The 100 Best Albums of 2024

“Looks like downhill from here,” Mia Berrin quips at the top of Pom Pom Squad’s second album. On Mirror Starts Moving Without Me, the Brooklyn grunge band leans into this darker tone of the Lewis Carroll classic that partly inspires its title as singer Berrin illustrates an identity crisis in overdrive. As Berrin tumbles through the figurative mirror and explores all the versions of herself, she realizes the process of reinvention is grueling. Meanwhile, tracks like “Running From Myself” and “Everybody’s Moving On” chronicle the experience of moving past the monstrous parts of yourself that are better left behind. —Maya Georgi

While Carrie Brownstein and Corine Tucker were working on Little Rope, they received news that Brownstein’s mother and stepfather had been killed in a car accident while vacationing in Italy. That tragic experience became the emotional backdrop from an album that saw the duo return to the resonant guitar fury that has always defined Sleater-Kinney at their best. Highlights like “Say It Like You Mean It” and “Six Mistakes” are as cathartic as anything in their illustrious canon, even as they keep expanding their sound in new directions. —Jon Dolan

This is an easygoing tribute to hip-hop’s essence and realness, full of affectionate references to the music that’s still close to Common’s heart after all these years. Flowing deliberately over a luxurious spread of prime Pete Rock beats, the griot from Chicago raps with wisdom and patience. “The more I grow older, the more I be sober/Minded what rhyme did — it defined culture,” he pronounces on “Stellar.” If his punch lines can verge on dad-joke territory (“The way I pass words/You don’t have to log in”), more often they’re genuinely sharp and entertaining. —Simon Vozick-Levinson 

On Wild God‘s shimmering “Joy,” Nick Cave sings about a ghost in the middle of the night telling him, “We’ve all had too much sorrow; now is the time for joy.” It’s remarkable since Cave’s last few records have found him making sense of insurmountable grief. The darkness is still present, but glimmers of light illuminate Wild God. The record’s best moments show tender vulnerability: the ache in his voice on the Jimmy Webb–like “Frogs,” the desperate hope of “my hand searching for your hand” on “Final Rescue Attempt,” and, best of all, the gospel rave-up of “Conversion.” —Kory Grow

Kali Uchis has a few things in mind on Orquídeas. First of all, she wants the world to know there’s no box or category to limit Latinas sonically. She bounces from icy R&B to bright merengue to liquefied dream pop. Second, the album balances a careful mix of power and vulnerability, adding complexity to notions of Latinas beyond stereotypes as lusty sirens or spicy firebrands. But Orquídeas is also loaded with sexual agency and bad-bitch energy. She’s bolder and more forthright than ever, diving deeper into new sounds and flourishing the entire way. —Julyssa Lopez

Koe Wetzel has been a Texas country anti-hero for a decade now, but 9 Lives finally helped introduce the singer-songwriter to an audience outside the Lone Star State. Songs like “9 Lives (Black Cat)” are full of fuck-around-and-find-out energy, and “Damn Near Normal” both celebrates and laments a life on the road fueled by “a little melatonin and a bag of weed.” Fortunately, “Casamigos” is there to lighten the mood: It’s the catchiest song written about agave since John Anderson’s “Straight Tequila Night.” —Joseph Hudak

Grace Cummings’ influences are obvious: On Ramona‘s “Help Is on the Way,” she ties together lyrics from Bob Dylan, the Beatles, and Neil Young — and she previously covered fellow Aussie Nick Cave’s “Straight to You.” But Ramona, her third full-length, feels more fresh than familiar, thanks to Cummings’ stunning, and often devastating, deep voice. She has a wonderful way of sliding dynamically from the sweet and serene into crashing tempests, such as on “A Precious Thing,” when she sings, “Love is just a thing that I’m trying to live without.” —K.G.

The first solo album from former Slayer guitarist Kerry King is basically the “Still D.R.E.” of thrash metal. But where Dr. Dre wanted to remind his fans that he was still puffin’ his leafs, still fucking with beats, and still not lovin’ police after close to a decade’s absence, King wants his fans to understand that even though Slayer are essentially hell bound, he’s still Satan’s preeminent ambassador. On From Hell I Rise, King is still drinkin’ his tequila, still fucking with riffs, and still not lovin’ the priests. In other words, it sounds like Slayer — and at times, Slayer at their best. —K.G.

Megan Moroney is deep in her feels on Am I Okay?, the follow-up to her breakthrough debut, Lucky. Moroney has been describing herself as the “Emo Cowgirl,” lassoing a musical trend that’s been picking up steam over the past year or so. This is an album full of references to therapy (“No Caller ID”), fears of dying alone (“Third Time’s the Charm”), and blasé resignation (“Indifferent”). There’s even a mournful goodbye ballad — the devastating “Heaven by Noon.” But despite its heavy heart, Am I Okay? isn’t a dour project. —J.H.

The LinnDrum machine is Allie X’s greatest weapon on Girl With No Face. The album transports the singer back to the Eighties, as she draws influences from Joy Division, Kraftwerk, and Cocteau Twins to refresh her sound. The results captures Allie seeking power over the chaos in her world while keeping a touch of sarcasm and dry humor: “I don’t sing for straight men ’cause they just ruin the world,” she sings on “Staying Power.” “Off With Her Tits” finds her repeating the title phrase over a sample of Yaz’s synth-pop classic “Don’t Go,” putting her own spin on a classic sound. —Tomas Mier

In 2023, gritty New York troubadour Jesse Malin suffered an exceedingly rare spinal stroke that affected the use of his legs. The tribute album Silver Patron Saints arrives as a benefit for Malin’s recovery. Bruce Springsteen, Billie Joe Armstrong, Jack Antonoff, Lucinda Williams, and Elvis Costello are among the artists covering the revered rocker’s songs on this 28-track collection. Newcomers to Malin’s work will unearth not just some golden songs, but an understanding of the distinctly New York craftsman who wrote them. —J.H.

Charley Crockett has been at it for a decade, longer if you count his busking days, but he’s never sounded as sure of himself as he does here. The lyrics on his 13th album, $10 Cowboy, are a mix of honky-tonk hooks, phrases from drifters and gas-station clerks, and stories written in the back of his bus as he went across the country. “America, have I told ya, how I labor in your fields?” he asks. Like the country he’s looking at, the album is a whole made of disparate parts: soul, country, blues, Americana, and more. —Benjamin Stallings

On his heady second solo album, RM interrogates the relationship between his world-conquering presented self and the “ordinary young man named Kim Namjoon” that he might’ve been. His lyrical ride is made even more mind-expanding by the music laid down by RM and his collaborators. Right Place, Wrong Person is psychedelia-tinged and soulful, its lyrics’ intense self-interrogation balanced by music that feels like an invite to further explorations. —Maura Johnston

The Brooklyn-born rapper’s 21-track project comes after a prolonged period when, he says, he lost his creative fire due to the demands that the industry, especially DSPs, put on artists. His dense, abstract lyricism forms the shafts and columns through which he alternately reflects on his life, dropping gems like “Loud and corny the new clout,” from “Custard Spoon.” Cavalier deploys a range of flows over a diverse, Quelle Chris-crafted canvas — from the jazzy “Pears” to the entrancing “Come Proper.” —Andre Gee

The audacious SMILE!:D rejects sterile facade with explosive pop production while sharply interrogating parasocial relationships and external validation. “Crying at the airport/‘I’m sorry, can I get a pic?’/Telling me a sad story/Another reason not to quit,” he sings on “Knock Yourself Out XD.” Robinson delivers his clearest vocal performance on the idiosyncratic standout “Year of the Cup,” a pseudo ballad that builds around audio from a 2009 Lil Wayne interview about the link between substance use, creativity, and success. —Larisha Paul

Camila Cabello wasn’t looking for a “Señorita” or a “Havana” on C, XOXO. The pop star wanted to subvert expectations and stretch her songwriting muscles on an experimental record that will inevitably become a cult classic. “It was about finding that strangeness,” she told Rolling Stone. On the album, produced by mastermind El Guincho, the former Fifth Harmony star laced a Pitbull sample on piano ballad “B.O.A.T,” welcomed 2025’s Villain of the Year Drake on the danceable “Hot Uptown,” and bared it all on deluxe album closer “Godspeed.” —T.M.

Meet the year’s favorite indie-rock supergroup. In this corner: Stephen Malkmus, from Pavement and the Jicks. In that one: Matt Sweeney, from Chavez and Superwolf. They’re joined by Dirty Three drum legend Jim White and Ty Segall bassist Emmett Kelly. They’re basically the Matador Wilburys—an all-star team where listening just means hanging out and soaking up the friendly vibe. The Hard Quartet’s awesomely shaggy debut album slams hard in Seventies rock mode. But it peaks even higher when it slows down for hippie-folk bongwater ballads like “Six Deaf Rats” and “Jacked Existence.”–Rob Sheffield

The British electronic musician Floating Points has made a name for himself as a diligent forager into more experimental and esoteric sounds. In 2021, he released Promises, a collaboration with jazz great Pharoah Sanders. That album seemed to clear the way for a more club-centered focus, tapping into Floating Points’ talents as a techno producer. Cascade is a compelling meeting of worlds. The result are kaleidoscopic, trance-feeling tracks that harken back to the human rhythms of the dance floor. —Jeff Ihaza

Mexican American artist NSQK’s second project is a showcase for his unbridled imagination. Structured like a late-night radio show, the LP goes through the highs and lows of trying to get over heartbreak. The excellent first track “Aún Te Pienso” sets everything up as NSQK lets out bruised rap verses about someone he’s still thinking about years later. From there, he unleashes a torrent of colors and feelings, reflecting on bad fights over hyper-cosmic beats on “Blame Game,” narrating nights with someone new on the endlessly bright “Tarde o Temprano,” and proving throughout just how much promise he has. — J.L.

The Spanish guitar goddesses in Hinds have been through it lately, like most of us. But they bounce back hard in their fabulously resilient Viva Hinds. It’s their fourth and finest album, a brash half-hour of swaggering garage rockers about facing heartache by turning it into a sarcastic joke, with guitars cranked up all the way. Fontaines D.C. frontman Grian Chatten drops in for “Strangers,” fitting right into their sugary harmonies with his surly Dublin punk sneer. But Hinds aren’t the type to wallow in despair, and Viva Hinds is a righteous soundtrack to leaving hard times behind and rushing forward.—R.S. 

Appropriate for a band that came together just before and during the early years of the pandemic, the U.K. band’s debut album may be the ideal soundtrack for reentering a messy world newly open for business. Songs like “Caesar on a TV Screen” and “Burn Alive” start like hungover reveries before vaulting into trampoline pop, wrapping up with crashing crescendos. There’s no denying the way their blowsy, unrestrained songs knock you upside and down and leave you with a dizzying high. —David Browne

The follow-up to the country-folkie’s 2022 breakthrough, White Trash Revelry, is a soul-deep meditation on aging, faded dreams, and global dystopia that expands and brightens the East Tennessee songwriter’s scope and sound. There’s Tom Petty country, bluesy New Orleans dirges, and fingerpicked folk. Most importantly, there are Adeem’s stories, which are equally moving and convincing in their confrontation of American violence and racial hatred and their intimate chronicling of parenthood and falling in love. —Jonathan Bernstein

Fronted by a mailman, this Michigan indie-rock band highlights their Replacements-y Midwestern-ness by opening with “Drinking and Driving,” a song that refers to an essential life skill the members of Liquid Mike may have had down before they were out of high school. On Paul Bunyan’s Sling Shot, they play short, fast, muscular songs that split the difference between Nineties pop punk and Nineties indie rock, tempering the petulant angst of the former with the latter’s winning resignation. —J.D.

Anchored by the massive back-to-back hits “La Víctima” and “La Diabla,” Next cemented Xavi as a innovator in an already-packed corrido scene. The album continues the 20-year-old’s mission of staying true to the genre’s roots while incorporating new sounds and skipping predictable chains and money lyrics to tell stories of love and heartbreak. “Tu Casi Algo” weaves classic corrido instrumentation with a darker vibe for an almost ska-tumbado alongside his brother Fabio Capri, and earworm “La Diabla” became an instant classic thanks to his raspy vocals and slight lisp. —T.M.

Claire Rousay has spent the past few years building her own adventurous style of electronic collage, calling it “emo ambient.” Sentiment is her self-described pop album, building her late-night diary entries out of synth textures, warped melodies, robot Auto-Tune vocals, and rock guitar weaving in and out of the mix. Her big theme on Sentiment is loneliness, and she evokes it in the wide-open spaces in the music, from her Auto-Tuned vocal alienation to her nervously clumsy guitar. The whole album flows like Brian Eno’s Another Green World through the ears of a big Pedro the Lion fan. —R.S.

“Who can I call when I need help?/Juggling thuggin’, depression, and pride,” Vince Staples raps on Dark Times. As the title suggests, his sixth album is another dose of raps about Staples taking stock of his Long Beach, California, upbringing. The bulk of the album shows the rapper contending with the tumult of his environment, including how his trauma has led to dysfunctional relationships. On album standout “Justin,” he writes a story that steadily builds tension to an anticlimactic ending that brilliantly encapsulates the seemingly omnipotent risk of toiling in the streets. —A.G. 

After a year of headlining festivals and working with everyone from DJ Snake to Kali Uchis, it’s become clear that Peso Pluma is trying to transcend música mexicana. This couldn’t be more obvious on Éxodo, a two-disc behemoth that bridges two worlds: his roots in corridos tumbados with the allure of American rap music. He’s equally as comfortable collaborating with Jasiel Nuñez and Chino Pacas as he is with Quavo and Cardi B — a highlight is the latter’s track with Pluma, “Put ‘Em in the Fridge,” where the two trade off lines in both English and Spanish over a mariachi-trap beat. —Reanna Cruz

The Bronx-born sensation’s proper debut was not a major departure from the catchy, New York drill-indebted singles that made her a sensation. Instead, it was an album full of subtle shifts, mixing up her flows and working in Jersey club-styled sounds, among other shades of the new, but generally getting by on charisma and NYC bravado. It’s fun listening to her hyper-confident assertions on an album that zips by and ends before it wears out its welcome. “I was just like, ‘OK, guys, I can rap, relax,’” she told Rolling Stone, in her very Ice Spice way, explaining how the album answered haters. —Christian Hoard

After years struggling to make it as a country artist, Maggie Rose changed up her sound on her past two albums, delving into R&B and country funk. No One Gets Out Alive cements her reinvention as one of the most successful in Nashville history. The album evokes vintage Carole King and Joni Mitchell, the Laurel Canyon scene, and hints of Eighties Sade. Rose is at her controlled best on ballads like “Too Young” and “Vanish,” but she allows herself to rock with abandon, too. —J.H.

Leave it to Sexyy Red to kick the summer off with a raunchy feel-good anthem. In this case, it’s “Get It Sexyy,” where Sexyy Red is there to introduce herself: “Slim thick, caramel skin/Five-five, this bitch a 10,” she raps, riding the tension between producer Tay Keith’s drums. Red and Keith’s creative partnership has managed to christen a distinct sound all her own. Even when she’s offering a life raft to Drake on the playfully catchy “U My Everything,” it’s still Sexyy Red’s moment. Like the mixtape title says, In Sexyy We Trust. —J.I.

When Charly Bliss first came out of Brooklyn, they were snappy Nineties alt-rock revivalists. On Forever, they lean way into the pop side of their sound. Indie bands often dream of writing songs that connect with the larger Top 40 world while still maintaining their own musical and emotional integrity. Few do it this well. “I’m Not Dead” suggests Olivia Rodrigo after binging Weezer’s Blue Album. “I Don’t Know Anything” is shoegaze teen pop, like Hotline TNT soundtracking a pivotal scene in a Netflix coming-of-age drama. —J.D.

Would you believe us if we told you that one of the anarchic noisemakers from New York’s Water From Your Eyes is also a sweet, sad singer-songwriter in the tradition of Elliott Smith? No joke. Nate Amos’ first proper LP from his long-running Bandcamp project is a revelation, full of gorgeous alt-country tunes with a genuine warmth behind them. He sings with open-hearted honesty about love, regret, and sobriety over radiantly melodic DIY arrangements on songs like “Where’s Your Love Now” and “Two Legs.” It’s his greatest trick yet, and a sign of a major talent with much more to show us. —S.V.L.

Blue Lips returns to the dynamic stylings of the L.A. rapper’s 2016 highlight, Blank Face, albeit with a few important twists. For every confessional moment like “Cooties,” there are three or four teeth-baring mashers like “Pop,” where he flexes alongside an animated Rico Nasty. The way his oscillating raps contrast with the LP’s frequently dreamlike production makes Blue Lips feel like an inebriated haze. Years into his run, ScHoolboy Q’s personality remains compellingly out of focus. —M.R.

Rosie Tucker rips modern culture apart in Utopia Now!, a fresh, biting, innovative, and fantastic piece of indie-rock agit-prop tunecraft. These songs combine a twentysomething malaise with a critique of the consumerist machine, and what it does to our brains. You might hear That Dog or Juliana Hatfield in the sound, with a pop-punk crunch in Tucker’s guitar. But the mix of playful humor and anger also evokes the Minutemen, as Tucker swerves between blunt propaganda and storm-in-my-house emotion. —R.S.

There are boundary-pushing albums, and then there are offerings unconcerned with the notion that boundaries even exist. ELUCID’s Revelator is the latter. Aced with a mesh of live instrumentation and industrial flair from a who’s who of indie-rap producers, the indie-rap stalwart’s third solo album excels at encapsulating complex ideas with compact brilliance. On “Slum of a Disregard” he surmises, “Comfort’s a material condition, core rotted,” before later lamenting, “my landlord’s a Zionist.” Who knows what the path forward looks like, but it gets easier to parse with sages like ELUCID around. —A.G.

Maggie Rogers’ third album is a heavy emotional lift, but it’s an easygoing listen. Co-produced with Ian Fitchuk (who worked on Kacey Musgraves’ career-defining Golden Hour), Don’t Forget Me strips away the synth–steeped singer-songwriter production of her 2019 album, Heard It in a Past Life, and the alt-rock experimentation of 2022’s Surrender to reveal a rustic, more organic-feeling pop-rock sound. Upbeat tracks like “On and On and On” and “Never Going Home” are perfectly made for big-voiced singalongs. —M.G.

Last year, the Pakistani singer-musician-composer collaborated with pianist Vijay Iyer and multi-instrumentalist Shahzad Ismaily for the beautifully experimental Love in Exile, one of 2023’s best albums. Aftab’s dreamlike LP Night Reign finds her getting even more rangy than usual — whether she’s teaming up with poet and experimental musician Moor Mother for a meditation on the tenuous nature of reality in a fucked-up world, or turning the jazz standard “Autumn Leaves” into an almost foreboding nocturnal landscape. —B.E.

While the Red Clay Strays have been mostly associated with country or roots music since the release of their 2022 album, Moment of Truth., the new Made By These Moments veers more toward the hard blues-rock of Los Angeles in the late Eighties and early Nineties than anything coming out of Nashville today. Tracks like the ominous “Disaster” and the roadhouse boogie of “Ramblin’” evoke Nineties bands the Four Horsemen and Junkyard — two L.A. groups that, while lumped into the fading MTV metal genre, were distinctly Southern rock in their sounds and influences. —J.H.

Each album that Roberto Carlos Lange Helado Negro makes seems to reveal a new side of him, offering a glimpse into his expansive imagination. Phasor, his eighth album, is among his most carefree and playful, allowing plenty of space for ideas and melodies to frolic. The excellent opener “LFO,” inspired by electronic pioneer Pauline Oliveros and amp master Lupe Lopez, is a subtle firework of a song and a statement in itself. Toward the end, he leaves a quiet declaration: “Y ya sé quién soy.” (“And now I know who I am.”) —J.L.

Allegra Krieger won a wider audience for her heady, philosophical indie folk on last year’s I Keep My Feet on the Fragile Plane. This year, the New York songwriter plugged in for an electric record that’s no less profound. When the LP starts, she’s walking down Roosevelt Avenue in Queens, wondering about the meaning of life; when it ends half an hour later, she’s driving a lonely highway in New Mexico, weighing love and loss. In between are songs like “Into Eternity,” “One or the Other,” and “Came” — slowly winding interior journeys that will floor you on first listen, and keep you thinking long after the record ends. —S.V.L.

After spending the past several years growing her reputation around Nashville, 2024 was Sierra Ferrel’s year. All of that attention — the high-profile duets, the big tours, the Grammy nomination — is thanks to her barnburner second LP. It mixes obscure pre-World War II covers (“Chittlin’ Cookin’ Time in Cheatham County”) with pointed socially-minded laments (“American Dreaming”) with exuberant fiddle stomps (“Fox Hunt”) with some of the catchiest country-roots melodicism in years (“I Could Drive You Crazy”). —J. Bernstein

The pop polymath’s 14-track collection mourns the person he used to be and a relationship that left him irrevocably changed. He was already changing as his star was rising in the aftermath of his eclectic 2022 breakthrough, Ivory. With God Said No, over sprawling production helmed by Teo Halm, Omar Apollo fights to shed the lingering weight of deteriorating communication, anxious attachment styles, and crushing codependency. The result is an emotionally harrowing look inside the psyche of a musician wringing every drop of meaning from the old adage that great art comes from great pain. —L.P.

Romance is wildly expansive, and Fontaines D.C.’s bullheaded integrity still stands, perhaps with a stronger spine than ever. It takes a true romantic to be a world-builder, and Fontaines D.C. have mastered the art. Each song on Romance acts as its own fantastical cinematic universe, fleshed out with fictional characters, in-depth monologues, and pristinely curated sonic elements to match. That’s partially indebted to the band’s decision to work with producer James Ford (Arctic Monkeys, Blur) on this record. —L.L. 

John Cale is on a formidable hot streak in his 80s. When the Welsh avant-garde legend released Mercy last year, it was his first album in a decade. POPtical Illusion is full of grim songs about a planet in flames, yet it’s full of playful energy, blending synths and guitars with electronic beats from an elder hip-hop fiend. But it rests on his unique vocal presence, as Cale details his nightmares in his deep, grave, deadpan Welsh brogue. As a guy who’s always thrived on his negative mojo, these songs bring out all his mordant humor. —R.S.

The Big Thief singer-songwriter’s fifth solo album carries an aura of raw, one-take candidness. It’s sweet and subtle in its sound, though Adrianne Lenker’s lyricism remains characteristically brutal and brave. The tracks share a similar sparseness and uniformity in instrumentation — piano, violin, guitar, and occasional percussion — but rather than melding together, each song stands strong, poignant, and singular. It’s a body of incantations that explore reconciliation, resignation, and reverence. —L.L.

Following his appearance on Beyoncé’s Cowboy Carter and featuring his summer hit “A Bar Song (Tipsy),” Shaboozey’s second album melds hip-hop and country in a way that is deep and rich and never a novelty act. When he sings, which is often, Shaboozey reveals a weary baritone imbued with Nashville heartache, and his songs effortlessly blend the deep-bottom sonics (and occasional sense of dread) of hip-hop records with the beefy choruses of post-Shania country pop. —D.B. 

Brittany Howard’s second solo album shows her to be budding a master of making forward-moving music that still passionately honors tradition. “I Don’t” is a yearning Philly soul reverie. “Prove It to You” suggests Prince doing acid house. By the time you reach the album-ending “Every Color in Blue,” with liquid In Rainbows-era Radiohead guitar backing Howard’s powerhouse Nina Simone-esque vocals, what should be a willful marriage of opposites feels stunningly natural. —J.D.

With the follow-up to her 2021 debut, Ayra Starr asserts a musical maturity that could be considered far beyond her years, but perhaps more aptly serves as a reminder of the emotional depth, logical prowess, and enviable passion young people often possess. Across it, Starr refreshes tried-and-true Afrobeats elements with the type of songwriting that SZA fans flock to, darting between Nigerian Pidgin, Yoruba, and English with endless finesse and attitude in all three languages. —M.C.

Rock & roll firecracker’s Towa Bird’s debut album, American Hero, is a collection of 13 succinct pop-punk punches to the chin. Bird brings her own outspoken flash to everything here, from the breakup kiss-off “Deep Cut” to the sheer lust of “Drain Me!,” wilding out on guitar as she goes for an Eighties rock sound somewhere on the Neal Schon/Elliot Easton cusp. “FML” sets the tone right from the start with three minutes of melodic guitar crunch, as she describes her ideal of romantic bliss: “Sit on the couch and watch Jennifer’s Body/Tell you she’s hot and then say that I’m sorry.” —R.S.

This ambitious debut from Puerto Rican singer-songwriter and multi-instrumentalist RaiNao finds the budding artist creating a refreshing blend of genres that’s all her own. RaiNao expertly moves from hyperpop (“Navel Point”) to sleek, club-ready reggaeton (“Roadhead” and “F*ck$”) before diving into R&B-infused tracks and finally landing on jazz-inflected songs filled with funky percussive rhythms like “Gualero REFF12.31.” Meanwhile, RaiNao’s strong, smooth voice carries each song to the next level. —M.G.