I love list season. It always comes around the beginning of December (who started that?) and it’s a mix of discovering new albums and reading people’s overemotional responses to not seeing their faves on Pitchfork’s lists. Throughout the year, our blog is coasting by on its own schedule: focusing more on releases that weren’t highlighted by other publications than worrying about being timely. Timeliness is cool though, and I think the second week of January is a perfect time to talk to you about our favorite releases of 2025. We rounded up some of our frequent writers of the blog and asked them what they thought were the best albums of last year. After a little back and forth on what made the final cut, here are the 15 albums.
The Radiant Radish by Jetski
I always have to include one album that I discovered through writing for EveryDejaVu on these lists, and one of my favorites this year is The Radiant Radish, Illinois-based musician Jetski’s latest variety show of an album. A producer and DJ at heart, Ian Ostaszewski neurotically categorizes as many royalty-free soundbites as possible in his work. This album does a great job of introducing newbies to his sound by providing them with the full spectrum of noise music and what it can encompass. Between the comforting allusions to the welcoming Internet landscape of the early 2000s on “Speed Zoo” to the absurd ability to put listeners on edge on “Silent Running,” abstract instrumentals are fully defined here. In my initial review of the album, I pointed out how manmade this project feels. Reflecting on this now, Jetski does manage to create artificial intelligence’s antithesis, manually cataloging thousands of references in only 9 songs. If you have ever claimed to be a fan of experimental music, you must experience The Radiant Radish. —Izzy Astuto
limp like fred by Stav
Thanks you Jay Cinema for introducing me to Stav. I first got to know his music at Jay’s A Smile to a Tear release show, where his performance felt genuinely transportive the way he let his instrumentals linger, giving space for his confessional raps and soulful melodies to really land. Listening to his debut project, limp like fred, recreates that same feeling.
I love a good intro, and Stav understands the power of patience. On “fortify,” the beat keeps us company for the first thirty seconds with delicate piano riffs, paired with just a couple of poetic lines about love before the song fully blooms. Across its 19 tracks, the Brooklyn rapper carries that same restraint, just like he showcased at the show back in November.
limp like fred has a loose, almost wandering structure, but it’s rooted deeply in autobiography. We learn about Stav’s struggles and his evolving relationship with love. Throughout the album, Stav sounds like he is getting comfortable with discovering his sound, but still veers a bit off to experiment at times. Like “10 point program” feels rugged and nocturnal, which contrasts tracks like “under your hands,” which float in introspection over airy production. Despite that, these different sides are still Stav’s same honest voice. —Ryan Magnole
Letters in Love by Kindé
Kindé wears her influences openly, leaning heavily into the glow of late-’90s neo-soul, but also gloriously on adjacent worlds of R&B and soft pop. There’s a familiarity to the sound (warm chords, brushed percussion), yet Letters in Love never really feels derivative. Born in the UK and raised in Calgary, Kindé approaches her debut EP with the emotional labour of someone striving to understand the complexities of love.
The project is charged with the chaotic severity of unavailing romance, and it’s strong enough to stand as a real statement of artistic intent. Kindé has described her music as a way of “telling stories that need to be heard,” and Letters in Love follows through on that promise by unfolding like a series of confessions on Notes. On “Dopamine High,” which opens atop a dramatic, jazz-tinged arrangement, Kindé croons through a list of desires, her voice soft, overflowing, suspended between lust and obsession. The lyricism is unapologetically cupid-coded: “Got an angel on the loose, Cupid couldn’t make a truce,” and captures the dizzy thrill of infatuation before reality sets in.
“Hangin’ On” then marks a tonal shift. Built on lo-fi pop textures and a moody undercurrent of bass strums, the track leans into the frustration of emotional imbalance. When Kindé sings, “You’re choosy, but you chose me then excused me, went on your way,” oh, it’s a quiet gut punch and neatly synopsizes the thesis of the entire project.Elsewhere, “Patient” (easily my highlight track) introduces a subtle Afrobeats flourish, adding rhythmic lift without disrupting the EP’s mellow cohesion, which just goes to show how far her inspiration leans without spinning off its heel. Ultimately, Letters in Love feels like a collection of unsent messages—the 2 a.m. texts stoked by anger, the ones you read and reread but never send. There’s no chase for catharsis here, no need for heartbreak theatrics. It’s just what it is. I-hate-you-but-I-love-you-so-be-damned confessions, and Kindé does it right. —Divine Seibidor
SNOEY by Zack Villere
Every time Zack Villere drops music, the world must stop. Part of it is that I need to put myself into the new world he’s building. Before we were entering cities made of cardboard, and on SNOEY, we’re entering a scene where a human befriends a yeti unfamiliar with our music, using the album to show the yeti all the vast places where music can go.
This journey plays with blurred lines between pop, R&B, and hip-hop, but there’s an expansive range of sounds here that can only be credited to Villere creating music he wants to hear. Whether it’s great A&R work or just Villere working with his friends, the collaborators add such a cool, expanded scope to the project. There’s Phoenix James’ infectious hook on “Issy,” Papo2oo4’s grittiness sprinkled on the upbeat “Public Opinion,” and there’s 454 melodically crooning “you broke my heart in twooo” on “Unusual” alongside Girl Ultra and tahjii. I love the way Villere utilizes these features as magical layers that feel like brand new instruments, bringing new textures to the already colorful music throughout SNOEY.
It’s a treat to go on these whimsical journeys with Zack Villere, and I’ll continue to be excited to enter these worlds with him and his now-musically-enlightened yeti. —Ryan Magnole
The Beautiful Malaise by Everything is Psychedelic
The experience of The Beautiful Malaise when committed to as originally intended, as one uninterrupted 45-minute flow of madness, is unlike anything else released in music this year. The collaboration between English rapper Tony Bontana and producer Psychedelic Ensemble is a crazed expression of creativity that feels completely disinterested in following established musical rules and, if anything, appears determined to bend those rules until they break.
It is the kind of album so disorienting that it forces the listener to fall under its spell, putting them through a wringer of soundwaves crammed with aggression and unpredictability. From the comedic introduction which mocks the iconic 20th Century Studios film logo jingle through to Bontana’s coarse, shouted vocals, The Beautiful Malaise is an album which refuses to allow the listener to relax into its sounds and keeps them forever on their toes with its experimental sounds, grim emotions (who can forget the repetition of “I die, you die, I cried” from Bontana as the production melts, bizarrely, into a slowed remix of the club classic “I’m Blue?”) and its sheer creativity. The album is approached with a certain artistic recklessness that makes it feel exciting and daring through all of its many stylistic shifts and contortions.
The Beautiful Malaise is wonderful and unforgettable when listened to at any place or time. However, it becomes truly magical when listened to in the dark at a high volume with your eyes closed and your mind more open than ever to the surreal, absorbing mania of the Everything is Psychedelic duo. —Reece Beckett
Absence of Something by The Collect Pond
Discovered through the Boston punk scene grapevine, The Collect Pond’s latest album was the perfect next step for such a consistent group. Absence of Something is “dad-rock” with a message, conceptual in a way that only enhances the improvement this band has gone through over the course of their four full-length recorded projects. Their sound is often muffled, like you’re hearing each song on the radio, cultivating an authentic punk sound with lo-fi sensibilities. While drawing on common punk themes of anti-capitalism and dissatisfaction with the status quo, many of these tracks can do so in a way that still feels fresh. The opening song, “Every Little Thing is the Same,” for example, is a repetitive instrumental track with a repetitive titular chorus. Yet the added electronic overlays drives home an overwhelming disconcerted feeling. Its music video remixes an animated short from the 1970’s titled “Conformity,” depicting just another mindless corporate drone, trapped within the track’s never-ending loop. The Collect Pond’s stream of music videos really adds to the sheen that the band has only been able to build by truly diluting their essence into incredibly solid work over the years. —Izzy Astuto
watergh0st songs by Chuck Roth
I played the guitar a lot from the ages of 14 to 18. During that time, I was indoctrinated into loving guitar melodies, like everyone who grew up on Guitar Hero—specifically, Guitar Hero II. That pipeline infected me.
Even though I’ve moved past the rigid need for unique guitar riffs in every song I listen to, and unfortunately don’t pick up my guitar every day like I used to, it still makes my arm hair perk up when I hear something special done with a guitar, like Chuck Roth on watergh0st songs. It’s minimal singer-songwriter/folk, but there’s an experimental element that fuses with intimate lyricism to create something beautiful and emotionally engaging. When I turn on “Bunny Hop,” I’m mesmerized by the way the notes dance with each other to create a story on Roth’s fretboard. And boom, right as I’m lost in my own thoughts, Roth’s vocals screech in with softness and vulnerability that bring me back into what reality feels like.
It’s easy to get lost in these seven tracks. Sometimes it feels like you’re just in a room with Roth, hearing them sing somberly about the days passing and relationships. Other times, I’m lost in a dream, trying to figure out how, or if, I could ever play something like that on guitar. Either way, the unpredictable, finger-picked guitar patterns and the melancholic vignettes in the lyrics keep pulling me back in. —Ryan Magnole
Porcelain Shield, Paper Sword and new age musics by Mary Sue
Singaporean rapper Mary Sue’s music has always been imbued with rich introspection and self-production full of personality and character. However, with the release of Porcelain Shield, Paper Sword (among other projects) this year, he has reached a new point of maturity both as a rapper and as a producer. Collaborating with the Clementi Sound Appreciation Club to create jazzy and soulful minimalistic beats, Sue delivers a fascinating variety of personal and philosophically intelligent verses. The project contains some of his finest lyricism to date, utilizing his uniquely sleepy yet catchy flow to dissect himself and his thought processes. It is rich in imagery and poetry, intelligent and relaxed.
Between this luxurious, emotive album and the looser new age musics EP also released this year, Mary Sue has proven himself as an artist close to the top of the underground rap game with his willingness to experiment and be playful both on and off the mic. new age musics’ “reece james” in particular is a devilishly catchy tune, providing contrast to the more sombre side of Porcelain Shield, Paper Sword, as seen in tracks such as “Thief and the Bell,” while simultaneously showing new degrees of maturity from a very exciting artist seemingly ready to challenge himself and continue to expand. —Reece Beckett
I Told The Sun About You by Babé Sila
I Told The Sun About You is about as lover-girl-core as it gets. It sounds exactly like the title suggests—all sunshine and butterflies and fifty shades of puppy love. Ordinarily, this is the kind of project that would demand an obscene amount of eye-rolling and a quick call to one’s ancestors for strength. But Babé Sila didn’t get crowned the Hungarian queen of R&B in her native country by peddling cloying schmaltz. There’s too much sincerity here for that.
Since her debut in 2015, Sila has carved out a niche with soul-infused tracks that make you want to run uphill like Kate Bush or Maria von Trapp, ribbons flying. What makes her especially compelling on this EP is how fully she revels in emotion. There’s no torture, no second-guessing, just sheer dopamine. I Told The Sun About You isn’t interested in irony. It wants to feel good, and it commits. You can hear that joy clearly on “Happiness,” where she hums, “When I think of you I think of the open seas / A galore of sunrays,” and on “Found,” with its tender declaration: “In you I found my best days / And my best nights with moonlit skies.” These aren’t lines trying to be clever or even poetic; they’re just trying to be honest. Sonically, the project keeps things refreshingly simple: basic soul-pop foundations, light percussion, and the occasional jazz-style bass lines; arrangements that favor airiness over structure and melodies that leave plenty of room for Sila’s soft voice to float. Lyrically, I Told The Sun About You leans unapologetically romantic, even verging on naive—that’s exactly where its charm lives. It’s shamelessly still, comfortable in its own mushiness. By the time the closer, “Summer Sings,” gently shifts the mood from lovey-dovey bliss toward the ache of lost love, the EP doesn’t leave you feeling blue. Instead, it feels like the natural end of something beautiful. After all, every story must have an end. —Divine Seibidor
Electric Hour by Sword II
Electric Hour was a late find of mine this year, but a favorite nonetheless. The Atlanta-based trio is DIY to their core, performing primarily in house venues, often running their own sound and serving drinks and the like at their shows. However, their production quality would never let you guess this; professionally mixed to create the soft soundscape Electric Hour presents. It’s a true genre mishmash, with some songs presenting an authentically indie, folk sound like in “Sentry.” Others lean into a Magdalena Bay-type of modern shoegaze, like the airy “Sugarcane.” Their lyrics tend to skew surprisingly young, referencing the quickly passing summertime of many high school years, or a torrid affair where “I’ll carry all your books and pens.” But this naivety isn’t without a purpose, providing a tenderness lacking in much of my modern music taste. For example, “Halogen” is unbearably tender, saying, “I want so bad to hold you close, away from the smoke baby, glisten,” beautiful in its simplicity. Versus some of these more cathartic releases, the innocence of Electric Hour is refreshing in its own right, not oblivious to the horrors of the modern world, but crafting a space outside of it where all are welcome. —Izzy Astuto
fleshdeath by svn4vr
I’m not big into comparisons for an artist. I think it was because a while ago I read someone say it was a lazy way to write about music. Sort of like an editor’s note: What does the music sound like, not who do you think of when you hear this? I don’t think that’s fully fair, especially in casual conversations. We (humans?) like to box things together and find common strands between two items to help ourselves familiarize with something new, especially when it’s something new or refreshing. Anyway, people are having a field day trying to find out who to compare svn4vr to. I’ve seen names like Bob Dylan, Bon Iver, Dijon, and Jim Legxacy every time this guy comes up. I’m sure your brain reading these names is a little confused, but some sounds start to bubble up that feel close. And while these comparisons get close (and even though I really want to add Young Thug and Jonny Craig to the mix), I don’t think it’s possible to explain what makes the UK-based artist special through comparison to other artists, or what makes fleshdeath such a great listen.
There is an imperfect rawness throughout fleshdeath with the way svn4vr’s vocals wobble and splatter over his guitar, sometimes hard to articulate all the words, but not the feeling of them. Tracks like “sick day” and “apathy” layer vulnerability about religion, spirituality, and emotional burnout over minimal production, often just guitar and echoed, dubbed vocals. “fleshdeath anthem” goes into the idea of ‘fleshdeath,’ the idea of letting go of parts of yourself that don’t serve you or are superficial. It’s a song sparked by a breakup, whether romantic or platonic, led by an energetic guitar groove and stacked vocals that start to hit the red on the volume meter. There’s gospel influence throughout this album, along with R&B, hip-hop, and folk, and it all just becomes meshed into a result that can only be svn4vr. —Ryan Magnole
MERRY&RUE by Imani Nichele
MERRY&RUE has to be one of the greatest, most put-together projects of 2025. It’s everything you could ever ask for as a lover of poetry, hip-hop, jazz, and comedy. The way the Detroit-bred, Chicago-based poet Imani Nichele flips between those different elements, between humor, introspection, and straight-up lyrical brilliance, is akin to a circus clown juggling flaming torches—impossible to look away from.
From the first track, “haha,” you know you’re in for a ride. The opening laughs, scattered and slightly unsure, set the mood: maybe we’re laughing with her, maybe at her, maybe a little of both. She doesn’t care. And why would she? She’s too busy having the time of her life over Nolan the Ninja’s mellow boom-bap drums and jazzy loops, spinning punchlines and confessions into something that feels light yet sharp. Even in the softer moments, like “Chall,” her flow is smooth and conversational, weaving sassy lines over an easy-swinging drum groove while a male voice murmurs in the background. In “Quin,” there’s the bare intimacy of her openly experimenting, refusing to hide behind a mask.
Her energy moves through the album. She’s playful, sly, and even occasionally bruised, delivering lines like, “I’m acting funny, Marlon Wayans.” But make no mistake, humor is never a shield but a way of exploring life, love, and all the awkward in-betweens. As Nichele herself says in a previous interview, music is her space to live with duality, to hold insecurity and self-assurance side by side without needing to “cure” it.The brilliance of MERRY&RUE is how unbothered it is by expectation. As Nichele says, “I don’t think I get to decide who I am… my only job is to be open to everything I’m supposed to become.” MERRY&RUE is a killer album because it’s never about showing off skill or chasing acclaim; it’s messy, smart, hilarious, and entirely magnetic. —Divine Seibidor
Michaelangelo Dying by Cate Le Bon
One of my favorite performers since seeing her open for Japanese Breakfast years ago, Cate Le Bon’s newest album retains the otherworldly feeling I always get when I hear her music. Le Bon is one of the few great bastions of rock music left in the 21st century for me; the core of all her experimental instrumentals is always the fundamentals of the guitar. Michelangelo Dying is described as a song cycle on her Spotify, a characteristic of much of her music. She creates vulnerable, thought-out stories with each album—delicate and inseparable. This project, specifically, however, is a story of heartbreak, overlaid with many religious allusions that only build on how life or death, every interaction, depicted through her eyes, feels. But beyond the ending of a relationship, the album captures fears of a more final end. Every song toes the line between the romantic and the gothic, like the back and forth of “He’s coming to life, he’s coming” in “Body as a River.” Her soulful soprano feels remarkably suited for this type of project, like she’s trying to summon something or someone from beyond this world. —Izzy Astuto
Nameraka by foodman
To be quite honest with you, foodman has surprised me so much this year with how relentless and experimental his discography is. Imagine my surprise when I found out that he released a dance albumm all made on his hardware (a Korg Electribe SX) showcasing the types of sounds he’s been running through during his sets. Nameraka is an EP that showcases foodman’s ability to be versatile inside of a soundscape he can call his own. Nothing but fierce, relentless, and silly energy to the four-on-the-floor formula a lot of dance, electronic music lovers enjoy. —lilith
