link on the Internet for his "global impact on social media ", and "overall ability to drive news"." />

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Hundred x songs

They offered a comforting shoulder to cry on, a lit match to long-simmering rage, and a temporary substitute for the dancefloors and mosh pits the pandemic stole from us. Recorded more than a year before much of humanity was sheltering in place, its themes of isolation and delirium feel prescient, offering a view from indoors that, for many, will look like a reflection. Synths briefly wail alongside her, suggesting an undercurrent of rage. The song ends with a crunching loop of distortion, sonic rubble from which to once again become whole. Jockstrap spent their conservatory studies molding pop and its pleasantries like haunted Silly Putty. Beneath the lackadaisical surface, however, is a distinct lack of joie de vivre. The music is seductive, almost narcotic, with synth pads exhaling in long, overlapping layers. But something feels off. The instrumental break following an unexpected chord change lurches like a luxury liner in choppy water; melodic lines become queasily detuned. The London-based producer-songwriter is taciturn as a lyricist and a singer, but such off-center musical moments help to fill in the blanks, suggesting that holidays and hula dancing offered only partial reprieve from some looming anxiety.
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He rose to prominence with the release of his country rap single " Old Town Road ", which first achieved viral popularity on the social media app TikTok in early before climbing music charts internationally and becoming diamond certified by November of that same year. Nas X came out as gay while "Old Town Road" was atop the Hot , becoming the only artist to do so while having a number-one record. Three years later, he moved in with his father, a gospel singer, [13] north of the city in Austell, Georgia. Although initially reluctant to leave, he later regarded it as an important decision: "There's so much shit going on in Atlanta—if I would have stayed there, I would have fallen in with the wrong crowd. He spent much of his teenage years alone, and turned to the Internet, "particularly Twitter , creating memes that showed his disarming wit and pop-culture savvy. He attended Lithia Springs High School and graduated in During this time, he stayed with his sister and supported himself with jobs at Zaxby's restaurants and the Six Flags Over Georgia theme park. Hill said he began to isolate himself from "outside-of-class activities" during his teenage years. He spent large amounts of time online in hopes of building a following as an internet personality to promote his work, but was unsure what to focus on creatively. That was the first place where I could go viral.

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This is the rule rather than the exception. She has opened my eyes to many parts of our national culture that are not in harmony with righteousness. Try a variety of dates. Sexually, risque and the such is essentially the same as baptists and fundamental Christians. This is because if your relationship gets serious and you guys get married, then she may have to forgo many of the customs of her religion. By exactly how much ESPN gets watched in the course of a man-day. Toxic is the right word. I am literally too lazy to get up and get the computer. Discover the joys of a non-sexual relationship and find sincere ways to show affection without sex. It sounds like you have found a good one.

They offered a comforting shoulder to cry on, a lit match to long-simmering rage, and a temporary substitute for the dancefloors and mosh pits the pandemic stole from us. Recorded more than a year before much of humanity was sheltering in place, its themes of isolation and delirium feel prescient, offering a view from indoors that, for many, will look like a reflection. Synths briefly wail alongside her, suggesting an undercurrent of rage.

The song ends with a crunching loop of distortion, sonic rubble from which to once again become whole. Jockstrap spent their conservatory studies molding pop and its pleasantries like haunted Silly Putty.

Beneath the lackadaisical surface, however, is a distinct lack of joie de vivre. The music is seductive, almost narcotic, with synth pads exhaling in long, overlapping layers. But something feels off. The instrumental break following an unexpected chord change lurches like a luxury liner in choppy water; melodic lines become queasily detuned. The London-based producer-songwriter is taciturn as a lyricist and a singer, but such off-center musical moments help to fill in the blanks, suggesting that holidays and hula dancing offered only partial reprieve from some looming anxiety.

In , Charlotte rapper DaBaby bull-charged rap with frenetic variations on a single song, like a jabbering, grinning, dumb-punchline-dispensing perpetual motion machine. His yearlong blitzkrieg campaign garnered him a No.

Yes, when he opens his mouth it still feels like being trampled by clowns. Roddy Ricch]. The music builds excitedly behind her, with flashes of synth joining the jittery acoustic guitar pulse. In the flattened cycle of life in pandemic times, even the most mundane things can feel like arduous tasks.

Over a tick-tock electro beat, the bleary synth production grows in intensity as hard-panned stereo effects become more disorienting. Then, in Korean, she coos an important caveat: having it together is a war of attrition. But in a year like this one, it breaks your heart.

The tension is eased by a slinky sax from future-soul artist Masego and then heightened by a polyphony of backup vocals that engulf the chorus with internal turmoil. Halfway through the gentle ebb of his album Mas Amable , DJ Python turns down a slipstream of inner consciousness. But then, what is a chill-out room if not a sensory deprivation tank with beanbags? The soft power of this minute guided dissociation holds true of any therapeutic method: The more you give in to it, the more necessary it becomes. LA Warman]. What makes Tame Impala mastermind Kevin Parker so compelling is how he melds the sounds of his favorite pop idols with a production style that updates arena rock for the age of microdosing.

But he also sneaks in the briefest of guitar interludes, once again relying on incidental audio spliced in from our real world—the flip of a tape deck switch , the click and hiss of a needle on a vinyl record—to better bring us into his own. Hearing a track this haute and juicy in is borderline rude for how much it makes us miss the rush of nightlife, but Cakes has never really been polite about his spotlight. Ana Roxanne makes even silence sound vivid. The meditative track speaks to finding fulfillment out of what little you have around you, learning to tune into the universe when it speaks, and grounding yourself in small moments of serenity—necessary reminders amid a year of unprecedented turmoil.

SZA has an unparalleled ability to draw out the most intoxicating parts of an unhealthy relationship and turn them into an intoxicating song. But SZA is buoyant as she sings about her inconsistent love. That he would cut a record full of the same kind of lyrics being used against him in a sham court proceeding is more than just chutzpah.

He invokes late greats like Richard Swift, Judee Sill, and Elliott Smith, wrapping their works around him like a security blanket. Instead, it serves as a celebration of music as a source of solace and rejuvenation, and an exhilarating reminder of its profound potential. After the California rapper caught flack for her overt materialism this year, she clarified that she demands riches of men more symbolically than literally.

Xenia Rubinos]. Standing on the Corner have a way of capturing the wooziness of love. In its tenderest moments, the experimental jazz-indebted ensemble slows things down in order to disorient and emotionally disarm—the sonic equivalent of watching the world melt as your darling walks away upside-down and backward on the ceiling. She seems lost in the moment, like she has no one to please but herself.

Rick Ross]. But it works, locking listeners into one of the most curiously infectious hits of the year. British singer-songwriter Lianne La Havas would be forgiven for simply coasting on her rich voice and its impossibly slow vibrato.

While her earlier releases were sometimes marked by nearly impenetrable abstractions, KiCK i feels just accessible enough to draw listeners into its maelstrom of chaos. Her spare sound palette is in service of an insatiate self-analysis on fame, addiction, and feeling unrooted in life. As with all must-see serialized dramas, the guest stars are just as impressive as the main cast. Enter Pharrell, reciting a mantra about the circular clutches of modern capitalism in the laconic tone he once used to brag about his Gandalf hat ; enter Zack de la Rocha, erstwhile Rage Against the Machine frontman, incendiary and conspiratorial about wanting to rip those systems apart.

Take direction at your own risk, but nobody can doubt their commitment. Rage can be a powerful force for good when focused, but taming it is often difficult. On one level, the song is about letting loose with the feelings you keep pent up inside.

From there, the turns it takes are so quietly strange, and strangely moving, that any further discussion of its lyrics might require a spoiler alert. Against a spare acoustic guitar backdrop, in his own increasingly fatherly baritone, Bill Callahan tells a faintly supernatural story of parents and children, life and death, and the profound closeness and distance that can coexist between people.

A decade ago, the New Orleans native Jay Electronica enchanted with a series of cryptic dispatches, then vanished in a cloud of smoke and British tabloids.

This year saw the release of not only his long-lost debut—precipitated by a targeted leak—but also a replacement record, a restart of sorts, which paired him with Jay-Z.

The latter, A Written Testimony , often grapples with the pressure that drove Electronica from the spotlight. Perreo, as a genre, dance, and movement, has always been about power. No man is a whole movement. Not since Fela Kuti has one artist blended the contradictions, agonies, and triumphs of the continent with so much muscle. In , the 45th president all but ruined the word, but now with the end of his reign, pussy can spend the rest of the s reclaiming its identity.

Doja Cat]. Porridge Radio frontwoman Dana Margolin sings as if her insides are aflame, delivering lines with nearly feral bravado. The music illustrates the Sisyphean task of feeling better: Each time it reaches some measure of calm, the noise comes roaring back.

The result feels slightly apocalyptic, weirdly funny, and right on time. Not even in Michigan, the current rap capital of darkly funny shit talking, will you find anyone thinking more unholy thoughts than Packman. Sada Baby]. Steady yet anxious congas, a gentle flute, and bright keys meld into an affectingly soulful plea for a kinder world.

The song is a groggy anthem for those days when counting the spots on your ceiling can feel like too much work. The moody bassline delivers a melody to curl up in and brood, while the uptempo beat towards the end is a reminder that even loneliness ends. The unrelenting drums are a perfect match for the field recordings of glacial melt that Owens sprinkles in for ambience and texture, her shuffling hi-hats pinging across the tundra. Thundercat has Dragon Ball Z tattoos all over his body.

On the track, the L. The goal is out of sight, the means absurd. With the touring industry stalled in , it seemed like every rapper on Earth tried to make up for the loss with their very own digital deluxe reissue, padding out recent albums with extra tracks. For the most part, though, quality lacked. Only one artist made his album better with its deluxe edition: Lil Baby, who added a number of great songs to My Turn. Baby plays the elder statesman on the quietly menacing track, rapping more ferociously than usual while letting Dugg take the lead.

Take chances, live life, and dance as much as possible. Earl Sweatshirt and Maxo have both made their homes in the rain-blurred realm where raps feel like unspoken thoughts, where beats resemble humming machinery a block away—a world of smudged loops, two or three notes long, punctured by diaristic jottings that flash like lightning. In another year, its layered guitar work and massive drums would have prompted massive pits and reckless stage dives at outdoor music festivals. Hopefully, for Dogleg, that future involves kids doing literal backflips into much bigger crowds.

All you can do is bask in the power of Flo Milli shit. She has a rare ability to connect the fragmented images passing by the window to what she feels inside: She shows us funnel clouds dropping from the sky, a slaughterhouse, and a shopping mall, and turns each into a signpost for her own confusion. As the song builds, despair is tempered by a burst of energy that hints at survival. Pop music loves to memorialize doomed romances and terrible exes; the genre offers considerably less for failed friendships.

It serves as the grand finale to an especially intimate folk song, hinting at the virtuosic talent he often keeps behind the scenes.

Set to walls of guitar and synth hooks, his lyrics contain a nod to the music that inspired him as a Black teenager interested in punk and indie, and to the unfulfilling jobs he worked for years to pay the bills before quitting to focus on performing and producing. Not any more than someone who manages to make jeans and a T-shirt look beautiful. And it only takes her a minute. One thing nine months more or less alone reveals is whom to miss and whom to let go. Always ahead of his time, Shamir wrote an anthem for figuring this out before lockdown; lucky for us, he released it just as the loneliness really set in.

In a year defined by dancing on your own, Shamir made it sound like self-actualization. The real magic is the winking humility of the image in the mirror: a woman criticized endlessly for being too rich and too gauche who knows that living well is still the best revenge.

So too will she. Like a gentle river, time passing slowly is better than it not passing at all. Lil Uzi Vert just beamed down in a pair of Balenciaga jeans that cost more than your biweekly paycheck before taxes , and he is ready to rap.

But time and time again, his efforts to rendezvous with his digital paramour are interrupted by real-life obstacles, from locked hotel rooms to the awkwardness of online intimacy.

Over beachy guitar riffs and bouncy hand claps, singer-bassist Emily Kempf expresses a desire to detach herself from the limitations of relationships, painting separation as a bittersweet opportunity for growth. The difference between independence and loneliness, Dehd suggest, is your relationship with yourself.

Even this stylish opportunist has still got some charisma left. Lil Durk].



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