@colekincart
Continuing last year’s tradition, I’ve taken the week after finals to compose my “definitive” list of 2024. Of course, the word “definitive” comes with its own caveat—ranking is ultimately trivial, especially in a year so full of amazing music. This isn’t just about assigning numbers to albums; it’s about reflecting on the music that shaped my year and why it resonated so deeply.
After spending much time focused on school, this exercise has been a refreshing outlet. It’s given me the chance to step back and think about the albums I’ve loved and what made them so special. This year’s list grew from over 100 new releases I explored, with each album earning its ranking after at least two listens—one dedicated and thoughtful, and one more casual. (Granted, this is just the baseline for inclusion, as many of these albums ended up on heavy rotation.)
As always, I tried to keep things fair, sticking to full-length albums. A couple of entries bend the rules slightly (one spans three discs, another did not see a CD release), and Bon Iver’s Sable—a stunning but brief EP—just missed inclusion for ethical reasons around its runtime (12 mins). If I had more time, I’d create a top songs list for albums that didn’t make the cut, but for now, I’ll attach a screenshot of my playlist (yes, Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae is on there).
While lists like this are, at their core, baseless—just a list, after all—I hope you haven’t reached any list fatigue yet. My goal is to offer some insight or perspective, perhaps encouraging you to revisit an album or check out something new. Let’s get into it:
#10
This Could Be Texas
English Teacher
There’s something thrilling about whatever is brewing in England right now. The post-Brexit rock scene across the pond is electrifying, and This Could Be Texas, English Teacher’s debut album, stands out as the most compelling debut on this list. It’s a testament to the strength of their voice in the post-rock lineup, solidifying them as a band to watch. While it’s tempting to draw comparisons to others in the scene, what makes this album exciting is what it adds to the conversation. My reductionist take? Imagine if Kate Nash made a Black Country, New Road album.
Take “The World’s Biggest Paving Slab,” for example—addictingly confident in both sound and lyricism, it’s an unwavering statement of intent. “R&B,” with its fat bassline and monotonous delivery, rumbles in a way that feels impossible to ignore, while ballads like “Albatross” and “Mastermind Specialism” create their own sonic ecosystems, built on classical piano ballads and hypnotic repetition. It’s this combination of confidence and experimentation that makes This Could Be Texas endlessly engaging.
Lily Fontaine’s occasional talk-singing is also a joy—a manic, pseudo-soliloquy style that feels both intimate and performative. The Mercury Prize win for 2024 feels well-earned, and as an exciting first step English Teacher has set a high bar for whatever comes next.
#9
Britpop
A.G. Cook
Surprisingly, Britpop isn’t the only album on this list that runs over an hour, but it’s certainly the one that makes the most of its length. In many ways, Charli’s NYC Boiler Room set could contend for a top-five moment of the year, but what stuck with me most was A.G. Cook’s own Boiler Room set and its ripple effect on how I viewed this project. His set felt like an exercise in weaving glistening bubblegum-pop-filled tracks with chaotic and experimental production—a perfect prelude to the ambitious world of Britpop.
Where Brat stands as a cultural reflection, Britpop is a musical one. As Cook reflects on his decade-plus career developing PC Music and shaping an art collective in London, Britpop feels like a heartfelt love letter to his journey. It’s packed with blips, fuzzy soundscapes, and irresistibly catchy pop loops that keep its 1-hour-and-40-minute runtime consistently engaging.
The albums ternary narrative unfolds like a trilogy, tracing music’s past, present, and future through its playful experiments. Tracks like “Green Man”, “Pink Mask” and “Without” anchor the back half with poignant moments that echo Cook’s meditations on pop’s evolution. With Britpop, A.G. Cook crafts a sprawling, reflective opus—a celebration of everything he’s built and a nod to all that’s yet to come.
#8
Keep me on Your Mind / See You Free
Bonny Light Horseman
Bonny Light Horseman’s Keep Me On Your Mind / See You Free feels like a such a warm hug. The trio, composed of Anaïs Mitchell, Eric D. Johnson, and Josh Kaufman, channel their collective musical history into a double album that flows like a reflective summer day, with every track thoughtfully placed and deeply rooted in tradition while daring to push folk music forward.
Recorded in a century-old Irish pub, the album is rich with texture: ambient sounds of conversation, distant applause, and the creak of old wood seem to seep into the tracks, grounding the music in a sense of place. The vocals, often weaving between Mitchell’s earthy timbre and Johnson’s familiar nasal tones, feel like old friends trading stories. Together, their harmonies feel effortless, even when layered over Kaufman’s intricate instrumentation.
What makes Keep Me On Your Mind / See You Free shine is its commitment to folk music as a living, breathing art form. Traditional lyrics and melodies are reimagined into something both nostalgic and forward-thinking, a consistent practice from the trio. Tracks like “When I Was Younger,” which reinterprets folk balladry through a duet, feels like playful easter eggs for the genre’s devotees.
#7
If I Don’t Make it, I Love U
Still House Plants
This was the year I transitioned my answer to “What music do you like?” to an honest “I just like noise,” and If I Don’t Make It, I Love U by Still House Plants might be a major culprit. I know the term “post-art-rock” might make some people hiss, but there’s a sincerity in this record that lingers, no matter how many listens you’re in.
The album’s deliberately unfinished, almost skeletal quality might feel dry or alienating at first, but for me, it scratches a very specific itch. Its rhythms refuse to conform, with songs developing in a way that feels angular, dissonant, and off-kilter. Yet, Jessica Hickie-Kallenbach’s vocals bring such a grounding familiarity as her earnestness adds a contrasting comfort to the album’s nasally guitars and modular structure. Her voice is my favorite vocal performance of the year, full stop.
Lines from “M M M” like “I looked up, I stood up, I hood up,” and “I wish I was called Makita / Like, I just want my friends to get me” have been stuck on a loop in my head for weeks. If I Don’t Make It, I Love U feels like a math-rock attempt to capture the peculiar trend of TikToks and Reels where audios are sped up and slowed down in the same video. It’s an album that sits at the crossroads of Reels/Brainrot fascination and post-rock innovation, appealing to one of the nichest, most oddly specific categories imaginable.
#6
In Waves
Jamie xx
It’s crazy to think that Jamie xx’s first solo album was released 10 years ago this past May. In Colour was an introvert’s attempt to paint a vibrant, colorful sonic palette of electronic offerings. While 12-year-old Cole didn’t fully grasp it at the time—too caught up in the XX and other Tumblr-era music—he came to appreciate it deeply as he navigated high school.
In Waves, in many ways, feels like that same introvert’s successful attempt to make an extroverted dance record. With intricate samples and guest appearances, the album wears its influences on its sleeve, giving credit to house and club legends while carving out its own space in the post-COVID dancefloor era. Tracks like “Life,” featuring Robyn, balance energy with emotion. The album’s live performance potential is undeniable, as Jamie xx knows exactly how to stretch these songs for the dancefloor, translating them seamlessly from studio to stage. That said though, the structure of the album is crucial to its enjoyment. Each track is carefully placed, creating a momentum that works regardless of your listening environment. To this day, I’m still blown away by the 10-minute House of the Rising Sun disco remix sampled in “Life.” Jamie xx has teased extended versions of every track, and I can’t help but wish I could hear them––looks like a trip to the nearest dancefloor is in order.
#5
Two Star & The Dream Police
Mk.gee
Sitting at #5 on my list (and my most listened-to album from 2024) is Two Star & the Dream Police by Mk.gee. When it dropped, I wasn’t sure it would make its way onto this list, but it’s earned its place. Despite keeping a low profile in recent years—except for his prominent role in Dijon’s Absolutely—I knew whatever Mk.gee had cooking would be different from the pack, and this album confirms that. Echoing the sounds of Jai Paul, Arthur Russell, and Prince, the vibe is murky yet clear in its intent. The guiding light comes through in Mk.gee’s guitar work, especially on tracks like Candy and Are You Looking Up.
On first listen, the shadowy myth-building and hazy textures might not immediately mesh, but as the album unfolds, its atmosphere begins to make perfect sense. It’s hard not to become completely absorbed in this record, especially after seeing Mk.gee live twice this year and watching his steady rise. It’s clear this man deserves his flowers.
#4
Manning Fireworks
MJ Lenderman
Men came to Earth to do two things: drink beer and listen to MJ Lenderman. It’s as simples that. Though slated as a September release, MJ Lenderman has been on full rockstar mode all year long. From his features on Waxahatchee’s record, to his final Rat Saw God shows with Wednesday, and then his solo headlining tour this past fall (which is running all the way through next summer), it’s been a busy year for MJ.
Lenderman’s lyrics, like “How many roads must a man walk down ’til he learns?” and “Please don’t laugh, only half of what I said is a joke,” have this deadpan, “chill guy” delivery that hits differently when it’s received just right. His understated delivery becomes so earnestly honest, it’s hard not to smile when you realize what he’s saying.
There’s not much more to say about how good this album is. If you’ve been following the raves about MJ Lenderman all year—especially Steven Hyden’s year-long hype—you’ve probably already been living with this record. I’ll just sum it up with Hyden’s words: “If you love it, you quoted it constantly this year. You lived with this record. You hung out with it. You laughed with it. You drank with it. You played air guitar with it. You barbecued hot dogs with it. You watched sports with the announcers turned down with it…You wondered if you would ever get sick of it. You realized you were never going to get sick of it.”
#3
Dunya
Mustafa
Mustafa’s Dunya might be the most subtle and poignant record on this list, but it’s also the most painful, hopeful, and urgent. While the title itself—Dunya—offers no direct English translation, its closest meaning, “the world in all its flaws,” perfectly captures the essence of the album. It carries some of this year’s most captivating and heavy storytelling, taking listeners through a range of emotions: ache, pain, frustration, and ultimately, hope. Through its deeply personal lens, Dunya achieves something rare—it turns Mustafa’s specific experiences into something universally felt, bridging cultural divides with unflinching honesty and grace.
This isn’t just a record about hardship; it’s a poetic exploration of the things we lose, the things we fight for, and the things we hold dear. Mustafa’s writing is layered with repetition, specificity, and direct address, making every track feel intensely personal. It’s hard to not make it through a listen without crying, as certain songs seem to break your heart alongside his. While I could highlight the amazing contributions from Clairo, Rosalía, and Daniel Caesar, it’s Mustafa’s voice and storytelling that are the true heart of this album. The album’s quiet, contemplative delivery doesn’t diminish its impact; in fact, it amplifies it. This is the kind of music that lingers long after the final track, asking difficult questions and offering few easy answers. But that’s what makes it so vital in today’s climate—it demands to be listened to, processed, and felt.
#2
Patters in Repeat
Laura Marling
Laura Marling’s Patterns is one of those albums I wasn’t sure how to approach—especially as a college kid who a) isn’t a mother, b) isn’t raising a kid, but c), has an unexplainable love for albums about a) cyclical patterns, b) parenting, and c) artists like Feist, whose Multitudes last year really scratched that itch. Marling’s latter half of her career has been nothing short of remarkable. Songs for Our Daughter, a conceptual album about imagining what it’s like to have a daughter, set the stage, and now Patterns, her post-COVID effort after having a daughter, feels like a natural continuation.
Recorded mostly in her home studio, the production evokes the warmth of home and domesticity, mirroring the experience of raising a child (something I, of course, totally know about). Laura Marling crafts a stunning album about motherhood, home, and the child, with lullabies on the back half that are downright deadly. The title track, with string work by Rob Moose, still blows my mind upon every listen. Though the album may feel confined by its domestic setting, its ideas burst through like a child running through rooms of a home.
After hearing this album, I’m more convinced than ever that Laura Marling could easily craft a strong children’s album. To my surprise (and delight), she actually did, with her vinyl-only release Laura Sings Rafa, a children’s album that, of course, I’ve already pre-ordered.
#1
The Past is Still Alive
Hurray for the Riff Raff
As we close out 2024, The Past Is Still Alive stands tall as my favorite record of the year––a delightful pairing of the timeless and the timely. On their eigth album, Alynda Segarra celebrates life’s outcasts and outsiders with a gritty defiance that feels both tender and unyielding. It plays like vignettes of runways and passages of bandits on a train headed westward, as each song unfolds like a snapshot of life on the fringe––moving forward despite the weight of history.
Produced by Brad Cook, whose fingerprints are all over some of this year’s standout releases (re: Waxahatchee, Hippo Campus), The Past Is Still Alive feels distinct in its resolve. Segarra doesn’t just tap into country and Americana traditions; they reframe them for a modern setting, addressing struggles like trans identity and societal exclusion.
While 2024 has seen a country-tinged cultural resurgence—from Beyoncé’s long-awaited Cowboy Carter to Pharrell’s cowboy-infused Louis Vuitton show—this album feels like the year’s most authentic offering. It’s a record that acknowledges how much our world has changed while still affirming the universal truths of home, misadventures, and belonging. If country music is the voice of the wandering soul, Segarra proves that its song is still very much alive.
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