Pinegrove Made My Favorite Songs Of 2016

“Fuck 2016,” right? That’s the trendy thing to tweet or squawk as you down your Moscow Mule or declare from a giant premium-cable podium to the people who already agree with you anyway. And it’s true: On the whole, 2016 was not a good year. We lost some of the best people. We also unexpectedly lost a big fight, and there’s a hell of a lot more fighting left to do.

But we gained so much musically. It’s hard to quantify how good music made me feel in 2016, but it’s akin to accelerating hundreds of miles per hour skyward in a gigantic confetti rocket and then immediately sinking to the lowest depths of the sea where no light exists. Even that last part is good because it’s real. Hearing Jeff Rosenstock’s brilliant new album, WORRY., for example, confirmed that there’s still so much dynamically violent (and violently dynamic) emotion left to explore, even in a bummer of a year. And it’s not just the new stuff, either. Neil Young’s back catalog got re-added to Spotify, so I spent a lot of time in the noise there, especially right after November 8. I listened to Joni Mitchell and The Wake and Merle Haggard (another loss) and countless others I’d never bothered to visit before. They all welcomed me, just like Rihanna and Frank Ocean did with song collections I kept returning to, finding new shimmering layers each time.

Of course 2016 sucked. But it also ruled. As one of its loudest, sloppiest songs goes, “The radio is loud and wild / And I’m too drunk to spin the dial.” These are my favorite songs, in (mostly) chronological order of release, from a messy year.

David Bowie: “Lazarus”
I haven’t been able to listen to Blackstar much this year, if only because I purposely kept it at a distance after Bowie’s death. But that’s dumb, and it gives too much power to the concept of loss, because these are great songs that demand to be heard. It’s almost been a full year, but the forlorn saxophone on “Lazarus” still sounds willowy and crisp. It never won’t. That’s what I love about it.

Rihanna: “Higher”
There’s always something refreshing about a pop star going off script, but when that pop star is Rihanna, a serial wine-glass fleer who can do convention and still make it sound enthralling, it’s even more essential. On “Higher,” a perfect song, her voice, a momentarily imperfect vessel, cracks, then fades out before it seems like it should. Drunk feelings, like the declarations that accompany them, tend to do that. This is the most emotional and nakedly romantic “u up?” ode ever penned.

Pinegrove: Cardinal (full album)
In February, I took an Uber to a Brookdale, New Jersey basement and watched the then-quartet Pinegrove fine-tune their set before taking it on the road. I stuffed wads of toilet paper in my ears in the absence of earplugs and listened as the band unspooled newer songs “Waveform” and “Cadmium” and deeper cuts “Namesake” and “Need,” debating timing and harmonies and struggling to nail bass notes precisely. I really liked Cardinal before that trip, but leaving the house a few hours later, I let the realization that it was probably going to end up my favorite batch of songs in 2016 set in. In June, on a Greyhound back to New York for four hours, I realized it had come true. And it felt great. Lyrically, Cardinal is evocative without always being transparent, covering friendship and self-doubt and twisting couplets like “I saw Leah on the bus a few months ago / And saw some old friends at her funeral” into gut-piercers. Evan Stephens Hall, Zack Levine, Nandi Plunkett, and the cadre of musicians who played on this album deliver it all in the tradition of American indie folk (with shades of pop-punk and emo), somehow making both the surge ending of “New Friends” and the delicate buildup of “Size Of The Moon” great for crowd chants and three-part harmonies. It’s no easy feat to pull off, but the eight Pinegrove songs here form a complete picture of what it’s like to be young but old at heart, determined but idling, and restless but also terrified of taking that next step. “It’s not so much exactly all the words I use,” Hall sings midway through the album. “It’s more that I was somehow down to let them loose.”

Kanye West: “Ultralight Beam”
Where Kanye West began 2016—with an album called SWISH in the works and the entire music industry hoping he’d stick by its release date—couldn’t be more different from where he ended it. As I write this, Kanye is in a hospital being treated for exhaustion after he canceled the remainder of a national tour. But try to remember back to the first time you heard the gospel choir on “Ultralight Beam,” streaming The Life Of Pablo’s rollout at Madison Square Garden and turning your volume as loud as you could to catch every word of Chance The Rapper’s guest verse. Despite all the uncertainty now, it still sounds as big and open and generous as it did in February, when things were still OK.

The 1975: “UGH!”
I typically like my tweaker anthems to sound more like The Hold Steady and less like Phil Collins, but how could you possibly better convey twitchy coke love than with this song’s wiggly, athletic beat? “UGH!” recalls No Jacket Required more than greasy barroom drama, and really, it couldn’t have gone down any other way—not in the year of ‘80s throwbacks like Stranger Things, “San Junipero,” and the potential return of Reaganomics.

Japanese Breakfast: “In Heaven”
My journey with “In Heaven,” from the first time I heard it in the spring until now:
1) *Piano intro yields to blissful, humid dream pop where each corner turned is even more enthralling than the last*
Wow. Just wow. This shimmering goodness is exactly what I’ve needed in my life. Lo-fi but mammoth. Repeat.
2) *Reads about Michelle Zauner’s mother’s death and the genesis of Japanese Breakfast as a creative outlet during a difficult time*
Wait, that’s what this beautiful kaleidoscope of a song is about? Damn. Let me really listen here. I’m ready to be shattered.
3) *Can’t stop, will never stop tearing up at the opening image of a dog sniffing around her deceased owner’s room*
This song is incredible and important and continues to move me on listen 157. I can’t wait to grow old with it. I’m thankful for it every day.

Pity Sex: “Plum”
In August, Pity Sex vocalist and guitarist Britty Drake, who anchors this song, left the band. Shortly after, the band called it quits altogether. But before the house crumbled, we got “Plum,” a gorgeous entry that finds Drake retelling the story of her mother’s death in a heartbreaking, yet oddly removed tone that’s borderline cherubic. There’s so much detail, and then the knockout: “My mother died in mid-June.” That’s it, leaving us gutted and providing the closure (“That day my father died, too”) the song and the story needs. If only real life, in all its emotional chaos, was so neatly resolved.

Kaytranada: “Together”
One specific memory of this song stays with me: gatoring around sharp Soho corners on a windy day in late winter en route to my office, listening to the 99.9% album for the first time and being just like, fuck. The way AlunaGeorge’s voice glides over candied percussion and an impossibly great buildup, coupled with the wind striking me at the corners of my eyes and blurring my vision, made my first foray into “Together” like a drug-induced fog. Subsequent listens indoors, on the subway, and at my desk, have felt that way, too.

Radiohead: “Identikit”
Five years ago, news of a new Radiohead album had me like a kid on a snow day. This year, when hard proof of A Moon Shaped Pool materialized, a sizable portion of those feelings returned, though I held off getting giddy until I heard the whole thing. And it’s very good! Experiencing “True Love Waits” on a studio album is surreal, especially one that leads off with a song like “Burn The Witch.” (The most unexpected surprise of all was the alphabetization of the track list.) But nothing brought me all the way back to my peak Radiohead feels like “Identikit” — a King Of Limbs-era cut wisely reworked to swap out electronic drums for the real thing. Plus, that icy synth walkup! The scratchy guitar solo! “BROKEN HEARTS MAKE IT RAIN!” This is what makes AMSP so worthwhile. Welcome (back) to the machine.

Modern Baseball: “Mass”
This is my most listened-to song of this year, likely because it’s only 1:44 and because it sounds as close to The Hold Steady as any band can without copyright infringement. From the title to the travelogue lyrics, “Mass” is a road song about hating the road, but only hating a specific spot; as Jake Ewald put it when I saw MoBo at Irving Plaza in June: “This song is about how much I hate Upstate New York.” I was born and raised there, but point taken. Valero bathrooms are cliché and depressing as hell and the cashiers there can be ruthless. But all that tends to reveal more about the person who’s at the gas station and what’s going on with them internally than, you know, the cashiers themselves. I’ve never spent time in Bi(n)ghamton but I shout along to the mispronounced name-drop every time.

Nothing: “Fever Queen”
This song doesn’t have many words, and most of them are “I should know now that I shouldn’t push you away,” and all of them are delivered in a ghostly wail over a plush wall of guitar noise, and for three minutes, you feel kinda sad but also like you’re floating and that there’s nothing else in the world but you and this feeling. Bless this mess.

Car Seat Headrest: “1937 State Park”
Everyone who loves AOTY bait Teens Of Denial has their own “essential” pick from it. The would-be burnouts claimed “Drugs With Friends,” the romantics took “Unforgiving Girl (She’s Not An),” and everyone who doesn’t crave anthems let those who do take “Drunk Drivers/Killer Whales” no questions asked. I thought mine was “Vincent” for most of the year, so infer what you will about me, until I realized what I couldn’t shake was the thundering ‘90s alt menace of “1937 State Park.” It’s got the assaulting crunch of the first Foo Fighters record and the loud-quiet-loud makeup that’s in my DNA. And as I said in May, it also has my favorite chorus of the year. “Essential” songs are subjective. “1937 State Park” is mine.

PUP: “If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You, I Will”
Fucking great, man. Just listen to the screams 50 seconds into this song, then go base-jump from the highest goddamn crags imaginable. It’ll be all the audio jet fuel you need.

Mitski: “Your Best American Girl”
The first time I listened to Mitski’s Puberty 2, it depressed me greatly. The second time, I became downright euphoric. I couldn’t wait for the third, and it ended up a mix of both, which is essentially how this song, one of the best on the album, operates, stretching dynamics to their snapping points. I want the loudness to be harmfully loud. Strangely, I want the same for the quiet bits. That’s what Mitski does so expertly.

Laura Mvula: “Bread”
“Bread” pulsates on its own, with ethereal waves that part and undulate as Mvula’s voice gives each new command. It’s a lullaby—“Lay the breadcrumb down so we can find our way”—while somehow also being a colossus of imagination. Sounds swell and recede. What they leave behind, like shells on a wet shore, is the most exciting part.

Cymbals Eat Guitars: “4th of July, Philadelphia (SANDY)”
This song has a great narrative and an even better chorus hook. But I primarily like it because it reminds of one of my favorite television moments ever from The Sopranos. You can read about that here.

Beach Slang: “Punks At A Disco Bar”
I don’t know what pavlovian tricks I self-applied, but every time I sit back down at my desk at work — no matter if I’m coming from a meeting or getting a cup of coffee or even the bathroom — this song’s choppy opening chords begin playing in my head. This is all very funny, you see, because I work in media and wear thick glasses and pretty much look the part, making me the farthest thing from a punk at a disco bar. But the effect continues unabated, probably because Beach Slang rule and I was happy to finally see them live in September. Their new album is called A Loud Bash Of Teenage Feelings.

Joyce Manor: “Fake I.D.”
“What do you think about Kanye West? / I think that he’s great, I think he’s the best / Yeah, I think he’s better than John Steinbeck / I think he’s better than Phil Hartman”

Rae Sremmurd: “Black Beatles”
A №1 song. The unofficial theme of the #MannequinChallenge. A cameo from Paul fucking McCartney. “Black Beatles” achieves none of these things without having its top-notch hook courtesy of Swae Lee and a dense mist of production courtesy of Mike Will Made It. It’s like playing Laser Tag in a cloud. No wonder people are stoned completely still when they hear it.

Frank Ocean: “Ivy”
In September, I flew to Vermont with my girlfriend for a wedding, and as we strode along winding verdant country roads en route to our (non-Air) B&B, we listened to Blonde and took it all in. “Ivy” is, of course, one of its most accessible offerings, so I never won’t be able to associate it with this trek, seeing two people I’ve known for almost a decade tie the knot on a farm in the middle of nowhere amid beer in Mason jars and stray cats and friends plucking guitars and violins. “I ain’t a kid no more,” Frank howls. “We’ll never be those kids again.” When the scary realm of adulting actually turns out to be pretty OK, who would want to?

Carly Rae Jepsen: “Body Language”
The only possible thing better than Carly Rae Jepsen’s 2015 EMOTION album could be a second album (or EP) that’s somehow just as good in all the same ways without feeling like a retread or an empty cash-grab. “Body Language,” a technicolor mall-pop ode to the physical chemistry of attraction, is my favorite of the bunch.

Angel Olsen: “Sister”
The more I dug into MY WOMAN, Angel Olsen’s third LP, the more the back half reminded me of Neil Young’s On The Beach album, specifically its end, when the songs slow down and languish under the entropy of beautiful collapse. Apparently, this was her intention, too. “Sister” is more than just a soundalike, though, spreading from a pretty, meager ditty to a chasm that envelops the song’s earlier sunniness with a single refrain: “All my life I thought I’d change”—the irony being that the song itself is a total metamorphosis.

D.R.A.M.: “Cash Machine”
In a year when one of the most ubiquitous songs uses a vocal approximation of a machine gun as a grab, it’s cool to hear the same basic sound twisted into something nonviolent and celebratory. D.R.A.M.’s entire brand is pure positivity—just look at his fucking album cover—so the sound of a clicking cash machine, like the winning grin on the dude himself, is a welcome respite from some of his contemporaries’ darker impulses.

Kevin Morby: “Tiny Fires”
This 28-year-old Val Kilmer lookalike just won’t stop putting out music. In 2016 alone, he dropped his third album in four years and three additional singles. Choosing a favorite among all these is near-impossible, so I’m picking “Tiny Fires” for its head-rush ending, which makes me feel like I’m on a paraglider that suddenly lifts up into the stratosphere at the exact moment I find out I’ve won the Hamilton lottery. Pure joyful exhilaration from one of the most hardworking songwriters in the game.

Touché Amoré: “New Halloween”
It’s been a long time since I identified so strongly with song lyrics. The Stage Four album centers around singer Jeremy Bolm processing his mother’s death and its aftermath, and giving a shout-out to Sun Kil Moon’s “I Can’t Live Without My Mother’s Love” and Death Cab’s saddest song on Plans helps me, as a listener, into that headspace—one I’ve never had to deal with in real life. It helps that they’re delivered in a full-throated gasoline howl over powerful thuds and emo explosions, too. I don’t listen to “New Halloween” that often because mentally, I can’t, but when I do, I make sure to clear my schedule.

Hamilton Leithauser + Rostam: “A 1000 Times”
The year’s most grammatically frustrating song title is also the year’s best Darkness On The Edge Of Town-via-chamber pop entry. Rostam’s twinkling arrangements make I Had A Dream That You Were Mine sound and feel like Vampire Weekend album number 3.5 (he’s at least partially involved in the next VW album, thankfully), and Hamilton’s vein-bulging vox add a heft not typically found on the projects Rostam cranks out. My album favorite is the saccharine “The Bride’s Dad,” and the most daring (and Dylanesque) is “You Ain’t That Young Kid.” But “A 1000 Times” still blows me to smithereens every time.

LVL UP: “Pain”
A dog pile of noise you can fall in love with whether you listen to the lyrics or not. (But you really should.)

Jeff Rosenstock: “To Be A Ghost…”
He begins with a command—“Fuck off, the internet.”—that could be read two ways: telling the entire to fuck off (as the comma suggests) or telling an individual person to just stop going on the web (as it’s heard). As 2016 rolls to a close, more and more people I know are taking “Facebook breaks” and deleting Twitter from their phones because they just can’t take this shit anymore, so a song like this makes perfect sense. Lyrics like “No one’ll listen up ‘til you become a hashtag or meme” are too real, seeing what our culture of thinking we’ve defeated our opponents by labeling them “garbage humans” (or worse) can lead to. And it ain’t pretty. But none of that would matter if this song wasn’t a fucking stadium barnburner the size of the entire continent. Luckily it is and it helps us survive all the bullshit, whether we “burn those fuckers in their homes” or online—wherever it counts more.

Crying: “A Sudden Gust” / “There Was A Door” / “Revive”
Yes, this is technically cheating, but if you’re going to experience the sensory overload of Crying, it’s best to listen in bulk. As Beyond The Fleeting Gales kicks off its second side, “A Sudden Gust” arrives the way its title implies (blustery and chugging), then dips into the Debbie Harry-via-Third Eye Blind rap-rock of “There Was A Door” before “Revive” crashes through the plate glass facade of your mind and blows it all up. What’s left? Seven remaining fully loaded tracks to dig into.

Japandroids “Near To The Wild Heart Of Life”
The boys are back in town with a classic rock-inspired journey of self-discovery and moving on. This new album is gonna rip. Hello, 2017.

Honorable mentions: The Range: “Florida” / Porches: “Car” / Kendrick Lamar: “untitled 03” / Låpsley: “Operator (He Doesn’t Call Me)” / Deftones: “(L)MIRL” / Drake: “Feel No Ways” / Explosions In The Sky: “Disintegration Anxiety” / Frankie Cosmos: “Sinister” / Frightened Rabbit: “Get Out” / Sturgill Simpson: “Welcome To Earth (Pollywog)” / Terrace Martin feat. Robert Glasper, Thundercat and Ronald Bruner Jr.: “Curly Martin” / Whitney: “The Falls” / Band Of Horses: “In A Drawer” / Parquet Courts: “One Man No City” / Yoni & Geti: “Wassup (Uh Huh)” / The War On Drugs: “Touch Of Grey” / Joey Purp feat. Chance The Rapper: “Girls At” / Todd Terje & The Olsens: “Baby Do You Wanna Bump” / Gold Panda: “I Am Real Punk” / Wye Oak: “No Dreaming” / Tove Lo: “Cool Girl” / How To Dress Well: “Salt Song” / The xx: “On Hold” / Bruno Mars: “That’s What I Like”