The Top 23 Songs of 2023 (or, more realistically, a peek at the worst year of my life…so far).

Just get me to the list (Spotify) • Just get me to the list (Apple)

23. “Dim Lit Rooms” by The Ballroom

Given the year that 2023 was, I don’t think I can start in the hopeful realm, despite the impetus to stay positive. The Ballroom Thieves captured my attention three years ago, as I was going through emotional duress as strong as the pandemic, grasping for what was real so I could cling to it for dear life. I found “Only Lonely,” and it delivered exactly what I needed (“back when all her quiet words were thunder, and her answers were all crooked little truths…”). I’m a sucker for a great lyric.

This year, they narrated the small places where I found a modicum of joy with “Dim Lit Rooms,” using harmonies that First Aid Kit and Simon & Garfunkel know well.

“Why can’t we figure out / all we can live without / and burn it away in a fire we made…”

It’s a too-short and blissfully simple song, but infinitely beautiful in its execution. The very moment the keys and strings open for it, I’m drowning in a melancholy calmness that gives perspective and maybe even a little joy about keeping the things that matter and letting the rest go.

22. “Blame Brett” by The Beaches

I didn’t actually experience a breakup, this year. In fact, it’s been a while since that was a danger (two years, if you’re asking). But that doesn’t mean that others close to me can say the same, and a cherished and dear friend (who shall remain nameless, unless they decide they want to claim this year’s trauma) introduced me to this song in the wake of their rough end to a relationship that wasn’t giving them what they deserved.

If I have damage that influences whether or not I feel romantically toward someone, this is the absolute Bible on why. Yes, I am a chaotic collision waiting to happen, but I can’t take all the credit for how guarded and untrusting I am. Some of it belongs to my ex (or, rather, a history of them).

“That’s why I won’t get vulnerable / Don’t you dare get comfortable / Heartbreak is impossible / Feelings doing somersaults / I’m not ready for therapy / To take accountability / Right now it’s about me”

The lead singer knows that she’s impervious by choice, and even acknowledges her own shortcomings. But it isn’t as though she’s happy about the situation. She has people to hold accountable for her damage, and so, like so many of us can, she begs people to understand her damage.

“But don’t blame me, blame Brett / Blame my ex, blame my ex, blame my ex.”

If you need a song to feel better about how your scars have helped you be gunshy, this is the one.

21. “i’m confident that i’m insecure” by Lawrence [warning: explicit]

The absolute anthem of a few years ago, “Don’t Lose Sight,” from Lawrence, was the love letter to optimism that most of my friends and I needed. I know I did, and when I get down, there’s half of me that is singing “This ***t’s gonna kill me, but I won’t let it.”

The other half, however, is full of self-doubt and a lack of confidence that’s enough to paralyze me.

Since the band gave rise to the first sentiment and are, in fact, artists — who likely feel the same as I do, making beautiful clay pigeons for the world to shoot down — it stands to reason they might give voice to the other half of my mind.

“But I’m weak / Criticism knocks me to the ground / When I speak / I don’t like hearing words that’s coming out / But God please / How come you didn’t tell me this before? / I’m confident that I’m insecure”

Yes, my brain often tells me where I have fallen short, and where things have not been ideal. I suspect we all have some variable-sized critical ogre within each and every one of us, and mine feels like it lives as large as a 1980s tycoon or a 1960s movie monster. It consumes everything in its wake, and, sometimes, the only thing I have confidence in is my ability to critique every move I make. As a sister song to “Don’t Lose Sight,” there could hardly be a better twin.

20. “Lord Have Mercy” by Durand Jones

I didn’t mean for this to be a perfect sequence, but I’m not mad at the synergy of my list. My love for neo-neo soul (because neo-soul has already happened once or twice) is no secret to any single human who knows me. And, at the top of my list for the past few years has been the longing and powerful voice of Durand Jones and the Indications, which has also sprouted the career of Aaron Frazer. I have their entire catalog on vinyl, just so I can get down while cooking or dealing with stress.

With “Lord Have Mercy,” Jones is on his own, free to let his most gospel-born pleas out to play.

For a myriad of reasons, I’ve been far from the gathered church. I still worship and concentrate on my own spirituality and connection, I just haven’t been enthusiastic about so much of what the “church” has become. Donald Miller, Shane Claiborne and Frederick Buechner have much more to say on these points if you’re curious. Regardless, a pastor friend of mine called mine a “post-congregational faith,” and I think that fits fine.

However, it doesn’t stop me from feeling like I’ve failed…at gathering, as well as other things. So, Durand Jones asks (on my behalf, perhaps. Certainly, it feels like I’m asking the same thing, myself, when I’m belting out this song in the car) for the Lord to have mercy.

“Gran’s all dressed up, and she’s headed to church / But I’m in bed tired from last night’s work / So Lord please / Have mercy on me”

In a year I could not have loathed more, with events that have drawn so much of my emotional state and thoughts on faith into question, I can still feel the love from those around…and ask for mercy from my creator for where I feel or act the way I do.

19. “The Hype” by Sigrid

My fondness for Sigrid is well-established. I think she’s been somewhere on my “year’s best” lists since she broke through in 2018 with “Don’t Kill My Vibe.”

I don’t say this to hipster-brag that I am a day-one fan. Rather, I point it out to explain that she could release almost anything and I’d be on board.

This year’s entry falls below the top 15, not because it is bad, but because it plows the same ground as other tunes on this list. It’s a fertile plot of my emotions, this relationship-worthy doubt and self-criticism that lives, rent-free in my bones.

In the song, she’s lamenting old relationships where she’s insecure (yep) and wondering why she only gets contacted when she does something noteworthy.

As someone who has fielded only “Hey, I need something” calls from so many of my exes and ex-romantic interests, I absolutely resonate with her vocal proclamation, asking if her performance was enough.

“…did you ever love me? / Honestly, did I live up to the hype? / ’Cause you held me, held me like a trophy / Then left the party when the magic died…”

Luckily, and like so many of us, Sigrid has a bonus thought, based on her history of triumph, and that resonates, too.

“Yeah, you / Gonna be sorry, and I’ll be fine.”

18. “No California” by Ilsey

What is it about a powerful, occasionally raspy female lead vocal? Stevie Nicks, Johnette Napolitano (look her up, you young ones), Linda Perry, Patty Griffin and Lissie have all been in heavy rotation in my playlists for years. I’m a sucker. Can’t deny it.

So if it sounds like a voice that begins with Patty’s melodic resonance, embraces Lissie’s cadences and musical frolic, while rooting itself in Stevie Nicks’ low power, how can I possibly resist?

If what I’ve said sounds like hyperbole, listen to the tune, then argue with me. At different points, when the song comes on, I think it could be each of the aforementioned.

Add to this sonic seduction lyrics that are dead-on melancholy romantic retrospective, and I’m sold.

“It’s cold in your shadow / All that remains, ghosts in the desert / Should I run away or pray for strength to come?”

It isn’t ______ without ______. “Almost Famous” connections aside (and I suspect this might actually be based on that film…the line is “tell her it ain’t California without her”), most people can fill out that line. Personally, I have quite a few names and places to fill in the blanks. Some (see intro) that are quite recent. Needless to say, this had to make the list.

17. “Look At Us Now (Honeycomb)” by Daisy Jones & The Six

Speaking of “Almost Famous” and Stevie Nicks and nostalgic reminiscing, imagine my surprise when, at the end of 2023, I looked at the play count for my music and a made-up song from a fictional homage to Fleetwood Mac’s volatile existence was in the top 10.

It’s hard not only to believe that “Look At Us Now (Honeycomb)” is as good as it is, but that the voices of the stars of the show, Riley Keough and Sam Claifin, are the ones I prefer. Marcus Mumford and Maren Morris covered the tune (co-written by Mumford, himself), and it just doesn’t have the same honesty as the one from the show.

If you haven’t seen the show, go watch it. It’s worth the investment, even if only to scratch the itch of those of us who wish “Almost Famous” had a million more chapters between scenes. The music and the dedication to said music are on display, as is the evolution of relationships and friendships, which is what the song is ultimately about.

“We unraveled a long time ago / We lost and we couldn’t let it go / I wish it was easy, but it isn’t so”

It’s an earworm of the most valuable kind. It’s a retrospective of how good things were, once, and how different they are. And, like all the failed friendships/bands/romances, the final pronouncement is equally compelling. We could make a good thing bad.

Indeed.

16. “Call Your Mom” Noah Kahan & Lizzy McAlpine

“Don’t let this darkness fool you / All lights turned off can be turned on / I’ll drive, I’ll drive all night / I’ll call your mom”

This list has been quite a downer. Looks back at failures, broken friendships, evolutions of a world that have made it scarier, and the ever-present self-criticism. Like 2023, it’s been a lot.

But here is the respite. Noah Kahan delivers a serotonin and comfort boost for all of us.

Reminiscent of Brett Dennen’s “Sydney (I’ll Come Running)” and a story from Leo McGarry in “The West Wing,” Kahan’s lyrics explain that there are people who believe in you (yes, you reading this) beyond what you can comprehend. People willing to drive across the nation or fly across oceans, just to make sure you’re alright and that you have a positive outlook, even if for an instant, just because someone out there loves you so much.

They’re even willing to go so far as to call your mom if they have to.

It’s the ultimate sentiment and the best expression of just how much someone cares. And it carries with it a bigger demand — one that says, whatever you have to do to stay ok, you need to do that because you’re that important to me, that loved and that valuable, even if you can’t see it.

“Medicate, meditate, save your soul for Jesus / Throw a punch, fall in love, give yourself a reason / Don’t wanna drive another mile without knowin’ you’re breathin’”

He and Lizzie are already on their way to personally deliver their love and support. It’s that kind of encouragement and reinforcement we all crave…and here it is, in song form.

(You’ll forgive me if I say it sounds exactly like my father, who was willing to take on even my darkest demons, in hand to hand combat, to prove that I was worthy beyond measure.)

15. “Keep Going” by We the Commas

Whew.

It’s been all heavy and emotional. And this has an element of that, but it’s to a different beat and has a lot more sunshine.

We the Commas put out an anthem for the modern day and all the struggles we face on a day-to-day basis. If you’ve ever been “lost in your own thoughts” or “trapped in my head,” then this is for you.

It’s not complex and it has a very groovable beat, so it’s better for windows-down times, but suitable for all occasions. Sure, it covers the same ground as Noah and Lizzie, but in a far brighter, less wistful way.

“Show goes on although I’m going slow / And life’s unfair but that’s just how it goes / And they don’t even care about me and it shows / But I pick myself up and keep going / I keep going”

We all sometimes need to be Satine from “Moulin Rouge” and straighten our back, freshen our faces, and stride forward.

(We all need to “keep your head up.” Honestly, I’m discovering this thread in real time, so I’m surprised, but also not.)

14. “Come On, Aphrodite” by Natalie Merchant (feat. Abena Koomson-Davis)

Some songs, some artists, don’t need any specific reason to make my list. They defy explanation. They’re actual miracles of vocal and lyrical talent. I can explain the myriad ways this song hits me in the chest, but it’s almost an afterthought.

Because the very second Natalie Merchant opens the song, I’m done.

It’s such a naked and honest plea, I’m weak in the knees. She’s been doing this for so long, I think she has a express route into my foundational soul.

“Make me head over heels / Make me drunk, make me blind / Over the moon / Half out of my mind”

AMEN, and that’s all I have to say. (Except my girls would say, “Daniel…they added HORNS. Of course you love it.” They’d be right.)

13. “Classics” by Moon Taxi

It’s not all doom and angst and reminiscing and regret in 2023. I promise. Even in the darkness, there’s room to look back without sadness, and to look forward to the foundation those memories have built.

That being said, my OG Music Club, which focused and honed my love for songs and lyrics, for melodies and magic, did not meet in 2023. Time and continents and life have done what they all do and made a meeting nearly impossible. And, while I did meet with the satellite Music Club in Waco more than enough to sate that itch (and develop new bonds), I do wish all these disparate elements could come together with friends, both old and new, and do exactly what Moon Taxi asks of its listeners.

“So raise your glasses / to the classics / make ’em last / no, don’t ever let them die / Oh, the past is / neon backlit / greener grasses / on the other side”

It’s backward looking, but not in remorse. Instead, it looks behind with reverence.

We used to all listen to music so differently, when we were younger. That one song used to be our everything (I could never escape the tractor beam pull of anything – “Fast Car,” “The Promise,” “Talkin’ ‘Bout a Revolution” – by Tracy Chapman…and Erasure’s “Oh, L’amour,” which still has me in a ‘gotta listen to the whole thing’ chokehold). That song you’re thinking of still has that power. Music still has that power to move us, to port us through time back to when we were younger or less seasoned or less calloused.

And, bearing that in mind, let’s all raise our glasses. To the mixtapes, to the playlists, to the set lists — the classics.

12. “(Hey Baby) Que Paso” by Fat Tony (feat. Paul Wall)

You had to know my father would find a foothold in my playlist for 2023. But, rather than some homage written by a modern artist to their late parent, this one is far more complex.

When you think of Houston (or, as it is known locally, H-town, H-tine, The H), there are some musical icons to consider. There’s the obvious DJ Screw, who pioneered the “chopped and screwed” genre. Then, there’s the Geto Boys, who simultaneously threw up a middle finger at the gangster rap of the age (as they had infinitely more street cred, what with all the bullets in their medical histories), reintroduced social issues into what had become a narcissistic genre, and tacitly made hardcore rap more mainstream (need I point out “Office Space”?). And, finally, one cannot mention Houston music without genuflecting before the queen, Beyoncé, or her potential heirs, Solange and Megan Thee Stallion.

But beneath that pantheon of musical gods, there is a second wave. Artists like Travis Scott, Tobe Nwigwe and even Chamillionaire are all part of the party…and, then, there is the ubiquitous Paul Wall. If one knows nothing of the Houston music scene, when you hear about “grillz” or “slab,” your thoughts likely turn to the Muad’dib of the Lone Star State, who has turned his own name into a weapon, distributed at random in any of his songs.

As a native of Houston, all of these voices speak to me. It’s sanguine. Houstonians, past and present, have a shared history of losing sports teams, the world and weather being against us, and a profound disbelief in anyone thinking the city is inferior to any other, for any reason.

And, despite the variety of music available and the ascendance of rap/hip-hop from “the 713,” we all share an appreciation — of the other genres in Texas, specifically the Tejano/Country influence.

Let me spell this tune out. Paul Wall knows Tejano. Paul Wall, of the hardest bars, effs with Freddy Fender. Don’t believe me? Here’s proof.

And that’s when my father, a Tejano singer, himself, enters the list, proudly and without apology. You see, he introduced me to music, and his icons included Led Zeppelin and James Taylor and Carly Simon…but they also included Flaco Jimenez, Johnny Cash, Willie Nelson, and…Freddy Fender.

I have sung on a stage with my father at a wedding (I was 11 and had zero shame) to the song, “(Hey Baby) Que Paso.” It’s shorthand to most Texans and the majority of Houstonians.

So, when my beloved friend, Sara Kim, sent me a weird mashup of Texas classic covers and I saw the tune on the list, I went right for it, expecting to be disappointed by a rap equivalent of the Tejano banger. Instead, I got Paul Wall and Fat Tony treating the material with profound respect, only adding bars in the bridges…but BRILLIANT bars that are relevant to the song, itself.

And you’re going to have to pardon me. My dad — Tejano. My sister — hip hop. My hometown — a family of its own. And here is a known tune that incorporated every element with aplomb and respect (and a name drop of Selena — all hail — and Slim Thug, and, of course, Paul Wall deploying his own name before his verse — perfect). It’s an instant classic for me, and if it seems out of place in the rest of these tunes, I won’t apologize. I wish I could send it to my dad and laugh about the inclusion and listen while he harmonized with Paul Wall in the ultimate expression of Houstonianism.

Got an issue with the choice? You must not be from the H.

(Also, I miss my dad so much right now.)

11. “Younger & Dumber” by Indigo De Souza

Ever have that “High Fidelity” experience, when you walk into a record store or some other place — coffeeshop, bar, radio station — that curates tunes based on the preferences of those who work there, and you are so moved by the song playing that you have to ask someone, anyone who works there what the song is?

Waterloo Records, Summer 2023. I was in town for no good reason, and I was overwhelmed by the range of a song (not this one) playing on the speakers. I asked the basic question, “Who IS this?” and was told, “It’s Indigo De Souza’s newest. It’s dope AF, isn’t it?”

Yes. Yes, it is.

The song I was stopped in my tracks by was “You Can Be Mean,” which is a far different mood than this one, but no less arresting.

After getting into my car and looking her up, I was marveling at the cadence of the album and how much I was enjoying the interplay of De Souza’s voice and the hard guitars and softer keys, all with a strong and defiant tone to the lyrics, and then, suddenly, I noticed I was crying.

“Younger & Dumber” was washing over me in amplifying wave after wave.

“Sometimes, I just don’t wanna be alone / And it’s not ’cause I’m lonely / It’s just ’cause I get so tired of filling / The space all around me”

I’ve lived alone for most of the past 30 years, now (even when I had roommates, I was basically living solo), and no partnerships have held, so those lyrics epitomize the modern older single’s plight, which I also inhabit.

De Souza reflects on simpler times and laments that the new world dynamic is so strange that she doesn’t know what her next move might be…and she gains a new perspective on the idealized image reflected in a look into the past. She (and I) was younger and dumber and didn’t know better…and nowhere feels like home anymore.

10. “All You Can Do Is Laugh” by Islands

Don’t ask how I found this song, because I don’t remember. I actually don’t remember it not being a part of my 2023. But, that’s not true.

Instead, the song was released in the middle of “the blur” that my friend Hedda told me would come in my grief. She said I would get dates and times mixed up and that there would be entire weeks that I would not recall happening. August, when Islands released this song, was fertile ground for her prediction, and I couldn’t tell you what all I did in that four weeks.

What I can tell you is that Islands captured so much of my 2023 in one tune.

As I’m walking through why all of these songs were the top of my year, I am noticing the same theme that you are likely seeing, too. There is so much reflectiveness on a past, with all the melancholy nostalgia anyone can muster (to wit, I’d wager I’ve used all of those words — reflect, melancholy, nostalgia — ad nauseum throughout my write-ups).

And, when I do take a hard look at this year and this list, I’m filled with the same emotion that leads the singer to juxtapose, in real time, the words, “laugh” and “cry” in the chorus.

With the gut punch 2023 has been, it’s as good a sentiment as any. “Laugh/cry…it feels so suitable inside.”

9. “Rearview” by Brenn!

Did I mention that I’ve been looking back, even more than at the songs of the past year? Go figure a song named “Rearview” would be in my top 10.

There’s been a ghost in my past three years of song choices. And, because I have trouble moving on from things I can’t explain the ending of (I stay up late to finish series, I read the entire book because I have to know how it ends, my best friend saved me from my darkest days by asking, “Don’t you want to see what the next page says?”), I’ve let this ghost of a connection gone wrong linger far longer than most have a stomach for.

If this year has been of reflection and regret, then this is the penultimate expression of it (oh yes, there’s one more coming). The song is a promise that the future will bring things into a shinier focus, that we’ll look back with fondness.

“While I was leaving the party, you were saying / We’d look back years from now and say it’s fine”

But, the singer knows that this sunny perspective isn’t the reality and he’s stuck in the limbo between the end and the eventual resolution/reunion. Rather, he’s left wondering what he did or how he could have done something different. I sympathize.

“Hmm, you could’ve told me then / It was all too much to ask, I tried / You hate the conversations”

Things end, and when they do in my world, I am left to wonder if there’s anything more I could have done, all while living in the limbo that is an unresolved reality.

I’d hope this was the last this haunts me, but I know what’s at number seven and also at number one, so let’s just say I’m not done with ghosts.

8. “The Place That Makes Me Happy” by The Moss

Who needs a break? I sure do.

And, luckily, in the middle of the misery, I found one. The Moss came through with a driving optimism that also managed to sport a catchy melody and general buoyancy throughout their lyrics (and even in their multiple breakdowns).

“Both your eyes are closed (Nah, man I’m lookin’) / But you’re missing your phone (Nah, man I’m lookin’) / Are your feet gettin’ cold? (Nah, man I’m lookin’) / Just lookin’ for somewhere to go”

Ultimately, despite all the backward-facing thoughts at the forefront of 2023, this one looks ahead, dangling the possibility that there’s somewhere that will make me/you/us happy. And, given the drum beat and head-nodding rhythm of this entire song, I can almost believe it.

That’s enough to make it a glad inclusion. There might actually be a place that makes me happy and makes me right. I’ll keep searching, guys.

7. “Australia” by G Flip

I can see the look on the faces of the Waco Music Club now. After being a hallmark of my past few years’ top tunes list, the fact that G Flip isn’t the number one tune of the year, especially with as often as it showed up in my playlists all year…has to come as a complete shock.

And, honestly, I can’t explain it. I’ve been a fan of G Flip’s voice and lyrics since she broke out before SXSW 2019. She’s got the raspy Australian voice, she’s got the glam rock look and is a talented drummer. She and I have shared whiskey before 11 a.m. — what reason isn’t there to put her at the top.

And, here, in a “scream it at the top of your lungs in the car” anthem, she’s looking back at a failed relationship with nothing but equal parts well-wishes for the departed and dreamy sorrow for herself.

“And I know we’re better off / But when I’m feeling soft / I think about you / Is that a bad thing to do?”

Is there a better expression for a lost connection? Maybe. Maybe there’s one in the same damned song.

“But I wanted you to know / That I still think of you / Do you hate me? / Do you miss me? / Do you think about our history like I do? / And I hope that you are happier / Are you back home in Australia? / Are you on to someone greater?”

Maybe you don’t have that person in your life. Maybe you’re lucky. But, if you’re one of us, one who occasionally peeks in on a social media account or re-reads old cards and letters or hears that certain song and is transported to another person’s side…then you understand G Flip…and me.

6. “I Don’t Mind The Wait” by Mellow Swells

This was my odds-on choice for song of the year for the majority of it. It was my top seed and it still hurts for me to keep it this low on the board. It has everything — Sun Club-like proclamations into the microphones, a soul rhythm over guitar riffs that approach funk, and cadence that evokes an “UNH!” from both the backing band and the listener alike.

Then, the backup singers get involved and the drummer just HAMMERS the cymbals and we are off to the races…before a retro 60s rockabilly guitar solo.

This song gives me so much joy I am still reconsindering its position, here, even now.

“Honey, darling, baby, cutie, heart of mine / Darlin’, if you need time / I could see it on through / Love me, date me, leave me, hate me, I don’t mind / Can’t help it but feel sublime / When I’m helpless for you”

All of the aforementioned AND a naked declaration of admiration? A Don Quixote-level proclamation of love? Is there anything more I could ask for in a song that sounds like it could have come from the late 1960's, but feels right at home right now?

And did I mention that I discovered the band from a failed NPR Tiny Desk submission?!? So, yes, they’re indie AF and undiscovered AF, which is the music hunter’s dream…

So, what is freaking wrong with me?

I don’t know. I just know I really can’t say enough about this infectious tune, except that I’m still floored there were five songs my heart resonated with more. Listen and enjoy (especially when the bass groove really kicks in).

5. “From the Start” by Laufey

Ah. That’s what’s wrong with me. In a year of retro tunes, there was a jazzy chanteuse who brought a modern sensibility and relatable lyrics to a well-established genre, much like Samara Joy did a few years ago.

Laufey (pronounced “Lay-Vay”) isn’t music so much as she’s a whole mood. To listen to “From the Start” is to hear Ella Fitzgerald for the first time, or to get wrapped up in a Bing Crosby tune. Yes, it’s a throwback, but the talent applied to the delivery is…well, astounding.

She dances through the lyrics, discovering blue notes where they’re not expected, works in “blah, blah, blah” in a way that you don’t stumble on, and then you find out she’s 24 years old and Icelandic and is absolutely fluent in Ella/Billie/Judy.

The music and her voice are more than enough to put her in the top five (and make you want an entire album to listen to while cooking or lounging on a lazy Saturday), but then you look closer at the lyrics (my Achilles heel) and my obsession seems far less insane.

“What’s a girl to do? / Lying on my bed, staring into the bluе / Unrequited, terrifying / Lovе is driving me a bit insane”

The word I associate most with the incredible Laufey is “swoon.” She isn’t just swoon-worthy. She is a swoon.

4. “Confetti” by Charlotte Cardin

I have never been one for the club. It’s not my scene — as my girls (and others) will tell you, rhythm is a challenge for me. I am self-conscious to a fault on a dance floor. And, as a result, the dance hits of each year are all but lost on me. I missed out on the Robyn craze, was late to appreciating Sia, and I still can’t really listen to EDM, which dominated almost an entire decade of my life at festivals and in clubs.

But, here, in 2023, came a song I connected deeply with, not just because the beat evokes some sort of movement (for me, it might just be a toe-tap or a shoulder move akin to King George from Hamilton), and not just because Charlotte Cardin’s voice is deep and vibrant, but because the song seems to embody all that I feel about dance music…and, sometimes, life in general.

“Find me in the club looking golden / I know everyone, I got no friends
I always wanna stay, wanna go, wanna stay, wanna go / I don’t know / I don’t know

And I never know what to say / ’Til I’m already walking away…”

It’s the uncomfortable indecision made into one hell of a song.

Beyond the dance floor comparison, the rest of the song implies that, despite the trepidation, she might well just lose herself in it all. She might just find the end of her story, buried…in confetti.

I’ve been to that party. Some might say I stayed there for years. So, I understand the thought, Charlotte. And, believe it or not, I think I could dance to this beat.

3. “Lose Control” by Teddy Swims

Krystian Moraga knows me better than I know myself. That is the conclusion I have come to concerning this song, which was the most listened-to song of my year, all accomplished in the second half.

You see, Krystian sent me the song with an imperative, mid-year. She said, “Listen to this song right now. This is your JAM.”

If you’ve made it this far in the list, you know that predicting a song that will be my JAM isn’t easy. There are no Taylor Swift songs on my list. No Drake. No Bad Bunny. None of the typical jams of this year are here, and Noah Kahan only makes a brief appearance.

Meanwhile, Teddy Swims almost made the list twice…and this one might as well be number 1C for how deeply embedded it is in my bones.

From that first listen, I had to shake my head. Krystian was 100% correct. Soulful declarations? Check. Stippled piano notes? Check. Voice-cracking notes? Yep. A voice that sounds like it was dragged out of the swamp for all the funk it has on it? Absolutely. A guitar solo worthy of Slash, himself? Oh, it’s there, shredding all emotion.

My 2023 JAM might not be my top song, but the kid is still correct. It certainly is my JAM.

2. “Damage Gets Done” by Hozier (feat. Brandi Carlile)

I’ll admit it. I abandoned Hozier to the mob popularity. People got on board with his fandom and it became a bit of a movement, and I stopped paying attention to his releases after “Take Me To Church.” I can’t even say I listened to anything off his “Wasteland, Baby” album since I’d decided he was too popular for the music to remain as pure as it was in the early going.

I. Was. Wrong. And it took Brandi Carlile to help show me the error of my ways.

If this year has been as much of a retrospective for me as this list has revealed, then it would be unfair to saddle the perspective with only sad songs, looking back with so much regret and remorse. Surely, there were bright memories in the rear-view mirror? It wasn’t always this way, right?

No, it wasn’t always this way. And, with the right lens on our look backward, there is something else there.

I grew up in Houston with my sister and our adopted brother, my best friend in the world. We were supported and encouraged by my father’s steady hand and unshakable tolerance for our reckless youth, and when I tell you that those days were magical, I mean it. Houston was a playground that grew to encompass the entire state of Texas when we went to college. Our crew enlisted more and more members through our early 20s — roommates, co-workers, a fiancee for my best friend — and to call those days halcyon is to do them a disservice.

We embodied this song and emerged with the wisdom the lyrics provide, a wisdom I wish for my girls and my nieces and nephews…to recognize that the simplest pleasures in those days are more than enough.

It’s not a love song. It’s a friend song. It’s about how people can share a wide-open world, looking only at the next few steps in front of them and ignorant of the pressures that age and maturity and responsibility would soon enough bring.

Random road trips, packed with too many people and too few snacks. Let’s all pile in the car and go to a Brazilian steakhouse. Do we need to see New Orleans this year? Sure! How about a casino run? Well, I’m living about $100 away from poverty, but why not? Let’s just order a bunch of pizza and watch playoff football all weekend? Done.

I hope you have such memories with your friends. If you do, this tune is for you. It found its way into my playlist rotation late in the year, and I found myself hearing Brandi’s soaring backing vocals at random times through this marathon year.

“If the car ran, the car was enough / If the sun shone on us, it’s a plus / And the tank was always filled up / only enough for our getting there”

Those were wild times and built stories upon stories, and we had basically nothing. No savings, no house of our own, no retirement plan. And we took our mortality for granted, as most young do. Our lives were and remain the better for it, because, as Hozier and Brandi say, that’s not how the damage got done. We were invulnerable then, and it powered us all, even up to now, when we reflect with a sense of pride and longing…because being a grown-up isn’t as fun as those days. It may indeed be better (and more sustainable), but it’s nowhere near the thrill ride it once was.

So, to my day ones — the ones in the car when we took the bump outside the Rodizio parking lot, the ones who survived Mardi Gras (and made it back to the car), the ones who set a shrimp-eating record, and the ones who survived an absolute atlas of road trips, full of every kind of soundtrack…this is our song.

“And, darling, I haven’t felt it since then / I don’t know how the feeling ended / But I know being reckless and young / Is not how the damage gets done”

I can’t help smiling.

1. “Fireball Whiskey” by Angie McMahon

There’s no other way to put it. I’m sad about 2023.

I have at least three years of negative momentum to power this depth of sadness, including some gutting ends to a spectrum of relationships…whether at my behest or not…and the emergence of a heart condition that may well be related to my sullen inner life. And, here, toward the end of that almost four-year-long journey, I lost my father.

I think I have the right to be sad. And that’s just being bluntly honest, a characteristic I have a strange relationship with, in reality. In music, however, there is no strangeness. I love the use of naked honesty in the lyrics of the music I listen to. Noah Kahan, Taylor Swift, Holly Humberstone, even a new-ish artist named Ber (who hopes her ex’s internet sucks, precisely when he’s playing Fortnite…which is a modern curse my nephews have made clear to me is akin to a brutal mom joke)…they all just pour it out on a page and belt it out from a stage.

Enter Angie McMahon, whose voice just lends itself to my wheelhouse — lilting and deep, melodic and haunting, she basically owns me from the first note.

But, then, she changes the pace as it’s building and delivers a raw nerve of a verse…about how much she hurts from the time she was honest…and it didn’t end in the blissful way she had hoped. She laid all her cards on the table and lost and that metaphor — being as much of yourself as you’re strong enough to be and yet falling short of the desired connection, result, life you hoped for — plays out over and again in the tune.

The song came out in late October and rocketed to the top of my year’s play count. I couldn’t listen to it just once. I still can’t. It keeps giving me that dynamic — honest expression, hope, rejection — over and again in new ways, and that feels so much like the past four years…punctuated by this one…this one that hurt with the comprehensive strength of all those other wounds sustained in that time.

And, to be frank, I think the desire to be honest in expression — of desire, of hope, of sadness, even — has made me weak…just like Angie says.

“And my backbone could’ve grown
But I think it’s turned to softness
I think it is a problem
Like food that’s going rotten
And you might say it’s okay to eat it
But then it makes you vomit
I really hate to vomit
Except the one time I drank too much fireball whiskey
’Cause I wanted you to kiss me
So I threw it up, washed my mouth
And sat back out on the couch with you
Sat back out on the couch”

She pivots back to that failed gamble, just like walking through regret and reflection, the very theme to this year’s list. And she recognizes she has to let it go, but not without a fight.

“This morning, I didn’t want to get out of the shower
But hot water runs out, and you have to carry on, don’t you?
Close and move along, don’t you?
Just like letting go of you
I can’t believe I’m lettin’ go of you, ah”

We do have to move along. I do have to put one foot in front of the other. I have to “keep my head up,” and I know it.

But if I might be permitted a moment, this is that moment. These songs are the sum of that moment, and this one a definitive exclamation point at the end of that declaration, especially in a lyrical bridge that feels like it was ripped from three different moments in my own past four years, like she was there.

“…So I threw it up, washed my mouth
And sat back out on the couch
Opened up and settled down
Learnin’ what we were about
Got close enough to pull away
Begging all that joy to stay
You were so warm, you were the womb
I couldn’t stay, there was no room”

“Begging all that joy to stay” might as well be my motto. It won’t be. I know I’ll end up where the song does, which is at a place of acceptance, not only of the conclusion of everything, but of the honest truth about herself/myself.

“Love you deep and love for life.”

That’s about as honest about myself as I can get.

Thanks for listening.