Pop

Subscribe to the Spotify playlist right here.Let it never be forgotten that some of the greatest rock ‘n’ roll records in history were made on the most modest equipment, from Elvis Presley’s Sun sessions to The Beatles’ early albums. In the ‘90s, a new generation of rockers emerged who took that lesson to heart. For some, the lo-fi approach to indie rock may have been born of necessity and for others it might have been a more aesthetic choice, but whatever the impetus, bands like Pavement, Sebadoh, and Guided by Voices applied a sort of cinéma vérité sensibility to recording. Half-mumbled (or half-shouted) vocals, fuzzed-out guitar riffs, shambolic drums, spacious productions, and a seeming disinclination towards excessive rehearsal gave their records a raw, visceral quality that’s been at the heart of great rock records from the beginning.

Identity, as Nitsuh Abebe writes in the intro to The New York Times Magazine’s “25 Songs That Tell Us Where Music Is Going” feature, is at the center of nearly all conversations about music today. The gist of this theory is that the ethnicity, sexual preference, experience, and general “identity” of the artist should be a primary force in understanding the artistic object. And so the playlist of music curated for the Times’ article is an identity-based projection of where music is ostensibly going.Yet, rather than envisioning an ideal future in which the divides between people are overcome, this list simply thrusts the social issues of today into tomorrow, reinforcing the status quo and prognosticating that, if this list comes true, future society will more or less face the same obstacles we have today. Music, like all art, is a function of its particular moment, therefore, this playlist raises an interesting question: How do we overcome the problems of society today to be able to create genuinely new art tomorrow?In the Adele portion of this feature, the section’s author claims: “That’s the future of music: recognizing, in the present, that you’re permanently indentured to the past.” So, the way forward is to look backward. But what this theory ignores is that the duty of humanity (up to this point) is to overcome its past, not to cherish it. Understanding the history of popular song forms is not going to change the world; however, pursuing a meaningful critique of the society that produced these forms might.For the most part, the socially oriented songs on this list seek to engage the present moment in content, but one must wonder whether it does in form. There is very little actual radical music on this list (except for possibly Kanye West). There’s little avant-garde, and basically no classical (which, historically, has grasped social change far better than popular music). There’s no instrumental jazz, there’s one metal track (plus a bonus slot for a Metallica song), and no electronic music. Punk? Don’t bet on it. World music? Nah. So the presumption that this list represents a diverse set of voices that we should use to point the way forward does not seem to hold water. This playlist is diverse in the same way that a Starbucks music endcap or the Billboard Top 40 is diverse. The actual marginalized voices and the actual radical music of today—the real stuff that could illuminate the politics necessary to create a better world tomorrow—are few and far between here.That isn’t to say that this music is bad—some of it is among the very best mainstream pop music. Future’s “Mask Off” is one of the great self-negation anthems of the year; Leonard Cohen’s “You Want It Darker” is a compelling artifact of truth and despair; Church of Misery’s “Make Them Die Slowly” is a pretty decent Japanese heavy metal track; Kanye West’s “Fade” is a masterpiece of production that brilliantly combines four unique samples; Charles Bradley’s “Changes” is an attractive cover of a Black Sabbath classic. But do they really critique the world we live in? Do these songs truly grasp the essence of social life today? And if so, do they point beyond themselves, showing a way forward? On a formal level, not really. Frankly, if this is the music of tomorrow, we should expect to remain living in the world of today.

The top 100 tracks from Spotify, updated weekly.

More of us have experiences with PMS than we do going to a hip-hop party, or any of the other various mood or activity-based playlist on Google Play or Spotify, so its rather curious that this is the first playlist Ive seen that tackles this subject head on. Jessica did an admirable job, though I wish she wouldve included Missys "Funky Fresh Dressed" ("my attitude is bitchy, cuz my period be heavy").

Im not sure if Duran Duran were a minor band disguised as a major one, or vice versa, but they did have a handful of really catchy songs, and playing a saxophone on a raft is a boss move. One thing is certain though: Metro UK is a pretty minor publication, and ranking "Ordinary World" over "Rio" is complete bullshit. Still, here are a few great tracks from this these 80s kings.

In terms of persona, Miguels is poised somewhere between Frank Oceans headcase auteur and Lana Del Reys sun-damaged SoCAl rock-star shtick. Its a bit strained, and his deceleration on Wildheart that hes "speeding through all those red lights...dreaming of a beautiful exit" ("a beautiful exit") or his desire to "fuck like were filming in the valley" ("the valley") feel a little edgy-by-the-numbers, but he generally has a great ears for songs ("coffee") that complement his airy falsetto, and he seems to understand how to reconcile his R&B roots with his more the more experimental sonic motifs of future soul. This playlist, part of Apples ongoing "guests" series, looks his guest appearances. Its great to hear the early collaborations with aughts LA indie rapper Blu.

Aside from suggesting that masturbation is a "more defiant act of self love and self care," Pitchforks stab at the best onanistic songs by female pop stars is largely devoid of politics, which is refreshing. This is truly a playlist that speaks for itself (just as its subjects do other things for themselves), but its in interesting to note in passing that this contains a couple of tracks that are not on Spotify or Apple Music, and, to date, has not been uploaded to Pitchforks Apple site. Were all curious to see how Pitchfork ongoing relationship with Apple will affect its core, site content, and this suggests that maybe their business relationship isnt getting in the way of a good (if click-baity) playlist.

Creating a playlist that attempts to rank the best Rihanna songs ever is a double-edged sword. On one hand, everyone loves Rihanna. She’s been one of pop’s most compelling singers and personalities for nearly a decade, and her ability to incorporate outre sounds with extremely addictive pop hooks is nearly unmatched. Her aggressive, sexually positive persona has both captured and anticipated a fundamental shift in how gender is performed and represented in pop culture. But you don’t need us to tell you this——thousands and thousands of words have been spilled about Barbados’ finest. And you certainly don’t need Complex to rank her greatest songs, because you (should) already know a good two-thirds of these by heart. Still, it’s a well curated list, and it’s always great to have the pretext for revisiting Rihanna.

Beyonce is a national treasure. She’s not someone who requires a critical or commercial reappraisal. She’s had her missteps here and there, but we’ve all known since near the beginning that she possesses a gift that’s nearly unparalleled in modern R&B. So it makes sense that her b-sides and deep album cuts are going to be great. Al Shipley, from the blog Narrowcast, provides a really great overview of the highpoints. It’s a fun playlist that takes a reveals special moments from a very known commodity.

These queens of the modern slow jam have been snaking their way from underground roots into mainstream consciousness like syrup dripping from a stack of candied pancakes, their mesmeric beats and honeyed vocals provoking slow-burning critical recognition. The R&B swagger and soul-drenched seduction of the genres 90s lodestars are all present and correct here, but this is foremost a playlist of unapologetic female power; palpable sexuality, personal mastery unleashed through siren calls, witchy domination car-pooling with low-rider soul. Here, Colombian native Kali Uchis filters Cali sun through a vintage lens, while Odd Futures Syd tha Kyd laces excruciatingly breathy vocals with funk-fueled, dirty bass; Beyoncé nods to her forebears with slick production and urgent harmonies, and scrappy Londoner Tirzah chops and screws her way through woozy heartbreak.