Hannah Jocelyn’s Best Songs of 2023
I’ve written a lot this year, and I’m launching a newsletter in January called Transient Peak where I write even more.
The flagship series of this newsletter is called Nothing Deep To Say, named after a Pictoria Vark song, where I interview queer musicians purely about their music; I’m less interested in talking about their queerness than nerding out about production, finding emotional truths via dissecting the songwriting process. I’m so incredibly excited to share that with the world. I even talk with several of the people on this list!
There’s also some other fun stuff coming around January that’s so exciting.
In the meantime, here’s a Spotify playlist below, with some bonus songs I like + some friends whose music I admire :)
Until then, here’s some writing about some songs I like:
I’m not a Sufjan Stevens obsessive; a lot of his music is either too morose or too whimsically maximalist for me. This song is both, but in perfect amounts; while it’s not as insane as the 20-minute “Impossible Soul” or as obviously devastating as “Fourth of July”, that’s exactly why it works like it does. Much has been said about the context of Javelin, the mostly enigmatic Sufjan going public about his struggle with Guillain Barre Syndrome and the death of his partner, Evans Richardson III. It’s important to note, as any context is, but it’s not necessary to feel the power of the song. Just as much power comes from following his musical arc: “Shit Talk” takes elements from several mainline Sufjan records — electronica from Age of Adz, accessible pop melodies from The Ascension, maniacal whimsy from Illinoise, suffocating ambient outros from Carrie and Lowell — and distills them into one eight minute mini-epic (and I say ‘mini’ because, again, “Impossible Soul”.) It’s about as accessible as a song like this in 5/4 can be. “Shit Talk” is both a perfect entry point and a culmination, undeniable no matter your familiarity with the man’s work.
I didn’t write about “Rest” in my Pitchfork review for My Back Was a Bridge For You to Cross — I’ve been called out multiple times for how serious that review was compared to the album’s accessibility, so let it be known that if I could, I would say the following about “Rest”: “HOLY FUCK THIS KICKS ASS.” Between two self-loathing, sparse songs on the record, she drops one of the most confident departures in a career full of them: A colossal, cryptic prog-rocker about loss, more abstract than the rest of the record’s direct proclamations. When I listen to “Rest”, I think of early-10s rock bands like emo-folkies Dry The River as much as I do 70s psychedelia, as if Anohni heard two decades of epicene indie vocalists following in her footsteps and decided to outclass them all. Entire journal articles have been written analyzing Anohni’s voice and the way people write about it; this changes everything once again.
3. Piglet — Building Site Outside
I wrote about this all the way back when I first heard it from a publicist email invoking Nilufer Yanya (note to publicists: always compare your artists to Nilufer Yanya) and it still holds up at the end of the year. What I wrote then:
Getting hormones should be joyous; for Charlie Loane, a transphobic microaggression ruins the moment, underlining the risk he’s about to take by starting testosterone. As rendered by Loane and Harvey Grant of Puma Blue, and mixed by Depeche Mode/Black Midi engineer Marta Salogni, “Building” is a piercing, anguished cry, the harsh synths and thudding percussion conveying the anger Loane initially directs inward. In the unexpectedly heartwarming final verse, a call to a supportive father makes everything feel a little less painful. I hear a lot of touchstones (Andy Hull, Scott Hutchison, fellow Irish musician SOAK, even early Animal Collective), but the synthesis of those influences is entirely new.
4. The National — Space Invader
Here’s a deep cut joke for Nationalheads — “Eucalyptus” now feels like the Tarquin Roughs version of “Space Invader.” The aimless cultural references and deliberately whiny lyrics are traded for more fearful, higher-stakes “what if” thoughts about how close a couple came to falling apart, against a more fluid, dramatic arrangement. But it’s not here because of the first half, it’s here because of the extended ending. Even if it’s not as chaotic as “I’ll Still Destroy You” (or the original “Terrible Love”, one of my favorite moment’s in the band’s discography) there’s this sense of joy and discovery I haven’t heard from a National song in years. Listen closely during the fade out, and there’s a dramatic string arrangement that only appears in the mix for its final moments: wouldn’t be the first time the National had a whole orchestra and basically scrapped it. Even in a three-minute bombastic outro, the band shows its characteristic restraint.
5. Young Fathers — Be Your Lady
When I interviewed the band, Kayus Bankole argued for the song’s placement as the closer — at the end of a joyful, accessible record, a bizarrely structured song with glitching drum machines clashing against thoughtful crooning. I first heard the middle-8 (“what might have been what might have been…”) on an Instagram story, and could not have guessed it belonged to something so disjointed. That’s why it rules! What also rules is the ridiculous outro, where the band takes turns shouting: “Can I take ten pounds worth of loving out of the bank, please?” It sounds campy, but Young Fathers are both intensely sincere and a merry band of pranksters. The shenanigans and thematic weight are on equal ground, making for a song both baffling and just about perfect.
6. TWST- Off-World
I’m particularly excited to talk with TWST and Lauren Aquilina (who made one of my favorite indie pop songs in recent memory with “Empathy”). Co-produced by several people including Aquilina, Mike Spencer, and Clarence Clarity, it’s a maximalist EDM anthem that calls back to Spencer’s productions with Rudimental and Ellie Goulding with an added dose of Yeule’s preoccupations with the online world. There’s a breathlessly romantic urgency — a desperation to escape the limits of human bodies via the internet, until they fully see one another away from any corporeal forms. That’s not a new topic by any means, and one of my personal pet topics, but it’s rarely this direct.
7. Ashnikko ft. Ethel Cain — Dying Star
Much to the shock of everyone that knows me, Ashnikko is on my top 10 list. But if you make a power ballad that kind of sounds like Linkin Park’s “Waiting For The End”, and you include Ethel Cain, your spot is guaranteed. And it’s about breaking free of compulsory heterosexuality for “something soft”! What makes Hayden so special is that she can make long ambient tracks, but has an innate grasp of pop melodies; I frequently think of her millennial whoop tucked into the post-rock ballad “Strangers”. “Dying Star” sounds like a 90s-alt-pop album closer (Shirley Manson would be proud), but the subject matter and singers ensure this could only be made now.
Over Thanksgiving, I went back in the water for the first time in several years, and most pertinently, for the first time since I started HRT. The ocean, specifically— I loved the waves hitting my body the way I felt like they should. In the water you don’t have to think of your form. Waves will catch you, Sampha promises. Love will catch you. A musician I once knew wondered why so many of us use water imagery, and I think it’s what people who feel deeply want from life — to fall into something completely with the knowledge they’re in no danger of drowning. (Unless drowning in someone is the point, of course, but that’s Not Good.) Sampha doesn’t sound bothered, but he still switches flows at least once every 30 seconds across the five minutes. He just swims through, feeling safe and content. And he’s right about his friends catching him; an insane array of players like Owen Pallett, Yaeji, and Yussef Dayes are all holding him up.
9. Boygenius — Not Strong Enough
I wrote about this on the briefly revived Singles Jukebox! What I wrote there:
For the most part, The Record is an unapologetic major-label victory lap, where the three musketeers indulge in mushy love songs for one another and celebrate their bond. It’s impossible to tell who wrote what, as the trio peacefully melt into one another until they’re a massive sapphic hydra. “Not Strong Enough” soars above all this, Sheryl Crow allusion and all, because it’s just a good pop song. It doesn’t have the wit or emotional resonance of their best individual material, but it does have a hook worthy of Crow and some great ear candy (the pumping sweep effect at 2:07, Lucy Dacus’ echoing ad-lib of “go home alone”). Also, Julien Baker name-drops “Boys Don’t Cry” over the chords of “Just Like Heaven.” Nice!
9. (Tie) Gracie Abrams — Amelie
This immediately became so ingrained into my life and the way I view female friendships that I almost took it for granted. Yes, it’s by a nepotism baby; yes, it’s Aaron Dessner on autopilot. But it also freezes me in place whenever I hear it. In a recent podcast appearance, the musician Maria BC (more on them later!) spoke about the virtues of “intimate, intense, romantic time with friends.” This song depicts the inevitable breakdown: an isolating heartbreak, at odds in a culture that prioritizes relationships above all else. I think of all my Amelies, all the close friendships I’ve had with other women, fraught with (usually one-sided) tension. At best, they’re genuinely meaningful, but at worst, they feel like outright emotional affairs. In their aftermath, I look for some sort of proof I actually mattered to the other person. Abrams doesn’t give specifics, but captures this raw aftershock anyway.
10. Searows — Older
This seven-minute song is a goldmine for devastating one-liners: the heartwarming reassurance of “You think that you look older/I think you look alive,” the gutting coming-of-age angst of “You were mad at the whole world/you were angry it didn’t stop when you did.” Alec Duckart is painfully sincere, without his influences’ self-conscious backtracking or his contemporaries’ lore. You’re just getting him, and the mileage he gets out of a C major chord (sure, G and F, too, but especially a C chord). The trembling cello is the heart of the song, not needing more than four notes to emotionally wound. I feel like a character in a young-adult book when I put this on, all BIG EMOTIONS and LONGING. I want to tell someone how important they are to me while this song plays in the background; maybe we kiss, but we probably don’t, which is why I put “Amelie” above this.
11. Drug Church — Myopic
Lyrically, “Myopic” discusses the way capitalism trickles down into how humans interact — “most love, many friendships” wind up as transactional, if not outright scams. Despite the enshittification of everything, there are moments of genuine connection, and the song earnestly celebrates those. But if earnestness was enough, I’d still like Idles. Instead, this song is full of post-grunge details grafted onto post-hardcore: the distant harmony and synthetic violins on the bridge, the radio-rock vocal filters on the chorus. The apotheosis is when the scream of “don’t make me remember IF I DON’T HAVE TO!” gets a reverberating echo moments later. It’s a subtle but brilliant studio-wiz moment from Jon Markson, someone who saw a melodic side to this band and created something oddly magical.
12. Art School Girlfriend — Heaven Hanging Low
“I pray and I pray, I pray and I pray,” Polly Mackey sings in a song about carnal, cosmic queer desire. One of the most euphoric songs Mackey’s made up to this point, particularly when live drums come in and send the whole thing careening. Flipping from “I pray and I pray” to “I got you on your knees” is subtle, brilliant, and (it must be said!) pretty hot. While the album as a whole underwhelmed me, songs like this one and the phenomenal “The Weeks” keep me on board for whatever Mackey does next.
Pool Kids’ sense of humor is my favorite thing about them — Christine Goodwyne deadpanning “sometimes it’s nice to be left on read, wait no it’s not” like a hypercaffeinated Sidney Gish comes to mind. (To say nothing of their raucous music videos.) This time, the laugh comes not from the lyrics but from juxtaposition; the band has released a split EP with gentler reworkings of Pool Kids songs and a few from their hardcore alter ego POOL. Ever the softie, I prefer “No Stranger,” the most atmospheric song they’ve made that still manages to fit in weird time signatures and hooky melodies. The “ooohs” after every line in the chorus are the kind of details that made producers like John Shanks legends of 2000s pop, and there’s the formal command to match (“carpet apartment/when we first got high” is reprised as “before the rent got high” later in the song).
Wrote about this album already elsewhere on Medium:
“Breakdown” sounds like Natalie Imbrugila’s classic “Torn,” but within that Lilith Fair-adjacent framework depicts the masculine urge to hide your feelings and keep everything together even when you’re on “overdriiiiiiive.” All the reference points come together to make a basically perfect pop song — even the double tracked vocals feel like endearing pastiche, and the driving beat complements the fear of burning out instead of disguising the pain.
This song never fails to make me swoon. Much of the current 90s revival (thinking of James Ivy’s “L-Trip”) captures the initial feeling of breathlessly falling for someone; this a safer, gentler variant, when the initial bliss of reciprocation fades and you discover you still adore the other person. Part of it is the delivery of Bre Morrell, just cool enough to land would-be cloying lines like “I could spend forever/curled up inside, your words so tender” and “When you look at me/I am home again.” There’s no desperation, just honest expression. When I listen, I get lost in the languid, chorused guitars and reverberating vocals; my heart beats faster, as if I really am in love.
16. S. Carey, John Raymond, and Gordi: Steadfast
A close friend teased me when I queued this song up in a car ride; “this is the most Hannahcore song of all time.” Polyrhythms from Sean Carey, soothing multitracked vocals from longtime Hannahfave Gordi, even Aaron Parks’ piano filigree peacefully coalesce into something basically made for the gentle side of my music taste. “New Morning” is a formidable companion, but it’s “Steadfast” I returned to often as I needed it.
17. Milk. — I Think I Lost My Number, Can I Have Yours?
If Scrubs were on today, J.D. would be summing up the episode’s themes to this Irish band’s ballad. “I Lost My Number…” is Lazlo Bane-style folk rock given an atmospheric 2023 makeover, courtesy of engineer Oli Jacobs. The lyrics set this apart, dealing with a lack of identity in a surprisingly honest, melancholic way. But this is here for the singalong refrain: “Can someone with an opinion give it to me/and dictate what I say/I’m made up, I’m pastiche!”, the corny pickup line of the title barely masking an existential crisis. The way the guitar mimics the chorus melody at the end… to quote a fellow lover of 2000s adult alternative, “SUBLIME!”
Late into the murkiness of Spike Field, Maria BC drops an honest-to-God power ballad out of nowhere. There are poppy elements to several songs (why I love the album!), but what’s always fascinating is that every time things get too close, there’s some abrasive sound design to unsettle the atmosphere. It makes me think of other imagery involving spikes: Schopenhauer’s porcupine dilemma, where the animals huddle together for warmth until the quills prick each other. If Maria BC wanted to, they could pull an Ethel Cain and make an outright uplifting pop song; the album is better that they don’t, but the glimpse of pure beauty is all the more tantalizing.
19. Sydney Sprague — God, Damn It Jane
This Sydney Sprague cut is just one of many phenomenal songs on her sophomore record, which is nonstop pop-punk hooks with almost no moments to breathe. Borne of an overheard fight between a couple, Contains my other favorite piece of writing symmetry this year: “How you gonna Cha Cha Slide” and “How the fuck you gonna Mambo [no.]5” in different choruses. (Sprague confirmed live that it was about someone who wanted to slow-dance with their wife at a bar, but Jane was already too drunk to go out.) Her voice is easy to underestimate, always on the edge of sounding too brittle before belting near the top of her range in the final chorus.
20. PinkPantheress — Capable of Love
Originally a quiet laid-back demo from 2021, well before Coldplay covers and “Boy’s a Liar”, this winds up massive and polished with live cymbal rolls and even fuzzed-out electric guitars. Some of the original lyrics (including a bit about writing the other person’s name fifty times) are missed, but the final version focuses in on the online-relationship aspect only alluded to in earlier drafts. I’ve written about mine a lot — and this validates that if I was crazy, I wasn’t alone. (“There’s no other place I’d want to be/Than sat here replyin’ to someone on a screen” doesn’t sound ironic when you’re in it.) The best line wasn’t in any of the other versions, but pristinely captures the devastation of teenage Internet love: “Don’t you feel everything you’re supposed to”? You think you’re hitting the typical teenage romantic benchmarks, until you log off to learn you missed them all.
BONUS: IRL friends that did great work this year.
A lot of contemporary post-punk is brutal for the sake of brutal, but the bands that resonate the most with me (Ought, Protomartyr) remember to write songs and not mood pieces or… whatever Black Country New Road is up to these days. Dolly’s most popular song to date, released under the name Dolly Spartansl is the straightforward Strokes-esque rocker “I Hear The Dead” — remarkably catchy garage rock that doesn’t necessarily predict where they go here. That sense of melody does carry through the layers of atmospheric guitar arpeggios, even as the song charges to its shouty, distorted conclusion. The mix (which, per the band, took two years and three people to get right!) is piercing, but allows space for the beauty and the chaos to co-exist. May the post-punk-revival-revival-revival commence!
Partygirl — Fine, Fine, Fine (Tiny Desk version)
I frequently mention Partygirl to people looking for new bands because I love how shifty and imaginative their arrangements are. Their EP is great, but for their upcoming record they’ve leveled up in a very post-Black Midi way with the furious vocals of Pagona Kytzidis, where Robert Plant and Fiona Apple co-exist as influences. It’s a band where every member has its own set of influences, with a restless, amorphous quality that grows until songs sprawl out for several minutes. Then, there’s “Fine Fine Fine” which is their version of a straightforward pop song. It takes them from Speedy Wunderground to Lilith Fair, yet Pagona’s voice keeps things endearingly weird.
