This year has seen fewer releases, no live concerts to ground them in the outside world, and less word-of-mouth recommendation and IRL discussion. Yet there’s been no lack of urgency and impact on our distanced but concentrated existences. This year my ears felt less like professional tools and more like human organs again. Assessing which artists’ works “matter” most has been even more of a mug’s game, but this has still felt like a profound year in music. Slate
I’ve joked to friends that my year-end list was going to read, “Don’t ask me—I only listen to Phoebe Bridgers.”
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