50 Best Albums of 2017 - Rolling Stone
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50 Best Albums of 2017

Taylor Swift clapped back, Kendrick Lamar got personal, Lorde threw a high-concept party and more

Music was full of fury, confusion and resistance in our first post-election year. Albums came with titles like American Dream (LCD Soundsystem), American Teen (Khalid) and All American Made (Margo Price). And indeed, artists did get explicitly political, from Randy Newman to Jason Isbell to Jay-Z. But music in 2017 was also about a more slippery sense of self, as genre lines fall away and artists searched for identity and purpose in weird times. Some of the year’s best classic rock came from pop stars like Kesha and Harry Styles; some of the year’s most acclaimed pop statements came via glossier sounds from alterna-rock icons like Queens of the Stone Age, Foo Fighters, St. Vincent and Grizzly Bear. SZA melded emo self-evaluation with the sounds of modern R&B, Chris Stapleton joined classic soul to contemporary country, Jlin added experimental cutting-edge textures to Chicago dance music, Valerie June explored decades of American music and Drake pulled sounds and collaborators from all across the world. Here’s the best of a tumultuous year.

Sheer Mag, 'Need to Feel Your Love'

Sheer Mag, ‘Need to Feel Your Love’

Having mastered the short form on three airtight EPs in as many years, scrappy Philly punks Sheer Mag finally scaled the album summit with Need to Feel Your Love. Thankfully, they didn’t tweak the recipe. Need to Feel Your Love features the same boombox fidelity, garage-metal shred quotient and heavy-duty soul-powered hooks (courtesy of mighty-voiced singer Tina Halladay) that made their prior releases so much fun. What’s different here is that the band lets its tender side show, to stunning effect, on tracks like sultry disco strut “Pure Desire” and wistful power-pop nostalgia trip “Milk and Honey.” Plus, they’re still writing some of the most badass love songs (“Just Can’t Get Enough”) and stylish protest anthems (“Expect the Bayonet”) in contemporary rock. H.S.

Jason Isbell & the 400 Unit, 'The Nashville Sound'

Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit, ‘The Nashville Sound’

“I ain’t fighting with you down in the ditch, I’ll meet you up here on the road,” sings Jason Isbell on “Hope the High Road,” the declaration of unyielding perseverance that ties together his sixth studio album, a 10-track Americana jewel. Indeed, Isbell elevates relationships (“If We Were Vampires”), discussions about privilege (“White Man’s World”) and the art of songwriting itself to a higher plane on The Nashville Sound. But the LP addresses nationwide blue-collar hardships, from the trap of addiction (“Cumberland Gap”) to crushed dreams (“Tupelo”), proving Isbell is a voice for all people, not just the ones in the South. J.H.

SZA, 'Cntrl'

SZA, ‘Ctrl’

After a trio of promising EPs and a prominent feature on Rihanna’s Anti, the budding alt-R&B star showed what she could do on a full-length LP. SZA unravels through largely improvised meditations on love and sex and all the promise and abandonment that can result from both. From a side-chick manifesto (“The Weekend”) to the appreciation of a rom-com icon that mulls the singer’s own self-worth (“Drew Barrymore”), SZA flourishes in her own hazy spotlight. B.S.

Father John Misty, ‘Pure Comedy’

Father John Misty, ‘Pure Comedy’

In which Josh Tillman updates the Seventies singer-songwriter tradition for our dystopian, post-ironic era, using its melodicism and “sincerity” as both comfort food and grim punchline. “Bedding Taylor Swift/Every night inside the Oculus Rift” was the most quoted couplet, from the culture-indicting “Total Entertainment Forever,” a send up of virtual reality and Kanye West-style audience bait. But the most impressive writing is “Leaving L.A.,” a 13-minute Dylan-esque anti-hero epic that locates Tilman himself in its crosshairs (“Oh, great, that’s just what they all need/Another white guy in 2017/Who takes himself so goddamn seriously”). Predicting his own backlash was just another way he seemed to be one step ahead of nearly everyone this year. W.H.

St. Vincent, ‘Masseduction'

St. Vincent, ‘Masseduction’

Annie Clark manages a double gainer with her fourth LP, making both her most hook-filled, pop-savvy set and what feels like her most personal. Memoir-pop cheerleader Jack Antonoff assists on production, ditto Mars Volta head-puncher Lars Stalfors. But it’s Clark’s wit and the new warmth in her songcraft that make this record so impossible to shake. See the heartbreaking “Happy Birthday, Johnny,” the wry show tune “New York,” and the chilling-hilarious “Pills” – the latter graced with a seizure-inducing Clark guitar outburst and a Kamasi Washington sax coda. W.H.

Harry Styles: 'Harry Styles'

Harry Styles, ‘Harry Styles’

After a stellar run with One Direction, Harry Styles could have gone anywhere he wanted. What would he try for his big solo move: Glitzy radio pop? Celebrity guests? The usual slate of big-name producers? Instead, Styles stakes his claim as a rock star, getting personal with a sublime album of Seventies-style guitar grooves. “Sweet Creature” and “Ever Since New York” are intimate acoustic ballads; while “Kiwi” lets him strut his Oasis-style self at top volume. “Two Ghosts” is a break-up lament worthy of his muse and cosmic mentor Stevie Nicks. Unlike most boy-band dudes going solo, he never sounds like he’s sweating to get taken seriously – he never loses touch with the exuberance and swagger he brought to One Direction in the first place. So get used to this man – you’ll be hearing a lot more from him. R.S.

Margo Price, 'All American Made'

Margo Price, ‘All American Made’

Margo Price’s 2016 debut, Midwest Farmer’s Daughter, established her as one of the sharpest songwriters in Nashville, but her second LP upped the ante in remarkable fashion. All American Made is a fierce protest album about the ways that the American dream has failed so many – see the feminist ballad “Pay Gap,” where she channels Loretta Lynn and Donna Summer for a frank discussion of capitalism’s double standards. It’s also a reverent tribute to music’s past, featuring a tender duet with Willie Nelson and a slew of other songs that recall his Seventies heyday. No other country act, and precious few from any genre, went nearly as deep as Price did this year. S.V.L.

Kurt Vile and Courtney Barnett, 'Lotta Sea Lice'

Courtney Barnett and Kurt Vile, ‘Lotta Sea Lice’

A match made in indie-rock heaven. Vile is a sly lyricist with a stoner’s demeanor who’s always made his most articulate statements with his guitar. Barnett is a sly melodist, and so adept a wordsmith you can imagine any randomly-ripped-out page from her diary would make an engaging song. Together they craft a sublimely chilled-out set that shines with tossed-off bedhead dazzle, whether rambling about fabric softener, their daily routines, or – on the standout “Continental Breakfast” – the flickering disconnect of maintaining relationships while schlepping around the world playing music. It’s also sweetly romantic, never more so than on the giddy “Blue Cheese” when the duo harmonize the line “so kiss me with your mouth, girl of my dreams!” W.H.

Waxahatchee, 'Out on the Storm'

Waxahatchee, ‘Out in the Storm’

No songwriter handles the curves and swerves of modern romance quite like Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield. Her band’s fourth album Out in the Storm is the kind of breakthrough that heralds a major artist truly finding her voice, as she digs herself out of what sounds like some gnarly emotional wreckage. It’s like a punk rock answer to Carole King’s Tapestry. “8 Ball” and “Silver” are full of wise-ass guitar twang, as the Alabama-born Crutchfield talks shit about the menfolk but mostly dishes the dirt about her heart-on-fire self. In “Sparks Fly” she gets a spiritual boost from twin sister Alison, who dropped her own excellent album this year with Tourist in This Town. This is the best kind of break-up journal – the kind you want to blast out loud. R.S.

Randy Newman, 'Dark Matter'

Randy Newman, ‘Dark Matter’

Newman opens his first album of new material in eight years with three songs that play the end of Western civilization for laughs – starting with a Marx Brothers version of the Scopes Trial and culminating with a Vladimir Putin variety show – and then hits one that plays the end of life for tears: “Lost Without You,” in which a husband listens in the shadows as his dying wife tells her kids to take care of him after she’s gone. It’s a stunning miniature, with swells of American prairie strings and horns giving way to Newman alone at the piano delivering a simple message: The darkness is coming to us all, one way or the other. J.L.

Jay-Z, '4:44'

Jay-Z, ‘4:44’

As young, self-examining artists like Lil Uzi Vert and XXXTentacion ushered in hip-hop’s emo stage, a 47-year-old multi-millionaire dropped the year’s best self-lacerating Bugatti-dashboard confessional. Utilizing rap’s unique ability to convey deep and vivid truths, Jay confronts his own failings, excoriating himself as an unfaithful husband (“4:44”) and egocentric public figure (“Kill Jay Z”). With multiple samples from Sixties firebrand Nina Simone and a chopped-up flip of Donny Hathaway’s “Someday We’ll All Be Free,” Jay and producer No I.D. ease into an explicitly conscious tack as well, giving his own wealth – and the one his daughter will inherit – a political importance. C.W.

The National, 'Sleep Well Beast'

The National, ‘Sleep Well Beast’

Where the Ohio-bred, Brooklyn-forged band makes its leap from admirable indie-rock high achievers to mainstream contenders, not via marketplace pandering but, rather, the old fashioned way: upping its musical and lyrical game. The band’s trademark Joy Division gloom gets cut with sexiness and dark humor, abetted by co-writer Carin Besser (singer Matt Berninger’s wife) plus backing singers Lisa Hannigan and Justin “Bon Iver” Vernon. The soundscapes, meanwhile, are more striking than ever, with prominent electronics, edgy string arrangements and lancing guitar (“The System Only Dreams in Total Darkness”). It’s a rock record that rages against our freakish cultural moment not by sloganeering but by turning inward, circling wagons, taking stock of beauty and love and gathering strength for what lies ahead. W.H.

Sam Smith, 'The Thrill of It All'

Sam Smith, ‘The Thrill of It All’

Sam Smith is a fluid soul man, with style channeling Otis Redding, Aretha Franklin and Ray Charles alongside modern icons like Amy Winehouse and Adele. The follow-up to his massive In The Lonely Hour leads with That Voice, and what it lacks in the club beats that were his early signature (see Disclosure’s “Latch”), it more than makes up for in dazzling, falsetto-barbed vocal pyrotechnics. The standout is “Him,” an uplifting tear-jerker about queer love and cultural intolerance that, in its understated, gospel-charged way, is an LGBTQ civil rights anthem. It’s the sound of a gay man intent on reaching a universal audience on his own terms, and succeeding handsomely. W.H.


Migos, ‘Culture’

As trap has become pop’s lingua franca, no one can better celebrate the triumph than Migos. The smoked-out slow roll of their music connects studio maximalism with the D.I.Y. instantaneity of iPhone and YouTube auteurs. Anyone can do it, but no one else can do it like this. The sound-effect hooks come from keyboards and their own mouths, each bwah, skrrrt, brrrup signifying their ability to transform nothing into something, and back again, in a blink. Their flows changed up moment to moment, presenting an authority at once casual and complete, and working pop music’s greatest trick: turning the transitory into the eternal. J.L.


Queens of the Stone Age, ‘Villains’

Nearly 20 years in, Queens of the Stone Age frontman Josh Homme still gets down like a black leather jacket zapped to life by Dr. Funkenstein himself. He called in a surprising assist for the SoCal rockers’ seventh album, Top 40 genius Mark Ronson, who perks up zany Zeppelin grooves like “Feet Don’t Fail Me” and “Head Like a Haunted House,” playing up the swing in their strut. Ultimately, though, Villains is less about reinvention than refinement. It’s a beast of a record, and its red-hot heart is pure Queens. S.V.L.


Taylor Swift, ‘Reputation’

The bad blood is coming from inside the house! After laying low for months, Taylor made a spectacularly bold return with this glittering palace of luxurious grudges and crystalline trap beats. The heel turn of “Look What You Made Me Do” is one for the history books, and pop scholars will likely debate for generations whether it was a brilliant P.R. coup or an epically tone-deaf move. Luckily, the singles are only half the story with Reputation, whose ultra-polished surface conceals some of Swift’s realest, most lived-in songs ever. On “Dress,” she’s high on the rush of a new romantic thrill; on “New Year’s Day,” she’s trying to figure out what she has after the party’s over. It adds up to a pointed reminder that Her Royal Swiftness can reclaim her place at pop’s cutting edge whenever she feels like it. S.V.L.


Khalid, ‘American Teen’

The year’s most distinctive new voice was a teen star, not a trap star. His conversational vocals staked out a new kind of R&B: laid-back but charged with wide-open emotional struggle, as well as hooks that stuck. He sang about kids who didn’t have money or cars; who still lived with their parents (and worried about coming home smelling of weed); who longed for human contact to go along with a love stirred by subtweets and texts. Hits like “Location” and “Young, Dumb & Broke” were alive with fresh possibilities – including the possibility of combating outmoded stereotypes. “I’m an African-American man with an Afro, who isn’t your typical athlete – who wasn’t as masculine as other guys,” Khalid told Rolling Stone. “And now people are looking at me like, this is ‘The American Teen.'” J.L.


LCD Soundsystem, ‘American Dream’

James Murphy gathers his old gang of New York punk-funk virtuosos together for some truly festive paranoia – in the masterfully pissed-off American Dream, he can’t decide whether he’s making a party album for the end of the world or an apocalypse album for the end of the party. LCD Soundsystem meet the audience on equal terms – “You’ve lost your internet and we’ve lost our memory” – while Murphy rants about feeling like just another smug loser in a collapsing culture. As he says in “Emotional Haircut,” “You’ve got numbers on your phone of the dead that you can’t delete.” Yet the music crackles with the joy of communal celebration, from the cracked Detroit techno of “How Do You Sleep?” to the art-funk guitar squall of “Change Yr Mind.” And in “Black Screen,” he gives David Bowie the kind of chilly farewell that Ziggy Stardust himself would have appreciated. R.S.


Kesha, ‘Rainbow’

After her legal travails, anything Kesha released would have a veneer of triumph. But this comeback set, seven years since her debut, was an artistic warrior cry more potent than any might’ve expected. It began gently with “Bastards,” an acoustic guitar-led anthem and instant lighters-up classic, pivoting into punk-pop (with Eagles of Death Metal) on the badass “Let ‘Em Talk,” in which she caps the line, “I’ve decided all the haters everywhere can suck my dick,” with a cheek-pop. The gem-like moments keep coming, but the best is the sound of her cracking up mid-verse on the fist-pumping, Dap-Kings rocking “Woman” – it’s the sound of someone who’s survived a journey through hell knowing unquestionably she’s stronger for it. W.H.

U2, 'Songs of Experience'

U2, ‘Songs of Experience’

Opening with a prayer and benediction – “Love Is All We Have Left” – that finds Bono leaping down a rabbit hole of pop-vocal processing to deliver one of his most emotive songs ever, U2’s latest finds the band coming to terms with a world closer to the brink than at any time during their career. They meet the moment with precisely the right balance of grandeur and grace, harnessing their earnest post-punk past to their remarkable facility for modern pop gestures, abetted by producers Jacknife Lee, Ryan Tedder, Steve Lillywhite, Danger Mouse and others. Fittingly for dark times, images of love and light abound (“There Is a Light,” “Lights of Home,” “Ordinary Love,” “Love Is Bigger Than Anything in Its Way”), and Kendrick Lamar even drops in to flip some Biblical Beatitudes. But alongside piousness is pure fun. See “The Showman (Little More Better),” which is vintage sock-hop shimmy-shake with a seasoned protagonist cheekily declaring “I got just enough low self-esteem to get myself where I need to go.” It’s a rock & roll creation myth that manifests the music’s eternal magic, delivered by a band that refuses to let it fade. W.H.


Lorde, ‘Melodrama’

At age 20, the teen prodigy of “Royals” raised the bar, marrying the massive vistas of electronic music alongside the human-scaled and handmade on her second LP, with help from co-producer Jack Antonoff. The invulnerable high-school snark broadened into a wider emotional palette – musical too, with guitars and brass lacing through synthetic beats and dub effects. At its most ambitious, it could recall art-rock godmother Kate Bush (see the single “Green Light”). But its greatest achievement was making 21st century pop feel as genuinely intimate as as it did huge. A record that should stand as a touchstone for young pop hopefuls for years to come. W.H.

Kendrick Lamar, 'Damn'

Kendrick Lamar, ‘Damn.’

Rap’s most powerful voice at the absolute top of his game, with nothing left to prove but his staying power. Where 2015’s To Pimp a Butterfly and 2016’s Untitled Unmastered exploded rap formally with disparate flows, kaleidoscopic Flying Lotus beats and Afro-delic Kamasi Washington jazz-funk jams, Damn. shows how dazzling the man can be simply spitting verses. On “Feel,” he unloads his head over a trippy Sounwave slow jam, going roughly 50 lines without break on one stretch, a virtuoso synaptic display echoed across the set. Lamar’s political conscience hasn’t flagged, but he’s more about self-examination here. On the fearless “Fear,” one of his deepest moments, he chronicles a lifetime of anxieties and cites his “fear of losin’ creativity.” It’s a sentiment easy to relate to – but based on the evidence, one imagines he’s got little to worry about. W.H.

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