The Good & The Ugly: 2022

I don’t get it anymore. It seems almost impossible to properly gauge what’s a “hit” anymore. The mere notion of going outside doesn’t tell the entire story; of course you’ll hear playlist fodder serve the function of background noise. The charts are hardly helpful, baffled by listening patterns that they can’t properly gauge what is and isn’t strong enough to be labeled a hit. Entire albums will swarm a Hot 100, ushering out singles before they have a chance to catch fire. It leaves the futility of social media virality to dictate what is the next anthem, who is the next star. I have long resisted the exasperated sigh of “It’s just because of Tik Tok.” But sometimes, it’s the only reasonable explanation for such random chance.

Given the instability, it’s granted me even more liberty to dictate the spectrum of good and bad. Instead of drowning in an ocean of noise, carefully crafted narrative, and effective marketing, there is an infinite amount of space to diagnose the truest quality of these records. Despite there not being a ton to work with — a lot of these songs lingered from last year because of radio’s bewilderment and inability to push songs — pop music gave me a lot to think about. For the uninitiated, the rules in making this list are simple. Any song that cracked the Year End Hot 100 or made the top 20 in any given week this year are eligible for contention.

Before we dive into the list, here’s some honorable mentions: Kate Bush- Running Up That Hill, Steve Lacy- Bad Habit, Future- Wait For U/Puffin On Zootiez, SZA- I Hate U, Drake- Massive/Falling Back, Beyonce- Cuff It, Kendrick Lamar- The Heart Pt 5/Rich Spirit/Silent Hill, Cole Swindell- She Had Me At Heads Carolina, and The Weeknd- Sacrifice.

Best: Bad Bunny- Después de la Playa: It’s really refreshing when one of the biggest artists in the world makes good music. It’s very easy to coast into what’s expected, reject purpose and reap the rewards. But Bad Bunny just… creates. Whether it’s all good or not — his newest Un Verano Sin Ti is a bit bloated — isn’t necessarily the point. Every artist is destined for misses, that’s a byproduct of creating. But he has a keen understanding of the loyal fanbase he’s cultivated. His consistency has cemented himself as one of pop’s few true superstars. With that liberty, he can afford to do cool shit like dip into a killer Dominican Mambo record. “Después de la Playa” never forsakes cultural specificity, allowing every fiery horn, dizzying drum, and tick and scrape of the güira to burst into the spotlight. An invigorating spectacle with a discerning eye for Dominican music.

Worst: Glass Animals- Heat Waves/Onerepublic- I Ain’t Worried: In brainstorming the worst list, there was a recurring question swirling through my mind: Why do people make music? It’s hard not to imagine artists like Onerepublic or Glass Animals viewing art as a mere transactional experience. Modern “Alternative” music has taken over the jingle market. If “Pumped Up Kicks” came out today, it would soundtrack a Pepsi commercial. The Lumineers get phone calls from Chevy to use “Ho Hey.” It’s one of the prime sources of music for mere pleasantries, a boardroom throwing darts at a lineup of alternative acts.

For Onerepublic, I might understand. After over 15 years of work, maybe they can phone it in. But “I Ain’t Worried” is still excruciating, a sexless summer jam claiming carefree bliss whilst wincing through rum and coke kidney stones. Perhaps if Top Gun: Maverick leaned even further into its nostalgia trip, it would fit better. An old man affair trotting out the hits for sheer recognizability. But lead singer Ryan Tedder lacks Tom Cruise’s love for the craft or his off kilter insanity to strive for greatness. Rather, it’s another label invoice where Tedder’s group scrolls through a vault of files to fit a soundtrack criteria.

Glass Animals share a similar excuse, grinding since 2012 to land their crowning moment. But since their inception, the music has been alarmingly flaccid. It gives credence to my theory that these bands spawn out of thin air. They’re either plucked off the street or they network in LA for a few hours and gather some emails. “Heat Waves” is functionally correct, holding onto notes as to elongate a melody into something vaguely memorable and a GarageBand beat cooked up in about 11 minutes. But the group lacks identity; singer Dave Bayley hardly emotes or conjures a personality to latch onto and the rest of the group are as essential as the non Adam Levine members in Maroon 5. This kind of music will never die because neither the music industry nor any marketing team require distinction when the audience doesn’t seem to need it. They probably pay these groups a fraction of the cost they would for real stars too. Alternative is the new cash cow.

Best: Gunna feat. Future & Young Thug- Pushin P: A lot of people don’t want to admit this but: Gunna can be insanely tedious. He raps the same way basketball players practice free throws, mindless repetition until the form is perfect. This isn’t a slight on his talent. Gunna can be one of the most dynamic rappers in the world but the cool mannered Young Thug prodigy backstrokes through Spanish guitars, trickling hi-hats, and deafening bass. His flow can be almost too monotonous because of how easily he floats through his tried and true aquatic flow. Combing through Gunna releases is to find the moments where he’s truly electric.

“Pushin P” is quintessential Gunna, seemingly elementary but deceptively impressive. If language is meant to be evolve, Gunna, Future, and Young Thug are among the most imaginative in their lingo and wordplay. Whatever a Pesbian is or how the purple pint is pussy pink, it’s all incredibly playful yet still sharp and precise. It’s hilarious and mildly surreal in how stone-faced they sell it. Future droning through a dark, intimidating set of strings with “Portuguese on her knees, mopping down her P” and Young Thug bouncing back from them with “I just fucked a cup of water.” It’s funny and kind of cool to see 3 trendsetters earnestly sell the absurd without trying to clean it up with an eye-rolling self awareness. They aren’t too cool to be ridiculous.

Worst: Harry Styles- Late Night Talking: What happened to Harry Styles? There used to be some promise there, occasionally mushy and derivative in his influences but never cynical in his usage. I went long on Harry and how he plays The Game™ in the column but here’s the gist: “Late Night Talking” is squeaky clean. Listen to enough pop and you’ll hear an artist’s distinctions fade into the wallpaper they sell. To challenge the status quo is to cause an imbalance with an audience that hardly ponders their input. You don’t want jarring music. But Harry Styles has leaned too far inward. “Late Night Talking” is grooveless, too slick to even marvel at for a moment. It doesn’t help that Harry’s attempt at romance is hollow. He exchanges the tender writing on his debut for the sickeningly sweet but still lacks the courage to give detail or dimension. “If you’re feeling down, I just want to see you happier baby!” he says with a frightening utopian grin. Figures why he never wanted to leave the simulation in Don’t Worry Darling. I never figured Harry would resort to cliches dusted in sugar. Anything to stay in The Game™ I guess.

Best: Zach Bryan- Something in the Orange: There’s a lot of reluctance in fully embracing country artists. I was led astray once before, the first few months I spent with Morgan Wallen’s music (namely “7 Summers” and “More Than My Hometown”) were magical before finding him drunkenly spewing the n-word the same way a lot of Southern white men do under the influence, clumsy and idiotic initially, harmful and unsuppressed on repeated uses. A quick aside, I’ve lived down south enough to tell the difference and if the Black “friends” they have are fictional or they really don’t care about their use of it. Maybe it’s just a Florida thing (maybe), maybe the times have changed (doubtful). Regardless, that sense of betrayal hurt when it came out and I had vowed a more intense skepticism towards new country artists. I reflected a lot of the lousy and/or occasional Country listener, only propping up the likes of Chris Stapleton, Eric Church, and Jason Isbell. It wasn’t until the rare viral Country hit “Something in the Orange” truly floored me that I opened my heart to country music again.

What separates Zach Bryan from the rest of the field of country artists is his resistance to the synthetic. The mix on “Something in the Orange” is much warmer, highlighting the colors and setting by magnifying the twang in the raw guitars. Rather than get caught up in the processed gunk, he’s a traditionalist who needs to feel the strings on his fingertips. He’s not a timid writer; rather than sputter out cliches and buzzwords to set the backwoods ablaze, Bryan is heartbreakingly direct (“To you, I’m just a man, to me, you’re all I am. Where the hell am I supposed to go?) with minor details that intensify the dwindling romance (“Take me back to us dancing, this wood used to creak.) By frequently subverting easy expectation, the agonizing finality of the relationship really sinks in. All he’s left to do is mutter to himself and beg for a miracle.

Worst: Sam Smith & Kim Petras- Unholy: Music can be made for so many powerful purposes. Besides being a source of sanctuary in such an exhausting world, it can soundtrack a movement, spark the next revolutionary, unite people for a grander purpose. Art holds a lot of responsibility when it takes those roles. So when music decides to be so provocative and bold, it cannot be timid or lame. Supporting mediocrity in the name of alliance only coddles the artists into flimsy security and sets a precedent that failure is acceptable.

I’d truly like to root for Sam Smith and Kim Petras in their efforts here. But “Unholy” rewards me with lame camp nonsense with no edge, embraced by all the nerds who don’t *really* go outside. It’s Lin-Manuel Miranda for the Gays; stiff, unsexy, and not nearly as daring for what it attempts to provoke. An openly gay sex jam should be a little more shocking, something to scare the bigots from the outside world. Maybe it’s Sam who can’t sell eroticism. Maybe Kim and her obnoxious shtick strikes me as phony and contrived. Regardless, it’s really lame.

Best: Glorilla & Cardi B- Tomorrow 2: It’s always refreshing when Cardi B chooses to be a great rapper. So much of the Cardi B experience from 2018 to the present day is static — most of mainstream rap is done with sole focus on completion and correctness. But “Tomorrow 2” magnifies Cardi’s greatest traits as a rapper. She’s a phenomenal shit talker, dismissive (“She say she my opp, but I don’t know her, had to look her up”) and antagonizing (“fake bitch, that’s why my friend fucked on yo n — , both you bitches pussy, I think y’all should scissor”). It all shines around her trademark humor, that her hair so long, it tickles her asscrack. It’s all very loose, she shuns focus grouped raps for something truly imaginative.

Glorilla shines too, equally hysterical with an extremely precise flow. She consumes so much real estate on records; every punchline, every insult plays like an earthquake, devastating or motivational if it hits personally. She’s so reminiscent of the late and inimitable Young Dolph and Gangsta Boo, rappers whose raps truck haters into the stands and magnetic for those who aspire for that dominance. Part of me worries Cardi and Glorilla venture back into the colorless music the industry aspires for in female rap. But when they’re given the keys, they make some of the most invigorating rap today.

Worst: Latto- Big Energy: Why does Latto make music? It’s not hard to imagine her view is similar to Harry Styles or the vaguely alternative artists I mentioned earlier, a 9–5 experience with Content™ meant to be sold to the highest bidder, minimal effort for maximum profit. But in “Big Energy”, I sense something a little more sinister. I hate to be that traditionalist but I recall Prince jesting about how they’ll sample the song that used another sample. It’s not necessarily about solely creating with instruments. Rather, it’s about how the samples can be used so lazily and that the mentality can be passed down the line.

The first notes of “Big Energy” should only be meant with a groan and a question of ‘why aren’t I listening to Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” right now?’ There isn’t any recreation, no mild tweaks to alter the complexion of the song. It’s a tossed on signifier for people to childishly point ‘I know that song!’ or go ‘back in my day…’ We already live in a world so helplessly obsessed with nostalgia that we can’t dare ourselves to create something new. All we do is fawn over the familiar until the cycle repeats itself. The song itself is only boring but that’s the worst crime, to strive for something merely passable and wave fan service in our face.

Best: Joji- Glimpse of Us: Ballads are really hard to pull off. Piano chords play very stocky and stiff, solely reliant on an artist’s tact with their voice, quiet or powerful. For the former, it can play flat and disaffected, never tapping into the distinct tones or nuanced emotions that help a star like Billie Eilish shine. In the latter, artists can overwhelm the atmosphere with obnoxious, overbearing power, never quite nailing the emotional depth Adele and Whitney Houston specialize in. But more than anything, ballads can play boring and trite, easy bait for award shows and listeners who view singing like an Olympic sport.

Joji’s “Glimpses of Us is interesting because it never relies on either dynamic instrumentation or stirring singing. The beats are subtle, slight transitions into each section, bursting into a truly gutting hook. Joji sells it all with this sort of inevitability, that the low points in the relationship he relays are bound to happen. All he has are mere glimpses. The devastation is in its mundanity, he argues that loss is merely a byproduct of love. His singing is equally raw, slightly slurred and muddy but he multiplies the layers in his voice to create a brutal but stunning harmony. It’s rare for a ballad to be so staggeringly simple yet so viscerally heartbreaking.

Worst: David Guetta & Bebe Rexha- I’m Good: I kept asking why people make music. Maybe it was to go to the marketplace to sell for commercials like “I Ain’t Worried” or “Late Night Talking” or “Heat Waves.” Maybe it is meant to scrape the lowest common denominator of familiarity, a workhorse effort to pump out a hit as quickly as possible. Somewhere in the middle, there’s a tinge of desperation, that stardom needs to be achieved by any means necessary. It incentivizes the hollow as artists claw for the next step in their career. Bebe Rexha and David Guetta reek of this desperation.

Guetta and Rexha reach this destination through different angles. Guetta was ravenous in his quest for hits in the late 2000s-early 2010s. If there was a pop hit to be found, he wasn’t too far behind. He collaborated with a renowned cast of hitmakers from that era, Akon, Usher, Flo Rida, Black Eyed Peas, Nicki Minaj, you name it. The world eventually moves on from its post recession dance craze and David Guetta. He would tour the world like rock legacy acts would.

Rexha starts as faceless and indistinct as they come, a blank slate for molding. She howls for a G-Eazy hit, works with autopilot Nicki Minaj on early singles and disinterested Quavo and Tory Lanez on her debut. She pivots with a pop country hit with Florida Georgia Line “Meant To Be.” She hurls F bombs at the crowd for not singing along to it. She tries the pop hit roulette again by desperately latching onto Doja Cat, Lil Uzi Vert, Travis Barker, Rick Ross, and Ty Dolla Sign for her sophomore album. Bebe Rexha’s career plays out like Mia Goth crying out ‘Please, I’m a star!’ She is as shameless as they come. When that album tanks, Rexha says it’s ‘upsetting but I won’t give up!’ and that her career was ‘built on failures and not following the mold.’ Yeah okay.

Guetta and Rexha have negative momentum but they’re clearly savvy or ruthless and maniacal in their quest for hits. Guetta previews the early “I’m Good” at a concert 5 years earlier and it gains traction. Ever the opportunist, Rexha seizes the moment with a truly pathetic performance. “I’m Good” is frighteningly bad, isolating the maddening “I’m Blue” sample from its energy and parading its husk to signal familiarity. The writing is tepid and vague at best, shallow and cynical at worst. “I’m good, yeah I’m feeling alright” glazed atop the wildly uninspired Guetta beat awakens nothing; it’s another installment of wallpaper in a pop field plastered with so much goddamn wallpaper. Still, they succeeded. It’s a true testament to how far pop music has strayed into sole commodification.