Best music of 2024: The Star's experts share their favourite albums of the year

Forget the memes, the belaboured discourse, the inevitable backlash. When the dust settles, what matters is that in the spring of 2024, Charli xcx released the most thrilling and unorthodox major pop release of the decade, an album that landed with such startling. immediate impact that it subverted the bland Swiftian hegemony of mainstream music, at least for a little while.

Not that “Brat” came out of nowhere. Charli’s sixth studio album — a brash but irresistible fracas that jumps between forward-looking hyperpop and 2010s-era electro-pop — is the culmination of a sound that the 32-year-old English singer and her longtime producer A.G. Cook have been crafting for close to a decade. (That “Brat” was the album that launched Charli in the pop stratosphere, rather than 2022’s radio-baiting detour “CRASH,” is both a relief and evidence of tectonic shift in what listeners are currently craving.)

Six months after its release, “Brat” remains an chaotic, endlessly fun listen: the whiplash percussion on “Sympathy is a knife” never gets old, nor do the hydraulic saw synths on “Von dutch” or the squelching acid bass line in the back half of “365.” But it’s Charli’s vocals, often modulated but never quite overprocessed, that provide “Brat” with its emotional core, whether that involves grieving for a lost friend (“So I,”) processing the anxiety of adult relationships (“Girl, so confusing,” “I think about it all the time”) or simply basking in the drug-fuelled nihilism of the dance floor (“I don’t wanna feel feelings,” she repeats over a throbbing bass line on the Gesaffelstein-produced “B2b”). In other words, “Brat” is a perfect soundtrack for a generation desperately searching for joy amid what feels like a slow-motion societal collapse. — Richie Assaly

Erika de Casier: Still

I was surprised to see Erika de Casier at the top of my Spotify Wrapped this year, but then again, the Danish artist’s distinct sense of stealth is part of what makes her so alluring. A quietly influential songwriter and producer who penned one of biggest K-pop hits of 2023, de Casier’s third solo album, “Still,” sets a new standard for the growing list of Y2K-revivalists inspired by detached opulence of artists like Aaliyah, TLC and Sade. On “Lucky,” the album’s propulsive lead single, de Casier captures the dizzying feeling of falling in love, her voice gliding weightlessly over an explosive breakbeat. “When your phone rings, do you wish it was me? ” she teases on “Ex-Girlfriend,” a luxurious, menacingly seductive song featuring English rapper Shygirl. “You gotta be missing me.”

It’s a slippery, but self-assured album, one that masterfully incorporates elements of IDM, hyperpop and UK garage without ever losing its pace or coherence. But it’ most stunning moments occur when de Casier lets her guard down, if only for a moment. “I wanna have it all,” she confesses on “The Princess,” a conspicuously drumless track on which her voice suddenly sounds all too human. — Richie Assaly

Christopher Owens: I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair

I didn’t think I’d ever hear new music from Christopher Owens. Prior to the release of his fourth studio album this fall, the singer-songwriter and former frontman of Girls — an indie rock duo I worshipped until they disbanded in 2012 — hadn’t been heard from for nearly a decade. During that stretch, Owens endured terrible hardship: after suffering a motorbike accident and breaking up with his fiancée, he experienced a bout of homelessness. In 2020, after a failed attempt to reunite Girls, his former bandmate Chet “JR” White died.

Remarkably, or perhaps miraculously, “I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair” — an incredible title, it must be said — is Owens’ best work since the final Girls LP; a collection of dreamy, jangly rock songs that juxtapose themes of heartbreak and self-loathing with dazzling guitar work. (“Look what you’ve done / I’m no good” he sneers on the album’s opening track, before ripping a solo that’s as electric as anything from “Manning Fireworks.”)

It’s also a profound expression of resiliency, anchored by the power of music. “If you really wanna know, I’m barely making it through the days,” Owens admits on the album’s final song, repeating the devastating lyric as a thick swell of distorted guitar slowly suffocates his vocals like a weighted duvet. But that sense of despair and loneliness begins to evaporate as the song builds towards its crescendo: a simple piano melody and stirring gospel vocal solo arriving in the song’s final minutes like a holy deliverance, an almost ecstatic reprieve from the pain. — Richie Assaly

The Cure: Songs of a Lost World

Angst is so often associated with teenhood, as if it’s some emotional state we simply snap out of when the clock strikes “adult.” “Songs of a Lost World” is The Cure’s soaring, epic counter-argument to that theory. Robert Smith’s lamentations on life and mortality grant the listener permission to grab their existentialism by the reigns and lean all the way in, reciting lyrics like “I could die tonight with a broken heart” with the type of tear-streaked-eyeliner commitment they warrant.

One of the things I love most about “Songs of a Lost World” is that it evokes this sentimental urgency at a strikingly measured pace. Smith and co. are not in a rush. Thunderous, minutes-long instrumentals open the majority of the album’s tracks, allowing — or forcing — the listener to sit in these pockets of feeling until they can appreciate the beauty that lies therein. “Songs of a Lost World” is The Cure’s first studio release in 16 years. In a time of heightened conflict and social disconnect, it feels akin to a lifeline. — Emilie Hanskamp

Mustafa: Dunya

The term “world-builder” is often reserved for pop megastars who plant conceptual Easter eggs on multimillion-dollar budgets. But on “Dunya,” Mustafa offers the year’s most captivating case for crafting emotional worlds. With each listen of the artist’s vividly narrated folk album, you’re not only immersed in the schoolyards and living rooms that have backdropped his life, you’re temporarily woven into the relational fabric of his community. His neighbourhood. His family. His faith.

There’s a distinct generosity to Mustafa’s sensitivity, the invisible thread that connects every lyric, melody and oud plucked across “Dunya.” The album offers an increasingly rare level of emotional clarity: the kind that echoes long after the final song’s chords ring out. — Emilie Hanskamp

Adrianne Lenker: Bright Future

Great music can be the ultimate source of escapism, temporarily unshackling a listener from their lived reality. But the most exceptional albums are often those that force us to reckon with those realities so intimately that we feel changed on the other side. Singer-songwriter Adrianne Lenker’s stunning solo album “Bright Future” achieves exactly that. No experiential stone is left unturned — heartbreak, commitment, childhood and family dynamics are all masterfully mined. But what is so resonant about this album is the lack of hierarchy in Lenker’s emotional world view. Beginnings are no more precious than goodbyes. Love is not held above loss. Joy does not trump sadness. Instead, “Bright Future” invites listeners to find the beauty in life’s every ache and awe. — Emilie Hanskamp

Kendrick Lamar: GNX

Objectively, the 2024 Rap Man of the Year award goes to Kendrick Lamar. Even if you can’t agree with that for geographical reasons, it’s hard (and probably not in your best interest) to beef against that verdict. This year, Lamar scored three number-one singles with “Like That,” “Not Like Us,” and, most recently, “Squabble Up.” He won the rap beef of the century. He was announced as the 2025 Super Bowl Half-Time performer. And to top it off, he released his most braggadocious album to date. “GNX” is the crowning achievement of Kendrick’s 2024 MVP run, a 40-minute lyrical exhibition and an extraordinary showcase of skill. But what solidifies “GNX”‘s top spot is the substance beneath the swagger.

We hear Kendrick wrestling with his God complex throughout the record. He wants to build his community and be the tide to lift all rising ships, as he does on the album by filling the feature list with relatively smaller West Coast artists. But he also finds great joy in going to war and verbally destroying his peers. With that continued duality, even this far into his career, “GNX” sets Kendrick up to continue being one of the most interesting artists to watch in 2025 as the world waits to see how he tackles his Super Bowl halftime performance and stadium tour. Both are sure to be massive cultural moments. — Vernon Ayiku

Leon Thomas: Mutt

Do people still listen to R&B? The lack of R&B albums on most of the “Best Albums of 2024” lists so far is troubling, especially when the genre is filled with imaginative songmakers like Leon Thomas. A writer and producer for heavyweights like SZA, Drake and Ariana Grande, you probably already enjoy his work even if you’re not familiar with his name.

On his second studio album, “Mutt,” Leon tackles familiar themes like heartbreak and self-growth with vividly crafted and creative production. Combined with his hypnotic vocals and sharp songwriting, “Mutt” is both an emotionally heavy and whimsical album. Leon manages to sound familiar — with borrowed sounds from ‘90s R&B artists like Tevin Cambell and Jagged Edge — and ahead of the curve, as he adds bright spots to the atmospheric sounds of the popular dark R&B sub-genre. — Vernon Ayiku

Tyler, the Creator: Chromakopia

There is something special about growing up with one of your favourite artists. I still remember having to listen to Tyler, the Creator, in secret because my very religious mother caught a glimpse of the “Yonkers” music video on YouTube and was absolutely disgusted by the imagery. Both Tyler and I have come a long way since then.   

While Tyler, the Creator, doesn’t push himself too far sonically on “Chromakopia,” thematically, this is the deepest and most mature he has ever sounded. Incredibly polished as a producer and storyteller, Tyler strings together nuanced thoughts about growing up, loneliness and fear of fatherhood over bright production. Your favourite songs should serve as a snapshot of where you were each year. Looking ahead 10 years from now, I imagine “Choromakpia” will remind me that this stage was challenging but oh-so-fun. — Vernon Ayiku

Cindy Lee: Diamond Jubilee

My favourite album this year didn’t crack my — or anyone’s — Spotify Wrapped because you can’t find it on Spotify. Back when it was released in April, I e-transferred the artist $30 for a ZIP folder containing 32 WAV files and album art. (You can also listen for free on YouTube.) Months after its release, I still haven’t figured out how to make my iPhone play this through Spotify. When I’m out of the house, I search for the folder of files and individually press play on each track.

It’s a hassle, but it’s worth it. For more than two hours, Cindy Lee, the drag queen alter-ego of Calgary native Patrick Flegel, longs for lovers over a hazy mix of rock ’n roll, each song steeped in hypnotizing swirls of guitar and Lee’s ghostly vocals. Girl groups, doo-wop, psychedelia, New Wave, ‘60s folk: at times, it feels like our protagonist is time travelling through different eras of FM radio. (I’m not the first to compare this record to some otherworldly radio station.) The result is a magnum opus that pays homage to a plethora of 20th-century greats while simultaneously sounding like no one but the mysterious Cindy Lee.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get over “Flesh and Blood.” It opens with a guitar plucking the same warped note over and over like a racing pulse. It brought me back to the first few seconds of Wreckless Eric’s “Whole Wide World,” another song about yearning for someone you once knew and wish you still did. By the time it reaches a climax, layers of synth, guitar and percussion battling for attention, Lee belts out five words that sound like an oblique plea: “I’m only flesh and blood!” She, like any of us, can only handle so much. — Ben Mussett

Cassandra Jenkins: My Light, My Destroyer

Cassandra Jenkins sings in a coo that floats just above her band’s ambient pop. Her voice is so delicate that when I saw her perform in a noisy San Francisco venue this fall, it sometimes got lost in the mix before emerging once again, luring the crowd back in. The New York singer-songwriter broke out with her stunning 2021 album “An Overview on Phenomenal Nature,” released only months after Jenkins had sold much of her musical equipment, ready to scale back her ambitions.

This year’s release feels like a sequel to her last. It’s another gauzy exploration of love, loneliness and identity, tinged by a New Age-y fascination with the cosmos. (“Aurora, IL,” my contender for song of the year, recounts William Shatner’s melancholic trip to space: “It’s a thin line / Over the planet / Just a thin line / Between us and nothingness.”) Sure, it’s heavy, but it doesn’t sound like it. Lush and serene, her music feels made for those quiet moments of introspection that creep into our day before they flutter away. — Ben Mussett

Wild Pink: Dulling the Horns

This record was made to be played loud. It’s full of big, soaring songs propelled by meaty guitar and little nuggets of frank wisdom, like how “Sometimes a dream ain’t meant to be lived in / It’s meant to be forgotten.” This is what you throw on after hopping in the car, windows rolled down, and driving until you don’t recognize where you are anymore. It’s getaway music. And it’s an album that should, by now, sound worn out to me, but it doesn’t.

So-called heartland rock — whose patron saints, I assume, are Springsteen and Petty — is a label frequently put on Wild Pink. (“Sprinter Brain” features a keyboard solo that wouldn’t sound out of place on “Born to Run.”) The War on Drugs, perhaps the kings of contemporary heartland rock, also comes to mind. These songs possess a similar rugged, blue collar quality. But it’s the heavy guitar lurking around every corner that distinguishes this record from its contemporaries. Even when frontman John Ross’s vocals are isolated, you know it’s only so long before a wave of intoxicating, fuzzy six strings wash over them. And when that’s paired with quippy existential despair — “How can there be / Rеally nothing in between / That big ass moon and me?” — well, I can’t help but belt it out with him.— Ben Mussett

Taylor Swift: The Tortured Poets Department

When Taylor Swift dropped a surprise second half to her hotly awaited 11th studio album, music critics around the world shook their fists in frustration. Suddenly, at 2 a.m., we had to contend with an album twice as long as the opus we’d been promised, a 31-track voyage through heartbreak and creative rebirth.

I couldn’t have guessed that “The Tortured Poets Department” would embed itself so firmly into my day-to-day life. In April, I recognized the craft behind the album, but assumed I’d soon fall back into Swift’s less wordy, more acoustic-sounding catalogue. 

I’m still an “evermore” girl at heart, but Swift’s synth-pop romp through tangled situationships has vaulted to the top of my album rankings. I’ve loved getting to grow alongside this album, and my new favourite tracks have surprised me — these days, I’m vibing with “The Alchemy” and “Guilty As Sin?,” though the acoustic tracks “Peter” and “The Manuscript” still tug at my heart whenever I hear them, too. — Aisling Murphy

Carol Ades: Late Start

It’s a shame that Carol Ades had to cancel her show at the Drake Hotel in November, but she’ll be in Toronto to promote her album “Late Start” in January, and thanks heavens for that.

You might recognize Ades from her song “26,” which went viral-ish on TikTok in 2022. That track has topped my Spotify Wrapped since then, and I’ve loved getting to know Ades and her bluesy, highly emotional music. “Late Start” pairs Ades’ smoky voice with playful production choices, with tunes that run a range of feelings and styles. “I’m Having Fun” begs to be screamed at a concert; “Dreams” sounds like end credit music for a coming-of-age film.

If “26” was a requiem for a quarter-life crisis, “Late Start”’s titular closing track is an anthem for better days ahead. — Aisling Murphy

The Secret of Us: Gracie Abrams

When I interviewed Gracie Abrams for the Star nearly two years ago, she was demure, humble, a little shy. She apologized a lot, and she had big dreams of becoming a rock star — dreams that, at the time, she hoped might be sped up by opening for Taylor Swift on the Eras Tour.

It’s wild what two years of touring with Swift can do. Gone is the whisper-quiet bedroom pop princess of “Good Riddance” and in her place is a fully voiced, wickedly confident singer-songwriter who, at the Toronto stops of the Eras Tour, worked a full stadium like she was born to do it. 

The deluxe edition of “The Secret of Us” sees Abrams reach new lyrical and vocal highs: “I Told You Things” might not have the radio play of “That’s So True,” but it’s an equally addictive song, a pulsing canticle for tempestuous love. “Let It Happen,” too, is alive with big feelings and hopeful guitar strums.

Abrams has found her voice. And I, for one, can’t wait to hear it in all its power on whatever comes next. — Aisling Murphy

Billie Eilish: Hit Me Hard and Soft

In an era of trickle-down single releases, bite-sized TikTok insta-stardom and overstuffed multi-track opuses designed to game whatever voodoo governs the streaming-fixated charts nowadays, Billie Eilish made a proper album-album in 2024. And won. “Hit Me Hard and Soft” is 44 minutes — two sides, if you will — of perfectly orchestrated and perfectly sequenced pop genius put forth at the perfect moment in the 22-year-old performer’s nascent career to certify her as a “real deal” artist.

This record flows. “Hit Me Hard and Soft” — recorded, as always, with her equally talented brother Finneas O’Connell at the production reins — plays out like a febrile, honestly messed-up real-time chronicle of a broken relationship, its mood abruptly diving from the Sappho-sexy elation of monster single “Lunch” to the resigned 4/4 house pulse of “Chihiro” and the wrenching, all-in power-ballad angst of “Wildflower” and “The Greatest” before bouncing back up again into a species of release with the outta-nowhere A-Ha outro to “L’Amour de ma vie” And then dissolving into cabaret- and Kraftwerk-shrouded prog weirdness on the back end before reaching a point of complete uncertainty with the devastating dissolve that is “Blue.”

Pitchfork sardonically remarked in its initial review of the record that, by times, “Billie and Finneas might as well have switched on a large neon sign that says ‘this is a masterpiece.’” But the pair really did go for it and … yeah … once you give “Hit Me Hard and Soft” enough spins to propel it from “this is not at all what I expected and I need to go back for deep study” to “OK, this thing has really got its hooks in me,” it’s a short trip to “masterpiece.” This is Eilish’s “OK Computer,” her “Nevermind,” her “To Bring You My Love” — an album that rewires the mainstream on her own terms, rather than by pandering to some calculated vision of what constitutes “mainstream.” There’s undoubtedly better yet to come, as Billie Eilish is still just 22 years old, but for the moment she’s set the bar dauntingly high for herself and her pop contemporaries.— Ben Rayner

Sofi Tukker: BREAD

The title of Sophie Hawley-Weld and Tucker Halpern’s third full-length release is actually an acronym for “BE REALLY ENERGETIC AND DANCE” — which has, admittedly, always been the unapologetic ethos behind Sofi Tukker’s infectiously bangin’ post-rave dance-pop and joyous live performances, but has also perhaps overshadowed the increasingly layered and sculpted songcraft powering the whole enterprise from the beginning.

Less focused on the dance floor even than 2022’s unexpectedly diverse and endlessly tuneful “Wet Tennis,” BREAD stretches out in a variety of globally minded pure-pop directions whilst still making sure there’s a little slink and sexiness to throw one’s hips or, to borrow a title, “Throw Some Ass” into at all times. The album’s unforced sophistication (“Sofi-stication?”) — more a result of the Brazil-obsessed Sofi Tukker’s omnivorous musical appetites, from house and trance and jungle to Miami bass music, hip-hop and bossa nova, and Hawley-Weld’s own deft command of multiple languages than consciously applied ambition — makes it a little slower to take than its glowing predecessors, perhaps, yet that’s also the key to its longevity. Every repeat listen is a breath of fresh air because Sophie and Tucker simply aren’t interested in repeating themselves, arguably giving “BREAD” longer legs than such worthy dance-pop competitors for 2024 album of the year as Charli XCX’s “Brat” and Peggy Gou’s “I Hear You.” There’s too much going on for “BREAD” to wear itself out. Although, that said, a ribald once-in-a-lifetime banger like “Woof” is never gonna wear itself out, anyway. — Ben Rayner

Fcukers: Baggy$$

I know a New Favourite Thing when I hear one and pathologically force it on everyone in my orbit the moment it enters my life, so after witnessing Fcukers’ debut EP, “Baggy$$,” sweep through my inner circle like ebola in recent months, I feel confident in saying I’m right about this band.

Fcukers, a très Lower East Side trio composed of deader-than-deadpan vocalist Shanny Wise, bassist/keyboardist/producer Jackson Walker Lewis and drummer Ben Scharf, are sufficiently in thrall to several varieties of turn-of-the-millennium electronic music that they would have already qualified as NME cover stars at the peak of post-rave electro-sleaze’s trendiness 25 years ago had they not all probably been in diapers at the time. They’re certainly ahead of the “on trend” curve and punching above their weight at the moment in bringing that sound back, mingling four-to-the-floor house, U.K. garage, lo-fi breaks, smoked-out trip-hop and LCD Soundsystem with a preternatural command of utterly perfect basslines on Baggy$$ to a ridiculously addictive degree. Even Fcukers never come up with anything as potently cocky and saucy as “Bon Bon” or “Homie Don’t Shake” or as menacingly magnificent as the 808-powered bass-bin rocker “Tommy” again, they’ve already done God’s work out there. Baggy$$ is DJ fuel forever, but you’ll also never get a note of it out of your head once you dive in. It’s like crack. Sexy kids on drugs rule. — Ben Rayner

Lori Yates: Matador

The finest album of veteran Toronto singer and songwriter Lori Yates’ vocation, ”Matador” is borne of grief.

There’s the loss of family, friends, and a late-night fixture of the Toronto music scene that reminds us all that not only does time wait for no one, but that nostalgia is often a dish that’s unfortunately served cold even when blanketed by warm memories.

“Sometimes down the road to good intentions/there are too many heartaches to mention,” Yates warbles in her authentic yesteryear country phrasing, one developed over years of three-chords-and-the-truth rumination and one that bleeds melancholy over some of the cruel cards she’s been dealt over the years.

But Yates is a survivor, and the duality of the optimism that exists in such songs as “Alive” and “I Loved Ya” is a large reason why this album is so compelling. Expertly co-produced by the artist and Rheostatic Tim Vesely, other lightning-in-a-bottle moments include the feisty “Rage Within Me,” the haunting ‘50-ish feel of “What A Life” and the brilliant title track of that paints such an accurate sonic and visual portrayal of the Matador as ageless as Dorian Gray. — Nick Krewen

David Gilmour: Luck and Strange

If you’re a Pink Floyd aficionado, you may not agree with David Gilmour that he considers this album his best work since the band’s 1973 opus “Dark Side of the Moon.” Still, it certainly offers another blues-inspired dimension to his talents.

Very much a family affair — wife Polly Samson provides lyrics centred around aging, mortality and enduring romance, while daughter Romany takes a lead on the album’s sole cover “Between Two Points” and son Gabriel contributes harmony — this fresh approach offers plenty of familiar indulgences. There’s the somewhat relaxed pace of the music; the fact that 10 of the album’s 11 songs ended with extended codas of Gilmour’s wailing, expressive guitar solos and the prominent presence of fellow Floydian Richard Wright — who died in 2008 of lung cancer — on electric piano, suggesting just how long this album has been gestating.

Samson, a novelist, comes up with some profound observations on the title track and “Dark and Velvet Nights” that suggests just how in lockstep she and Gilmour are as a couple, revealing perhaps the most public glimpses of their private life up to this point — and it’s a refreshing take from under the umbrella of a man who has largely been shrouded in enigma throughout his career. — Nick Krewen

Sheryl Crow: Evolution

Sometimes the best gifts fall into your lap when you’re least expecting them.

Exhibit A: Sheryl Crow’s “Evolution. Crow wasn’t expecting to ever make another album after releasing 2019’s “Threads” — thereby removing all commercial pressures to create and sell — and then songs started showing up out of the blue.

That’s the secret appeal of “Evolution”: this natural fermentation and spontaneity has given Crow her liveliest sound in years, and, more importantly, some food for thought. The contemplative title track dives into the AI crisis that is looming for artists everywhere, and “Broken Record” is a bouncy pushback about aggression amplified by social media. Producer Mike Elizondo’s greatest gift to Crow is to let her run stylistically free, so there’s a greater variety of beats, tempos, risks and approaches on this album than the multiple Grammy-winning rocker has taken on any other album.

The more adventurous, the better — and it suits Sheryl Crow to a tee. — Nick Krewen