Jill’s Favorite Music of 2024

The hierarchy of ranking music is a dude thing, an inherently anti-feminist approach: this is what some of my smartest women friends in music journalism say, and after years of doing it down to the decimal point, I have to agree. This is a subjective artform that, for me at least, is highly connected to memory and emotion. I don’t know how to write about or even listen to music while putting those parts of myself aside. There’s no unified theory of Good Music that creates an easy rubric by which to judge a song or album. It’s based on gut feeling, and educating yourself on music as much as you can, in order to understand what came before as you look forward.

So while I appreciated what my longtime colleague and ex-Pitchfork comrade Ryan Dombal had to say about running on the internal clock of year-end institutional voting and list-making, I don’t particularly feel that way. The thing I missed about Pitchfork, and got back with Hearing Things, was the external motivation and internal support system needed to keep up with new-music listening and the weekly release schedule. I’m someone who will love a song and listen to it 20 times in a row if left to my own devices, while doing tasks around the house or painting abstract watercolors (my layoff hobby of choice), and look for new ways to love it even more. This year, during the liminal space of my severance period, I let my naturally obsessive way of enjoying music rule my world. That’s reflected in certain picks here. 

This list of 20 favorites—including a live show, a late-night performance, a movie score, many songs, several LPs, and a visual album that plays like an old Japanese TV show—is alphabetical and deeply personal.

Adrianne Lenker live at Kings Theater in Brooklyn, November 19 

Earlier this year, I spent an afternoon with Big Thief leader Adrianne Lenker for a Crack cover story, unfurling the layers of love in her life and her solo album Bright Future. I adore that album, especially “Real House” and “Free Treasure,” which get to the heart of how she approaches songwriting. I’ve seen Lenker live a half-dozen times, both solo and with BT, at midsized clubs and headlining festivals, but I’ve never seen an Adrianne performance like her Kings Theater show in November. She worked with Nick Hakim (keys/vocals) and Josefin Runsteen (violin/vocals) on Bright Future, and they played with her on tour this year. At the hushed Kings show, with the three of them seated at the front of the stage, their intuitive connection, total focus, and subtle harmonizing enveloped her old songs in a magical glow. Kings is this big, baroque theater, but it felt like they were playing just for you (it helped that everyone sat and I had orchestra seats). I watch the videos I took at this show all the time, especially “Not a Lot, Just Forever” (see above). Even through iPhone 12 footage I can still feel the glow. 

Atticus Ross and Trent Reznor: the Challengers score, particularly “Yeah x10”

It’s always “the Dare makes fake LCD Soundsystem songs” and never “Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross made a sleeked-up version of LCD’s ‘Yeah’ for the bisexual tennis film.” In all seriousness, Challengers is the best Trent x Atticus score since The Social Network. Audio Adderall for the sleaze-curious. 

Being Dead: “Van Goes” 

I’ve been riding for Being Dead since When Horses Would Run, the Austin duo’s 2023 debut of art-school surf-pop and garage-rock gems (“Murial’s Big Day Off” forever). At first I thought their sophomore album, Eels, was a little too produced (alt legend John Congleton worked on it), but it has grown on me ever since I caught their rip-roarin’ live set in October. Keep in mind, these folks’ whole thing is nonsense plus friendship—they go by the names Falcon Bitch and Shmoofy, they share vocal duties and swap instruments throughout their performances (drums and guitar, rounded out by a bassist), and there’s some kind of papier-mâché creature hovering above the drum kit. It’s quite fun, but there’s also this tinge of darkness underscoring the best Being Dead songs. “Van Goes” is a prime example: As despondent group vocals and a driving bass/guitar combo careen in and out of catastrophe for three-and-a-half minutes, it’s less a song than a hit-and-run to the senses. 

Chappell Roan: “Good Luck, Babe!” 

In 2024, Chappell Roan represented that rare alignment of can’t-escape-it radio pop and internet-informed Good Taste—a perch from which she shooketh the major-label machine. I already wrote about why Ms. “Good Luck, Babe!” is a queer misandrist legend and the only real Kate Bush disciple on the charts for our 2020s best-of list, and by now everyone and their mother has heard this song, so I’ll just leave you with one micro-conspiracy and one practical usage. 

On the single art, Roan looks like Miss Piggy in the Muppets in Camelot project that never was; the prosthetic pig nose, according to her stylist, was a reference to Penelope, the 2006 PG-rated fantasy movie where Christina Ricci plays a girl cursed with a pig snout, who must find someone to love her as she is in order to reverse the curse. “​​I don’t know if it’s my secret to tell why she chose it,” said the stylist, which only made me (and various Redditors) wonder more: Was this look—which she also wore to a UMG party for a Grammys she did not attend—some kind of coded “fuck you” to the awards show, her label, or some third unknown thing? And will she revive it for next year's ceremony, where she's nominated for six awards and promising to raise hell?!

Within just a few months, Roan went from a slept-on Cyndi Lauper type to, truly, your favorite pop star’s favorite pop star. I listened to “Good Luck, Babe!” so many times this year, I caught myself cutting things off with toxic people and subconsciously using “good luck” as my last text.

Charli XCX: Brat 

According to the annual trend report from Feeld, the kink and poly-friendly dating app, there was a big surge of Gen-Z users identifying as brats and brat tamers on their profiles this year. This might be because Feeld added “brat” as a kink tag this summer, which made me think: Do people desire roleplaying insubordinate submissives more than they’ve let on, or is this mainly a symptom of Brat fever? Was this pop album so omnipresent in the culture as an attitude that it emboldened people to go there sexually, even if they don’t really know what it means (and despite dom/sub dynamics never coming up on Brat)? 

I listened to and loved Brat’s “I don’t give a fuck but actually give many fucks” club-pop a ton this year—as was evident from my 29-point, 3,000-word dissection—but I fear all the zeitgeisty shit circling it will diminish what a great album it is if we don’t leave the noise behind in 2025. Keep having mildly weird sex, though, by all means.  

Cassandra Jenkins: My Light, My Destroyer

After I got laid off, I hesitantly took on an assignment to write a PR bio for Cassandra Jenkins’ My Light, My Destroyer. We had a lovely and easy lunch at the East Village Ukrainian diner Veselka, where I got a good handle on how Cassandra makes music, in part, by recording people in public and private on special headphones. She glimpses flight attendants going through their routine, one prompting the other to cue the music—a reminder that everything is a performance. Or she records her mother, a science teacher, passionately pointing out the star Betelgeuse from the terrace of the Upper West Side apartment that Jenkins’ family has rented for 40 years. 

Cassandra mentioned a minor desire to teach science herself, and it’s charming how I can sense that same curiosity and sensitivity towards the natural world in her songs: her celestial wordplay and tales of working at a flower shop, her romanticization of ultra-rare Omakase berries, the way she goes to the pet store and plays with puppies to feel better. Maybe that last one is a stretch, but my point is: this is a timeless and sophisticated pop and indie rock album that never feels stuffy because it’s so very alive. Unfortunately, I had a small mental breakdown and didn’t file my bio (see: Pitchfork PTSD); Cassandra was a real mensch about it, the down-to-earth queen she is, and we text occasionally to this day. This is a little slice of what I would have written. 

Doechii’s Colbert performance

Doechii put on a late-night performance earlier this month that I almost instantly regretted not watching on live TV, if only for the sense of wonder that comes with stumbling across something special and rare in real time. She had two dancers whose long braids were weaved into hers, all of them dressed in matching Gucci and Adidas, moving in synchronicity through two songs off the rapper’s invigorating mixtape, Alligator Bites Never Heal. This is like Solange-style deliberate choreo and aesthetic vision backed by A Tribe Called Quest-level musicality and charm, plus a touch of Pink Friday-era Nicki’s quick-tongued theatricality and braggadocio, delivered by a proudly queer TDE signee from Florida. Give Doechii all the Grammys—she’s clearly campaigning with performances like this and her Tiny Desk. 

Father John Misty: “I Guess Time Just Makes Fools of Us All”

First of all, there’s a prominent saxophone in this song that reminds me greatly of Ralph Carney ripping it in the BoJack Horseman theme (one of my all-time favorite TV shows). Secondly, the Father writes some of the best critiques of modern living and navigating the music industry, like a clear-eyed call from inside the nut house. All eight-and-a-half minutes of this big-time boogie made me whisper under my breath, “Misty’s back.” But the part about running over a rattlesnake who offers to make him a big star if he just changes everything about himself… sheesh. Anyway, I’ve gone on about Misty long enough. Love him or hate him, this song deserves a shot. 

Geordie Greep: “The Magician” 

This is a 12-minute song from the Black Midi singer that is equal parts insane and beautiful—epic tales of repellent men over tender jazz chords and prog-folk larks. Honestly, it makes me laugh, especially the section where the character talks about all the people and things he’s hiding from. Best one: “I’m hiding from my mistress and her dream sex texts.” Read my profile on Geordie Greep and his fictional creeps if you dare. 

The Ginger Root cinematic universe 

I’m consistently blown away by the elaborate world that Ginger Root creates in his music videos. The man behind the project, Orange County twentysomething Cameron Lew, plays an internet-addled style of funky indie rock somewhere between chillwave and Japanese city pop, so it makes sense that vibed-out visuals would be involved. But the former pro video editor really goes above and beyond with his creativity: caper-comedy plotlines, recurring characters, easter eggs to past work, animes within animes, David and Goliath-style depictions of the entertainment industry, and a deep appreciation of ’80s VHS and Japanese aesthetics. You should watch the videos for Shinbangumi, his recent album, whose title translates to “a new season of a show,” back to back for maximum effect—it’s 45 minutes of TV hijinks with a fun and fizzy soundtrack to match. 

HiTech: “Spank!” ft. GDMRW

I really enjoy music that is repetitive but not boring, with constantly building musical elements—it satisfies my specific flavor of neuro-spicy, and feels like what dance music specifically is supposed to do. “Spank!” hits the sensory sweet spot for me, with both fast and atmospheric beats, chopped vocals celebrating the big-booty’ed set, and a delicious piano line spiking the high end. HiTech makes me excited about the future, and the past, of Detroit ghettotech. 

Jessica Pratt: “World on a String”

J-Pratt sings like she came here in a time machine, or at least from some obscure isle in the UK where they worship Karen Dalton. Her records mark a rare occasion to be transported, and this year’s Here in the Pitch dropped me, among other places, into a conversation pit in Impanema, sipping on a Tom Collins and feeling more maudlin than I ought to as I tinker with antique music boxes. “World on a String” is my favorite song off the album, the title seemingly a nod to an ebullient jazz standard—but instead of a man-in-love who’s feeling like a million bucks, the subject is a mysterious woman and an ambiguous longing. When Pratt sings, “I want to be the sunlight of the century/I want to be a vestige of our senses free,” I have to wonder which century she means, and what kinds of memories she’s holding onto. I love a woman with a low voice and many secrets. 

Judith: “Heather”  

Julianne tipped me off to Judith, the rising L.A. singer-songwriter, whose bright and tactile bilingual pop feels both distinct and of the moment. I’m expecting a Judith breakout moment in 2025, ideally along with her debut LP, but for now I’ll be blasting her recent single “Heather” on repeat. It’s got everything: a guitar riff like Cali in a bottle (or a Sugar Ray hit), record-scratching and old-school hip-hop beats, a bridge like a Rosalía song, hella ad-libbing, and dreamy backing vocals that could be Judith or a lost soul sample. Best of all: The anthemic chorus, where the Mexican Honduran American singer wonders if she’d do better if she “talked like Heather.” A true bop for anyone who feels like an outsider and can’t help but wonder what life would be like without barriers to entry. 

Kassie Krut: “Reckless”

Kasra Kurt and Eve Alpert were the songwriting heart of Palm, a quartet making proggy post-punk, up until last year when Kurt and Alpert decided to focus on a new project—Kassie Krut—with their producer friend Matt Anderegg. I was at one of the last Palm shows, and people were going apeshit; that goodwill and energy has transferred over to Kassie Krut, even though they’re just getting started. There’s also something about dance music made by punks that just hits different—harder. On “Reckless,” the high point of the trio’s debut EP, it’s the industrial edge to the swirling atmospherics, like Arca making killer footwork, as well as Alpert’s deadpan school-girl taunt spelling out the group’s name. You won’t forget it anytime soon.

Lip Critic: “Milky Max”

Imagine Fred Schneider from the B-52’s making digi-hardcore about dying, that begins and ends with squealing barnyard animals. I, too, would have thought that sounds awful, but inexplicably, I kept coming back to “Milky Max” by the New York dance-punks Lip Critic. Like getting a whiff of something rotten and wanting more. 

Magdalena Bay: Imaginal Disc

Every time I listen to Imaginal Disc, the ambitious sophomore record from art-pop duo Magdalena Bay, I come away with a different impression of it. Sometimes it’s, Damn these TikTok kids made a: sci-fi rock opera / Zelda score / early ’80s synthpop-disco soundtrack / Radiohead’s ELO tribute album; other times it’s like, If I took a SoulCycle class on the moon I’d definitely play “Image” on repeat, or I wish I could meet the love of my life all over again just to cue up “Love Is Everywhere” at the moment we locked eyes across the street. Hopefully these descriptions are conveying the dramatic scale and sprawl of Mag Bay’s greatest album yet!!!!!!!

Mk.gee: “Are You Looking Up”

In 2024, we saw the rise of not one but two shy, shaggy-haired guitar phenoms with beloved albums whose names start with “M.” With MJ Lenderman, who’s more of a storyteller and a traditionalist, it’s about what he says; with Mk.gee, it’s about the sidelong way it comes out. He’s like the Michael McDonald of lo-fi bedroom pop on “Are You Looking Up,” the addictively looping, construction-noise-featuring single off Two Star & the Dream Police. My prediction: Mk.gee’s jangly, reverbed, repetitive way of using his guitar, as heard on this song and others, will be to Gen-Z listeners and players what Mac DeMarco’s tangy tone was to millennials.

Nilüfer Yanya: “Like I Say (I Runaway)”

I was stoned the other night watching this interview with Nilüfer Yanya when she started talking about locating core memories through her recent music-making, similar to a method actor (which is also the name of her excellent 2024 album). “Everyone’s made up of memories, we’re kind of just a big memory experience,” she said. Since the release of Yanya’s “Like I Say (I Runaway)” last spring, I have been trying to locate the exact elements in its DNA that keep drawing me to it, sometimes obsessively. I realized it was the memory of my dad’s Collective Soul CDs (lol, it’s the distortion and effects on the chorus) and my teenage obsession with Nirvana (the chord progressions are like “All Apologies” looped at double speed), intermingling on the family stereo somewhere around 2003. That’s a lot to put on Yanya, whose hyper-rhythmic style of guitar music is all her own, but I think of it as a testament to her ability to remix ’90s alternative into something fresh and exciting. 

Tyler, the Creator: “Judge Judy” 

This song really caught my ear and kept it these last couple months because: 1. I love Tyler in his groovy, soulful, curious-about-the-world mode (i.e., Flower Boy); 2. I love Judge Judy (boss bitch); and 3. It’s refreshing to hear a big rapper, or really anyone in this era of “your body, my choice,” say something like, “Hey, I won’t judge you for being kinky and sexually liberated”—literally, I do not care about your body count. It’s also just the dirty and funny and genuinely surprising way Tyler tells the story of meeting Judy, how they openly explore their fetishes together. Then he gets a “if you’re reading this, it’s too late” letter where it’s revealed Judy had cancer or some shit and died—a coda on how we need to live our lives to the fullest, even if that just means centering pleasure. 

Waxahatchee: “Right Back to It” (ft. MJ Lenderman)

There’s no topping 2020’s Saint Cloud as the best Waxahatchee album to date, but this highlight from 2024’s Tigers Blood shows why Katie Crutchfield remains the model for indie-gone-country. A duet with MJ Lenderman that’s grounded by the glimmering lilt of a banjo, “Right Back to It” is a love song that reflects the rocky emotional side of longterm partnership (like working through fear, doubt, stubbornness, opposing attachment styles) while still being deeply, poetically romantic. It’s about that everyday kind of love, the consistency of which can be scary if you’re an independent person—but a little less scary when Crutchfield compares it to a song with no end, where all she needs to do is keep playing. May it always sound as sweet as this. 

Want to hear all of this music in convenient playlist form? Great! I’ve compiled just the thing below. But these Spotify and Apple Music playlists are only for paying subscribers, so please sign up now as part of our holiday sale to gain access!