Albums 2016

Glittering, opalescent and enchanting, Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith’s cosmic opus EARS landed as if from another star in April. Cloaked in a velvety swathe of Smith’s universal, unintelligible language, EARS was deftly funnelled through the mess of wires that populate Smith’s Buchla Music Easel and into glorious sonic Technicolor. It was easy to imagine as a soundtrack to an electric ecosystem yet to be discovered: strange shivers of woodwind bubble against purrs of chattering synths, before repeatedly returning to irresistible loops of hypnotic horn. The album glowed from the outside in: a magical excursion into a limitless world of swirling celestial possibilities.

Sammy Jones

Angel Olsen’s third full-length, My Woman, was a lesson in self-possession. Using streaks of pop, soul, rock and Motown, Olsen owned every inch of her elastic voice, and showcased a kaleidoscope of emotion via an upbeat A-side, and a more lo-tempo, but no less captivating, B-side. Defiance, depth, heartbreak and humour spun convincing webs over each track. “I dare you to understand what makes me a woman,” she challenged on Sister, a heart-achingly powerful torch song. My Woman only illustrated that what makes a woman is far too much to know.

Sammy Jones

With its modest presentation, many assumed untitled unmastered. to be something of an extended footnote to last year’s epic To Pimp A Butterfly album, yet this material was far too special to be denounced as demos. Showcasing the stranger side of Kendrick Lamar’s style, here his battle cries were tenebrous, producing some of the most avant-garde music to be released for the hip-hop mainstream. And on untitled unmastered., Kendrick sounded truly free to be whatever he wanted to be. 

Tom Watson

In Manhattan, Donald Trump received less than eight percent of the vote. New Yorkers know a phony when they see one. Dev Hynes, the Londoner who has made his home here, is not a phony, and with Freetown Sound, his latest as Blood Orange, he has delivered one of the most buoyant albums of the year, overflowing with gauzy, mid-tempo percussion, synths and strings, earthy jazz, and subtle nods to mother Africa. In addition to Hynes’s signature grooves, Freetown is teeming with ideas about identity. But this is not a political album. Hynes is not a polemicist. This is art. Americans need more of it.

Lauretta Charlton

David Bowie’s death at the beginning of the year was a tragedy of popular culture, yet the enduring celebrations of his spectacular legacy prove that he won’t be forgotten. Blackstar was Bowie’s incredible parting gift to the world. Released on his 69th birthday, the immediate response was of fascination. Following his departure two days later, the record took on a deeply haunting force, presenting itself as less of an album and more of a last will and testament. A truly bewitching record with enough nuances to warrant a thousand listens.

Tom Watson

Body War is barbarous and lawless. It is the embodiment of nonconformity; the sound of rabid dogs grinding their canines. Show Me The Body’s rasping sounds rip at the veins of hardcore punk, hip-hop and the blues, and the New York trio are spiked with hostility towards the piggish nature of America’s ethically skewed law enforcement. Julian Cashwan Pratt’s ferocious distorted banjo and shrill bark wrestle with an agile and ferocious rhythm section, resulting in an explosive concoction which makes Body War one of the most original and urgent punk albums in years.

Tom Watson

Hopelessness was 2016’s most outwardly political pop, tackling major social issues with an unflinching stare. Against a backdrop of apocalyptic late-capitalism, drone warfare, mass surveillance, climate change, Anohni’s unsettlingly elegant croons, alongside the sleek bombast of its framework created by co-producers Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never, forcefully confronted our disbelief at the state of the world.

With track titles like Drone Bomb Me and Why Did You Separate Me From The Earth?, at the point of its release it turned the feedback loop of a decade’s toxic news into a profoundly melancholy piece of art. At the end of 2016, its dissection of the American dream couldn’t feel more vital. It was by no means a perfect political statement, but in denying us escapism it offered something else entirely. It was the sound of an artist committing gut-wrenching desperation to song in a way that’s seldom been explored before. For all its depictions of death and destruction, it was underpinned by the much-needed tonic of warmth and raw, human emotion. A soaring battle cry; an urgent embrace.

Anna Tehabsim

Kanye West’s artistic identity, erratic and unpredictable, is driven by impulse. And with The Life of Pablo, West’s disregard for conventions was more prevalent than ever. With the music industry’s shift to streaming platforms, West spotted the opportunity to adjust the record post-release, to add gospel backing vocals, change lyrics, split tracks, to reject the concept of completion and declare The Life of Pablo a “living breathing changing creative expression”.

Since West first jammed an aux cable in his laptop to unveil the album to the world at its live-streamed Madison Square Garden launch in February, The Life of Pablo has stood the test of time despite the media’s hastily delivered criticism. From Chance The Rapper’s hair-raising devotions on opener Ultralight Beam, to the subzero stillness of Real Friends, the glorious crescendos of the Father Stretch… suite and Kanye and Kendrick’s charismatic back-and-forth on No More Parties in L.A, there are moments on Pablo which will reverberate for generations to come.

Harnessing together an enormous list of producers and guest vocalists, West’s unwavering confidence led to an album that is disparate and scattered, sometimes ugly, and often beautiful. West, who referred to himself here as a “38-year old 8-year-old”, is deeply connected to the idea of creativity as freedom, the feeling of being liberated, or at least wanting to be. As another Pablo wrote, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.” 

Duncan Harrison

Davy Reed