Before diving into the list, there are several records worth a shout-out and which deserve proper recognition. Those are: Driver by Adult Mom, Weren’t Those the Days EP by Misty Mtn, Who Am I? by Pale Waves, Friends in the Corner EP by Foxes, and Thirstier by Torres.

Now, without further adieu, here are my top picks of the year:

Carly Pearce, 29

A broken heart or suffering born from death, the hurting is the same. Carly Pearce cultivates the most jagged emotions, zip-lining from anger to sorrow, with a collection so raw it practically glistens in the sun. “Should’ve Known Better” and “What He Didn’t Do” are destined for Hall of Fame status.

M.A.G.S., Say Things That Matter

M.A.G.S. (real name Elliott Douglas) is a rare treasure. Say Things That Matter bursts with contagious sensuality, sculpted through an indie/rock fusion. Douglas is a shapeshifter, taking on whatever form necessary in the moment. He’s a crafty mastermind, and his genius will only blossom from here.

Elise Davis, Anxious. Happy. Chill.

Elise Davis shifts through musical contrasts and emotional states of being with Anxious. Happy. Chill. 10 songs connect through tissues of existentialism, sometimes dread as suffocating as the smog blanketing Los Angeles. Desperation to escape blends with euphoria of new marriage, crafted into a shiny, arsenal-ready torpedo.

Laura Bell Bundy, Women of Tomorrow

Filtered through a vintage aesthetic, visually and musically, Women of Tomorrow detonates misogyny, the pay gap, and beauty standards in one fell swoop. Laura Bell Bundy has never sounded so in control. Her voice is feathery, anguished, or spitting life-arresting venom when a song calls for it. A moment is never wasted.

Kacey Musgraves, star-crossed

Divorce can absolutely ruin you. In true Kacey Musgraves fashion, the Texan funnels her emotional ashes into a genre-fractured record. star-crossed is most times magical, witnessing a tortured being wandering through a diamond-crusted desert. And the songwriting pierces and stains as deeply as ever, especially on “camera roll” and “what doesn’t kill me.”

Adele, 30

“To Be Loved” is a soul-pulverizing seven-minute epic poem. It’s a career song, dexterously performed and accentuating tremendous meaning on heartache. It’s also a universal reflection on grief itself (the pain is much the same) and constructed as the backbone to 30. It overflows with loneliness and learning to be OK with being alone.

Christian Lopez, The Other Side

Christian Lopez walks on the wild side, swapping out straight-arrow Americana for rock-injected genre play. The Other Side remains rooted in his trusty heart torn, lovelorn songwriting, from the wistful “Feel the Same” to courageous mountain crier “Braver.” While opening up his musical acreage, Lopez’s voice soars higher than ever before.

Lindsay Ellyn, Queen of Nothing

Queen of Nothing is actually Queen of Everything. Lindsay Ellyn runs through flaws of human nature, mortality and its worrisome aftermath, and forging better pathways forward. “All of my life, I’ve just tried to do right,” she confides in the soul-shattering hymn “Glory, Glory.” 10 songs are equal parts anthem and prayer, crushing you every step of the way.

Jake Wesley Rogers, Pluto EP

A dramatic Elton John flair, Jake Wesley Rogers sequins his latest EP, Pluto, with life’s ephemeral state. “Weddings and Funerals” pleads for celebration of quiet moments, whereas “Momentary” palpitates both with the sour and sweet of living as a queer person. Six songs feel tremendous, as if we’re witnessing the birth of greatness.

Jetty Bones, Push Back

Jetty Bones penned album closer “Bug Life” as her suicide note. It contains voicemails concerning family and friends left her, as well as her own voicemail she intended as a final bow from this life. Push Back courses with this tremendous sorrow, often within an effervescent dance-pop framework. It’s a visionary release.

Morgan Wade, Reckless

From the opening jangly chords of “Wilder Days,” you know you’re in for a real treat. Morgan Wade’s Reckless gathers up pain, regret, and brokenness like trinkets, hauling them out again for 10 songs as a temporary, wistful excursion. She’s taken these trips before, but they feel more urgent and profound these days.

Niki Demar, Nights Alone EP

“People got a lot to say about me. They don’t know what I need,” laments Niki Demar with the hazy “Messy Room.” It’s the thematic backbone to Nights Alone, an EP drenched in weary nights wrestling depression and only getting tangled in the reality you’re truly, heartbreakingly alone. No one can possibly understand.

Mickey Guyton, Remember Her Name

There is absolutely no viable reason why Mickey Guyton isn’t already a household name. Despite a system built against Black artists, she hasn’t slowed down. With Remember Her Name, Guyton celebrates the skin she’s in and spills the tea about the state of affairs, while also offering up some chewy, flavor-busting ear candy.

Wrabel, these words are all for you

Wrabel’s voice possesses an unforgettable quality. It’s almost indescribable in the way he sings with such conviction. His long, long, long-awaited debut LP, these words are all for you, is well worth the way, as he powers through confessions about life, love, and hope, all tangled up in various skin-scorching emotional states.

Ziemba, Unsubtle Magic

Her entire perception of and connection to the holiday season shifted drastically when her father died. Ziemba’s Unsubtle Magic scoops up her memory and attachment to the past in an attempt to rediscover the magic of the season. 10 songs emerge out of the darkest time of her life, perfectly exposed as all the best polaroids are.

Carissa Johnson, Blue Hour

Blue Hour documents in poetic detail Carissa Johnson’s reinvestment in herself. Electric guitar frays like a fistful of sparklers, brightness both piercing and soothing. “The Sound” rattles the walls, tussling picture frames from their hooks, and radiates an alarming cosmic energy, while “Time, Only Time” thumps with a spooky existentialism.

Emily Scott Robinson, American Siren

There’s a way Emily Scott Robinson can penetrate your soul that few other artists manage. American Siren, her third studio record, is alluring and soft, tender siren songs wrapped and bound with a timeless air. And “Lost Woman’s Prayer” is simply among the best tunes in all of folk music.

Olivia Rodrigo, Sour

You can always trust heartbreak will lead down a path of great inspiration. Olivia Rodrigo’s Sour cannonballs into an Olympic-sized pool of sadness and frustration born out of a broken heart, the singer swimming through the aftermath with a feathered ease. Style is appropriately erratic, from “Brutal” culling punk influence to “enough for you” tearing out diary-style wistfulness.

Noah Gundersen, A Pillar of Salt

A Pillar of Salt burns as hot as sapphire, a collection dissecting deep tissues of the human condition. Noah Gundersen keeps things muted and somber, as if he’s just launched off the shoreline on a tiny dinghy and only the ocean’s gentle slaps can be heard. “The Coast” is an exquisite meditation, perhaps a career best.

LOVA, Grown-ish

LOVA blasts through issues many teens must combat these days: social pressures to fit in, anxiety, and figuring out who you are as a person. Across Grown-ish, the pop singer learns to dance away her problems and embrace the present moment, inhaling quite deeply and soaking in life’s pulsating patterns around her.

Sarah King, The Hour EP

The House is a bewitching little five-piece from Sarah King, her thick warble casting a devilish spell. A slithering murder ballad, “Nightstand” squirms with relentless darkness and gnaws at your bones. Later, “Not Worth the Whisky” chills with rhythmic boot stomps and claps. King entices and mesmerizes, freezing you in your tracks, and you won’t be able to escape.

Brandi Carlile, In These Silent Days

“Nobody leaves here alive,” sings Brandi Carlile. She scrawls a universal “Letter to the Past,” offering up sage tidbits perfect for today’s world. In These Silent Days is that scream you unleash atop a mountain. It’s weeping into your pillow. It’s realizing that life unlived, and one not doing what is right and true, is the worst you can possibly do.

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