The best albums of 2021 so far

From Julien Baker to Rostam, Madlib to Mogwai, these are the records that most impressed us at this point in the year

By Alex McLevy, Annie Zaleski, Clayton Purdom, Nina Corcoran, Baraka Kaseko, Tatiana Tenreyro, Gabrielle Sanchez, Matt Schimkowitz, Mosi Reeves, Shanicka Anderson, Saloni Gajjar | July 9, 2021 | 5:00am

Music Lists Albums

Clockwise from top left: Pharoah Sanders (Photo: Dimitri Hakke), Jazmine Sullivan (Photo: Getty Images), Julien Baker (Photo: Getty Images), Mogwai (Photo: Getty Images), Olivia Rodrigo (Getty Images) Graphic: Natalie Peeples

Whoever said artists should have to suffer for their art? Presumably, someone who never had to suffer much. Musicians, like writers, are still too often tagged with this bizarre assumption that creating their art should require an arduous grappling with their muse, borne of pain or sadness. Unfortunately, the past six months have brought with them a surfeit of suffering; it’s still hard to talk about almost anything without referring back at some point to the hardships many of us have dealt with this past year, courtesy of COVID-19. But thanks to a miracle of medical science and the vast majority of people sane enough to understand the need to get vaccinated, things are feeling a lot more hopeful than they have been in a long time.

So let’s officially agree to give coronavirus talk a break for a moment—and fill that new silence with some of the best music you’ll hear this year. Some of these albums were created pre-COVID; some were pulled from the day-to-day experience of the pandemic. But they all share one trait: An ability to transcend the situations that gave rise to them. A timelessness, in other words, of the sort that the best music always possesses, and that grabs the listener and transports them somewhere new. The following records can do just that; hopefully, you’ll find something on this list that speaks to you in such a way.

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Julien Baker, Little Oblivions

Even before her voice comes in, rich and vibrant—somehow both passionately urgent and bone-weary at the same time—Julien Baker’s new record already feels infused with emotion on a grand scale. From the organ blasts that kick off opener “Hardline,” as though bringing a congregation to its feet, the inventive melodies and arrangements mark a bold evolution in the musician’s sound. But what makes Little Oblivions one of the year’s best albums is how she matches the layered new instrumentation with a concomitant rise in lyrical and vocal beauty—a record about relapse, regret, hope, and love, all swirled together with her most affecting songs yet. From this raw nerve of an artist, that’s really saying something. [Alex McLevy]

Dinosaur Jr., Sweep It Into Space

Dinosaur Jr.’s 15th studio album, and its fifth since its 2005 reunion of the original trio, shouldn’t be this at peace with the rest of the band’s substantial canon. But Sweep It Into Space is all about finding a comfortable place to rest. There’s a DIY homeliness to the record that we haven’t seen since the ’80s, as much a product of Kurt Vile’s co-producing as the band’s decision to finish the album during quarantine. Brighter and more melodic than 2016’s , Dino Jr. fills its latest with songs about acceptance (“Garden”) and understanding (“Take It Back”). It’s as if the members are finally comfortable being together again. Reunions aren’t supposed to be as good as Dinosaur Jr’s; so many years later, the band still hasn’t gotten the memo. [Matt Schimkowitz]

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McKinley Dixon, For My Mama And Anyone Who Look Like Her

In many ways, For My Mama And Anyone Who Look Like Her, McKinley Dixon’s label debut and the concluding chapter of his three-year album trilogy, is a clear-eyed continuation of what came before. Like those prior installments—Who Taught You To Hate Yourself? and The Importance Of Self-Belief—Dixon raps with sincerity, vulnerability, and incisiveness about identity, love, and grief throughout the 11-track record. For My Mama… sets itself apart from its predecessors with its expansive musical palette: See album opener “Chain Sooo Heavy,” where Dixon’s jazz sensibilities are on full display, or with the stunning “make a poet Black,” on which he raps over a drum-less orchestral beat. For My Mama is a fitting showcase of Dixon’s growth as a musician, and an exciting addition to his growing catalog. [Baraka Kaseko]

Fiddlehead, Between The Richness

It’s impossible to talk about Fiddlehead without talking about passion. Every project frontman Pat Flynn has ever been in is inherently emotional—his bread and butter is screaming refreshingly candid lyrics, most notably in Have Heart—but there’s something unique about Fiddlehead in particular. The Boston post-hardcore group tackles suburban depression, lingering grief, and the eternal love that accompanies fatherhood on sophomore album Between The Richness. Thanks to Fiddlehead’s intense melodies, be it the gritty breakdown in “Life Notice” or the delicately minimalist “Joyboy,” those themes transform into gut punches that beg listeners to revisit their own memories. Put simply, Between The Richness isn’t an album you listen to; it’s a record that you feel. [Nina Corcoran]

Floating Points and Pharoah Sanders, Promises

A nine-movement suite by an electronic composer, a legendary octogenarian jazz saxophonist, and the entire London Symphony Orchestra sounds like a recipe for, well, a lot. In practice, Promises is so quiet as to demand stillness: Passive listening becomes tense once the impression settles in that movement might shatter these twinkling melodic figures, Sanders’ midnight meditations, and the orchestra’s almost ecological accompaniment. Like late-period Talk Talk, they wield these silences to convey immensity; the tracks dilate, in the back half, to convey a sense of wonder. Ultimately, it’s not the music at risk of shattering at all. [Clayton Purdom]

Girl In Red, If I Could Make It Go Quiet

Norwegian singer-songwriter Marie Ulven Ringheim—who goes by Girl In Red—introduced herself as one of the top new pop artists out there with her debut studio album, If I Could Make It Go Quiet. She , unsurprisingly: Ringheim has a seemingly similar innate ability to turn relatable yet unexpected subjects into catchy tracks, tackling themes like OCD, anxiety, self-sabotaging love interests, and wanting a crush to know she’d like to be more than just friends. The record smoothly integrates electronic music, R&B, and lo-fi bedroom pop, a musical testament to Ringheim’s creative abilities. [Tatiana Tenreyro]

Japanese Breakfast, Jubilee

Despite previous releases finding success while trafficking in sadness, Japanese Breakfast’s Michelle Zauner announced that new record Jubilee would be joyous and more pop-inclined. That intent made for an ideal match: The record has the vulnerability of her previous albums, still tackling grief at times, but with a more optimistic outlook—bright, effervescent songs that match the theme of striving for happiness. Zauner proves to be a masterful storyteller, introducing characters like a lovelorn teenager waiting for his girlfriend to return from studying abroad, a billionaire trying to coax his love interest into joining him in his “million dollar bunker for two,” and others that may be far removed from Zauner herself, but intensely present in their impact. [Tatiana Tenreyro]

Katy Kirby, Cool Dry Place

Spanning 28 minutes, Texan singer-songwriter Katy Kirby’s debut album doesn’t waste a single chance to stun with its beauty, intimacy, and brevity. Swooping and swaying, Kirby’s gorgeous voice traverses these songs with ease, and lyrics like “ten segments in an orange, only so many ways that you can pull apart someone,” linger in the air as Kirby asks, “Can I come over, is it too late? Would you keep me, keep me in a cool, dry place?” There’s a stark clarity in her imagery, all underlined with grooving guitar lines. She manages to pack plenty of surprises into this intimate rock album, with a daring use of autotune in “Traffic,” and a glorious guitar solo on “Cool Dry Place.” The album goes straight to the heart, like a gentle hug from a friend at the end of a rough day. [Gabrielle Sanchez]

Mach-Hommy, Pray For Haiti

As Mach-Hommy’s star has risen, the New Jersey rapper has shifted from flooding the market with appealing yet repetitive 20-minute projects to focusing on an annual album-length statement. His Pray For Haiti, a collaboration with Buffalo rapper Westside Gunn’s Griselda empire, demonstrates his talent for weaving hip-hop aphorisms—grizzled street talk, dusty vinyl loops, success at all costs—into a riveting conceptual whole. The secret sauce is Mach-Hommy’s proudly Haitian identity, which bubbles through tracks like “Marie” and “Makrel Jaxon” before blossoming in the bilingual showstopper “Au Revoir,” a Creole/English duet with singer Melanie Charles that’s splayed over funk guitar. [Mosi Reeves]

Machel Montano, The Wedding Album

Machel Montano dedicated The Wedding Album to his wife as a celebration of their one-year anniversary. The introductory track makes it immediately clear that this is a concept album—and listeners are all invited to the “wedding.” In classic Montano fashion, each track is more lively and infectiously energetic than the one before it. The album features impressive guest appearances, including the prolific and highly regarded Vybz Kartel on “Super Soca’’ and the legendary Lauryn Hill for “On Love.” Carnival is a uniquely West Indian tradition, and though Trinidad’s 2021 Road March was cancelled, Montano—king of soca himself—gave fans a reason to celebrate anyway. The Wedding is a deftly executed album that wholly embodies the spirit and vitality of Carnival. [Shanicka Anderson]

Madlib, Sound Ancestors

Thank god for Madlib, surely one of the greatest musicians ever produced by this country, at once a warrior for hip-hop’s Olde Ways and a relentless astral traveler seeking out inner truth through psych-rock breakbeats, static crackle, the ghosts of twentieth century recording technology, tropicalia sparkle, Snoop Dogg saying “for shizzle,” flamenco boom-bap, and so on—an ever-expanding Library Of Babel of beats, rhymes, and life. There are a million entry points to this discography, and they’re all equivalently central; that’s the way a labyrinth works. And yet Sound Ancestors, edited with an ear for variety and kept to a trim 41 minutes by Four Tet, stakes a compelling claim to the throne. Anyway, here’s hoping for a zillion more installments. [Clayton Purdom]

Mogwai, As The Love Continues

More than a quarter-century into a career that now spans 10 studio albums, it’s easy to take Mogwai for granted. However, the Scottish post-rock band’s As The Love Continues is a master class on knitting together disparate instrumental moods: synth-driven tranquility (“Dry Fantasy”), bittersweet shoegaze shimmers (the Ride-like “Ritchie Sacramento”), and bruising, distortion-spackled rock (“Ceiling Granny”). Oscar-winning composer/Nine Inch Nails collaborator Atticus Ross even sprinkles ambiance over “Midnight Flit,” leading to an epic exclamation point that embodies As The Love Continues’ heady combination of raw emotion and sonic heft. [Annie Zaleski]

NCT Dream, Hot Sauce

“Hot Sauce,” the lead single for the album of the same name, is a quintessentially NCT Dream track: It’s deftly produced, has a balance of powerhouse rap verses and silky smooth vocals, and doesn’t take itself too seriously. The rest of the album seamlessly continues in the same vein. Even among the other, older NCT subunits, NCT Dream has managed to carve out a sound uniquely its own. From the rap-forward, adrenaline-fueled “Diggity” to the softer, hazier “Dive Into You,” NCT Dream are experts at dipping into multiple genres and adding their own sonic spin. Hot Sauce is very much an album to enjoy in the summertime—cohesive, pristine K-pop perfection, and endlessly listenable. [Shanicka Anderson]

Genesis Owusu, Smiling With No Teeth

If there is any justice in the world, Genesis Owusu will be music’s next big star. On his confident debut, Smiling With No Teeth, the 23-year-old Ghanian-born Aussie singer crafts a diverse soundscape on which he explores his woes. On lead single “The Other Black Dog,” he and his friends struggle to maintain their grip on reality (“All my friends are hurting, but we dance it off, laugh it off”), and takes aim squarely at racist scumbags on “Whip Cracker” (“We don’t fuck with neo-nazi spew”). From start to finish, Owusu showcases a remarkably deft hand for an artist his age, weaving effortlessly between propulsive punk, sun-soaked R&B, and industrial hip-hop, but never getting weighed down by all that ambition. [Baraka Kaseko]

Pom Pom Squad, Death Of A Cheerleader

Death Of A Cheerleader isn’t a funeral; , and Mia Berrin is to thank for that. On Pom Pom Squad’s debut album, she steps into her role as a natural-born entertainer with an enviable singing dexterity, especially when she belts her heart out like she’s screaming during karaoke, only to reel it back in on the next song for a sweeping croon. From the string slides that sound like orca calls on “Crying” to the manic guitar fuzz on “Cake” that recalls Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Berrin’s vision for punk heartbreak and indie rock expanse takes perfect form on Death Of A Cheerleader. [Nina Corcoran]

PONY, TV Baby

PONY’s debut full-length, TV Baby, makes it clear we’re living through another power-pop golden age. Led by vocalist Sam Bielanski, the Toronto band unleashes bold hooks, buzzy chords, and sugar-coated vocals. TV Baby’s darker lyrics, in contrast, detail hard truths: crumbling relationships, the challenges of navigating life off the beaten path, and trying (and failing) to live up to expectations. “Thought I was saved from the messes that I made / But they wanna stay right with me,” Bielanski sings wistfully on the grungy, melodic “Sunny D.” On the Letters To Cleo-esque “Chokecherry,” however, the eye-rolling exasperation turns outward: “If you don’t know me by now, I’m so over it.” [Annie Zaleski]

Ratboys, Happy Birthday, Ratboy

Leave it to Ratboys to rework some of the earliest songs they ever wrote and somehow end up with one of the best releases of 2021 thus far. Along with one new track (“Go Outside,” a sunny-day, country ramble of a ditty), these latest iterations of songs first developed long before Julia Steiner and Dave Sagan had a full band backing them become rich, engaging experiments in tension-and-release, from the muted stutter-step rhythms that dominate the first half to the louder, more raucous anthems that enter on side B. There’s even a number that gets in and out in under two minutes (“Space Blows”) that sounds like a long-lost Veruca Salt hit. Steiner’s voice, as usual, unites all these stylistic detours, making what’s old feel not just new, but vital. [Alex McLevy]

Olivia Rodrigo, Sour

The monster success of Olivia Rodrigo’s two singles “driver’s license” and “deja vu” prepared listeners well for her absolutely-no-skips debut album, Sour. The 18-year-old singer offers different shades of teenage catharsis with bangers like “good 4 u” and “brutal,” complete with electrifying vocals and melodies, while complementing them with the moodier, more emotional tracks like “1 step forward, 3 steps back” or “enough for you.” Rodrigo has burst into the pop genre with a fresh yet vulnerable voice and perspective; it’s why Sour captures a free-spirited adolescence that is somehow universally relatable. With such an instantly iconic album, Rodrigo’s path to musical fame seems assured. [Saloni Gajjar]

Rostam, Changephobia

The ex-Vampire Weekend producer steps firmly out of his former band’s shadow (and affirms why he was one of the most significant forces behind the group’s 2010s success) with a lush, romantic sophomore solo album. As the title suggests, Rostam grapples with fears about the future and the ever-changing nature of life, but revels in the excitement of loving someone despite these looming worries. He pulls out all of the stops on this record—including some kick-ass saxophone and piano solos—in order to ground the listener in a movingly soft and sentimental mindset. [Gabrielle Sanchez]

Son Lux,

Tomorrows III marks the end of one of the most inventive and inspiring musical triptychs of the past decade. Son Lux’s third installment of its multi-year project evolves in a somewhat different direction than its predecessors, bringing in stirring guest vocalists for several tracks and expanding upon the group’s mix of icy electronics and aching humanism. But it retains Son Lux’s same commitment to pushing the boundaries of avant-R&B and ambient post-rock in ways that never cease to surprise and entrance. There are even hints of Moses Sumney and other contemporary genre-blenders par excellence in the mix, but the trio’s final cap on this massively ambitious work remains unmistakably their own. [Alex McLevy]

Jazmine Sullivan, Heaux Tales

Jazmine Sullivan’s Heaux Tales revisits the themes of 2016’s critically acclaimed, commercially overlooked Reality Show with more stories of love and trouble. But this time, the world was ready for her: The raucous, shit-talking lead single “Pick Up Your Feelings” was a genuine R&B hit, and her songs about women trying to thrive as fully rounded and sexual human beings in a society that consistently devalues their ideas seemed timelier than ever. These “hoe tales” have impressive range, with space for raunchy escapades (“On It”) as well as tense relationship conflicts (“Price Tags”) and heartbreaking stories of dreams deferred (“The Other Side”). [Mosi Reeves]

The Armed, ULTRAPOP

There’s a breadth and scope of sounds on ULTRAPOP that presumably cost The Armed any remaining hardcore purists in its fanbase, but what it lost in street cred, it gained in artistry. ULTRAPOP is a blistering throb of an album, as intensely pummeling and cathartic as anything the band has released before, but wedded to a collection of songs that run the gamut from joyous synth beauty to shrieking, chaotic noise. A lot of bands strive to achieve Andrew W.K. levels of foot-perpetually-on-the-gas ferocity, but The Armed might be the only ones to outdo everyone in the competition—and then one-up themselves, to boot. [Alex McLevy]

The Weather Station,

From the tense, skittering rhythms that usher in album opener “Robber,” Tamara Lindman and her band The Weather Station launch a full-fledged salvo into a highly specific subgenre of rock with Ignorance, based on Lindman’s personal reckoning with climate change—call it Apocalyptic Environmental Anxiety Music. There are still elements of the group’s earlier folk sound, but it’s been synthesized into a collection of groove-heavy numbers that glide from mournful to meditative—and yes, even occasionally hopeful—all joined under the compelling alto of Lindman’s voice. Jazzy at times, insistent with poppy hooks at others, it’s a record whose sound expands to match the size of its conceptual ambition. [Alex McLevy]