The Ringer - The Best of 2022 (So Far)2022-07-08T07:25:00-04:00http://www.theringer.com/rss/stream/229597172022-07-08T07:25:00-04:002022-07-08T07:25:00-04:00The Best Songs of 2022 (So Far)
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<p>The importance of the letters P, F, and N, as explained by the half-year’s standout tracks</p> <p id="GTFeBv">Thursday, we covered the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/7/7/23197181/best-albums-midyear-rosalia-kendrick-angel-olsen-bad-bunny-pusha-t">best albums of the half-year</a>. Today, it’s the best songs. Just 10 this time—a quick overview of the songs that made us dance, feel, and jump through the ceiling in the first six months of 2022. Be sure to check all of our <a href="https://www.theringer.com/pop-culture/2022/7/6/23195676/the-best-of-2022-so-far">mid-year culture coverage here</a>, and check out this week’s <a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/5ljYG9TiiT56tiIklsGhYv?si=2fd9b2b2867c49da"><em>Ringer Music Show</em> to hear Charles Holmes and Rob Harvilla debate their way through their personal album and song lists</a>.</p>
<h3 id="8eysLt">10. “Lye,” Earl Sweatshirt </h3>
<p id="XgfXlh">The Earl Sweatshirt experience is akin to watching the evolutionary cycle of primordial ooze. It’s slow, painstaking, and messy, and years of hoping for something to emerge from the muck is either deeply rewarding or frustrating depending upon your mood. Maybe that’s a byproduct of immense talent. Even when it’s difficult to comprehend what Earl is reaching for, by the time you look up he’s already at the plateau itching for something new. </p>
<p id="qgA1H6">“Lye” is one of those records. Produced by Alchemist, the song is the rare burst of hope in a discography more concerned with existential grays. Built on a looped sample of Riff Raff’s “Havakak,” Earl’s intricate lyrics drunkenly tumble out over horns that are a few degrees removed from triumphant. What he fills within the spaces is a story of knowing a higher power is there, but struggling through the process of finding them. In one of the most beautiful lyrics of the year, Earl leaves the listener on an optimistic note: “Toss the sword back into the vines / Callin’ out for Lord, lookin’ low and high / Finally found it at the core of my dimming fire.” Finding salvation within, Earl leaves on a mischievous note as he invokes the title’s namesake, “what’s a little lye.” Who knew a song ostensibly about hair relaxer could spiritually cut so deep? —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/charles-holmes"><em>Charles Holmes</em></a></p>
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<br>9. “The Truth Hurts,” Ralfy the Plug</h3>
<p id="OQt2fL">Just before last Christmas, Drakeo the Ruler—one of the most original stylists L.A. rap ever produced—was ambushed by dozens of people wearing red and stabbed backstage at a festival he was scheduled to perform at. Within hours, he would be pronounced dead at a nearby hospital. <a href="https://www.lamag.com/culturefiles/the-assassination-of-drakeo-the-ruler/">His killing, which remains officially unsolved</a>, brought a heartbreaking end to one of the brightest careers in recent hip-hop history—one that had already had years <a href="https://www.theringer.com/music/2020/11/13/21563566/drakeo-the-ruler-trial-release-prison-interview-we-know-the-truth">robbed from it by an overzealous prosecutor and labyrinthine judicial system</a>.</p>
<p id="CAi4Rx">Those tragedies gave birth to “The Truth Hurts,” a sentimental but never saccharine tribute by Drakeo’s brother, Ralfy the Plug. In the same conversational, eccentric flow that the duo made the sound du jour of West Coast rap, Ralfy addresses the circumstances around the killing with cocksure resolve: When his brother went through his greatest tribulations—his indictment in connection with a murder he didn’t commit—other crews in the city couldn’t care less. When Drakeo came home with a few notebooks worth of rhymes and a newfound fame, those same people felt nothing but jealousy. (Ralfy puts it more succinctly, with his trademark wit: “A lot of n----s actin’ like bitches, Mrs. Doubtfire / N----s must’ve really been mad at the fact that our crowds was louder.”) The emotional apex of “The Truth Hurts” comes when he describes the moment of his brother’s attack, painting him not as a victim but as a hero with a mile-wide grin: “Drakeo stood on 10 toes with a smile, against a thousand fighters.” It’s an outpouring of grief, a celebration, and a lionization of a legend who was only beginning to get his proper due. Like Ralfy, we know the truth, even if it hurts sometimes. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/justin-sayles"><em>Justin Sayles</em></a></p>
<h3 id="KHVHZR">8. “Wet Dream,” Wet Leg</h3>
<p id="FKzQ0b">From the legit geniuses who brought you “I went to school and I got the big D” comes this summer’s wryest and goofiest and most vicious rock ’n’ roll epigraph: Take your pick between “You said, ‘Baby, do you want to come home with me? / I’ve got <em>Buffalo ‘66</em> on DVD’” or “What makes you think you’re good enough / To think about me when you’re touching yourself?” Wet Leg, the miraculously droll and stupendously raucous duo from the Isle of Wight who just might be the 21st century’s Kim and Kelley Deal, <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/03/27/arts/music/wet-leg.html">blew up outta nowhere</a> with the brilliant fuzz-bomb single “Chaise Longue,” and their self-titled debut album delivers on that promise, nowhere more so than on this rude and infectious alt-rock ethering of some bro too hapless to be toxic: “You climb onto the bonnet / And you’re licking the windscreen / I’ve never seen anything so obscene.” Sing along, but resist the urge to tap on the glass. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/rob-harvilla"><em>Rob Harvilla</em></a></p>
<h3 id="mJd9ht">7. “Break My Soul,” Beyoncé</h3>
<p id="9mH6QU">The line is thin between deliverance and damnation. There are, for sure, other insights to be gleaned from from “Break My Soul”—Beyoncé’s first single for her first true solo album since <em>Lemonade</em>—but a couple of weeks post-release, the slim difference between pain and gain won’t stop kicking up dust in the corners of my mind. This isn’t sacrilege. The song’s a smash. It’s dance music. It’s got a little four-on-the-floor bassline (partly indebted to Robin S.’s “Show Me Love”). An acoustic piano serenade and a call-and-response hook. There’s tasty repetition. When Beyoncé hits the “k” in “break my soul” it’s not entirely clear whether tectonic plates have sprouted diaphragms and are hiccuping, or whether she’s just wielding the same guttural verve that she’s dog-collared popular music with for approximately two decades (and counting). Yes, yes, the message of being unbroken in the face of a global plague, voracious wealth-seekers, and all the various -isms might be a tad flimsy coming from a multi-billionaire/mogul/diva/saleslady. But it’s going to be the song of the summer, you know. It’s going to float around for a while. It’ll be covered, kidz-bopped, replayed, remixed.</p>
<p id="CwgirG">That’s cool. I’m down. Totally down. But is, um, everybody gonna be singing it? Can we at least make exceptions? Rules? Regulations? Russell Westbrook blared “Break My Soul” <a href="https://twitter.com/BleacherReport/status/1541791026305695744?s=20&t=1BK79l7tA6rFR_E9vRi0AQ">on Twitter</a> last week: I was pained and not from the pitch. <a href="https://www.spotrac.com/nba/los-angeles-lakers/russell-westbrook-6141/">Forty-seven-million-per-year</a>, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGbTiDsa_IE">misses backboards</a>, <a href="https://twitter.com/FredKatz/status/798937296682651648?s=20&t=F_E-6Dlgo_qUC5iwJ-fDNA">doesn’t watch film</a>—soul won’t be broken: <em>This</em> a weapon formed against me and it is prospering and it’s jamming and Beyoncé is the soundtrack. This is not right. This is a distortion. Nay, an abomination. Thin, thin lines and such. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/lex-pryor"><em>Lex Pryor</em></a></p>
<aside id="0p984h"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"The Best Albums of 2022 (So Far)","url":"https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/7/7/23197181/best-albums-midyear-rosalia-kendrick-angel-olsen-bad-bunny-pusha-t"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="IVDoYr">6. “Cash in Cash Out,” Pharrell Williams Featuring 21 Savage and Tyler, the Creator</h3>
<p id="EmYB7o">The five best parts of “Cash in Cash Out,” ranked:</p>
<p id="0LlogL">5. The left-right punch of the chorus, when 21 Savage warps the titular phrase into something hypnotic.</p>
<p id="xjfu3x">4. The perfect chemistry between the murderously deadpan 21 and the back-flippingly eccentric Tyler, two of the best working rappers today who have somehow never collaborated.</p>
<p id="FArtTx">3. The thought of Pharrell FaceTiming Tyler “with this fucking weird face on” after he heard the rapper’s verse. <a href="https://www.gq.com/story/pharrell-tyler-21-savage-cash-in-cash-out">As Tyler told <em>GQ</em></a>: “He didn’t even say anything. And then he just hung the fuck up.”</p>
<p id="aoI4pN">2. The spare, neck-breaking Pharrell beat, which may be the best rap backdrop he’s ever laid down, Non–Pusha T/Clipse Division.</p>
<p id="vGfcwS">1. The thought of 21’s bodyguard actually looking like a horse. I already wasn’t planning on stepping to him, but good god. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="y2IKfa">5. “Pushin P,” Gunna</h3>
<p id="N4SdFH">With its Wheezy-produced beat and splashy features from Future and Young Thug, Gunna’s “Pushin P” captured the imagination of the internet when it arrived early this year. The letter “P” <a href="https://www.the-sun.com/entertainment/4479017/pushin-p-memes-explode/">infiltrated pop culture</a>, even if the artist himself couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell you exactly what it meant. The single—which shot up the Billboard charts—seemed to indicate a big 2022 for Gunna. Unfortunately, that’s been put on hold, as he, Young Thug, and other YSL affiliates are currently being held without bail on RICO charges. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/logan-murdock"><em>Logan Murdock</em></a></p>
<h3 id="D8JiGX">4. “Texts Go Green,” Drake </h3>
<p id="fbyHz8">Drake is 35 years old. This isn’t an ageist blurb about the Toronto rapper being too old to still complain about the same exes, strippers, groupies, and wifeys he’s built a multi-million-dollar career on. Instead, this is a moment to appreciate the beauty of exhaustion. Drake seems tired and “Texts Go Green” is the personification of that debilitating feeling of making the same mistake over and over again expecting a different result. </p>
<p id="8Jl7Mt">An artist needs to earn a lyric like “I feel like everything these days leads to nothing.” There’s nothing quite as psychically damaging as the thought of Drake sitting in a recording booth pondering another first date, another DM slide, another year spent sending texts that ultimately mean nothing. Even the seemingly horny bridge—“You’re dealing with me rough / I know you like it rough / But this might be too much”—is a bummer. It’s the sonic equivalent of a lothario asking why there’s never enough time for post-coital cuddling. Over the bouncing Black Coffee and Esona Tyolo beat, Drake seems torn between his self-appointed need to soundtrack messy dancefloor nights and the reality that sometimes when the beat goes on forever you’re left with a desolate cavern of loneliness that even the most sought-after iMessage can’t fix. —<em>Holmes</em></p>
<h3 id="ajxN0g">3. “Back to the Radio,” Porridge Radio</h3>
<p id="vbaQE6">Suddenly it’s an embarrassment of riches out there for fans of painfully literate and ecstatically self-loathing English rock bands who don’t so much sing as <em>declaim</em> or <em>rant</em> or <em>lament</em>, but ain’t nobody wringing more pure arena-sized catharsis out of three minutes and seven seconds than this endless monster crescendo from Porridge Radio’s splendid and anguished second album, <em>Waterslide, Diving Board, Ladder to the Sky</em>. “We almost got better, we’re so unprepared for this,” bellows singer-guitarist Dana Margolis, her voice wobbling thrillingly, her confidence shattered but also somehow unbreakable. “Running straight at it / I’m not the right man for this.” This is indeed the power ballad you put on when you need to psych yourself up to run through a brick wall but you know it’s gonna knock you flat on your ass. The beauty, and the catharsis, is in the failure; the victory is in never quite being prepared. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<h3 id="3evUuJ">2. “F.N.F. (Let’s Go),” GloRilla & Hitkidd </h3>
<p id="ZjR5P4">I don’t know GloRilla particularly well. Besides hailing from Memphis and having a viral song or two under her belt, she’s still a relative enigma. But often emotions delivered through song can transcend the divide between what’s known and what isn’t. The joy GloRilla belts “I’m F-R-E-E, fuck n---- free” with is so infectious you too want to be unencumbered by any and all “fuck n-----” in your personal life. As if knowing her listeners would ponder what GloRilla will do with all the free time being “S-I-N-G-L-E again” provides, she ecstatically states that she’s “Outside hanging out the window with my ratchet-ass friends.” And maybe that’s what makes “F.N.F.” feel as immediate as it does refreshing. GloRilla’s vision of happiness is one of the rare straightforward desires in an increasingly complex and morbid reality. Even as the world is burning, you too can stop at a red light and twerk on some headlights. Sometimes that’s all we can control. —<em>Holmes</em></p>
<h3 id="hpfWoG">1. “Mother I Sober,” Kendrick Lamar</h3>
<p id="Kg1ece">“Mother I Sober” is, among other things, a bellwether. What it provokes is tethered to how you regard the entirety of <a href="https://www.theringer.com/2022/5/16/23074781/kendrick-lamar-mr-morale-big-steppers-review"><em>Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers</em></a><em>, </em>the latest and most unsettlingly distinct record in Kendrick Lamar’s discography. Is the song, at its core, music? Or is it therapy bleeding into art? Sonically the track is so spare, just a heartbeat drum pattern and solemn key riff, as to lose the backbone of what we have up to now collectively termed “hip-hop.” Though he never really loses the rhyme scheme, Kenny’s not exactly rapping, he’s purging, spewing thoughts, fears, regrets, and multi-generational realizations over 16-bar intervals. The hook, whispered by Beth Gibbons of Portishead fame, isn’t really a hook, but a thought. </p>
<p class="c-end-para" id="gHpcpy">It’s not entirely clear whether Lamar made “Mother I Sober” for us or for himself. Is it fair to pick at that reality given the subject matter (sexual abuse, familial trauma, infedelity), considering, also, that we don’t do it with everything else we listen to—in Lamar’s music but also in the genre at large? What makes “Mother I Sober” the best track on the album, and arguably the greatest achievement of the rapper’s career, is that it isn’t interested in answers. Questions beget more questions; the lack of surety is the point. It’s a song about everything. It’s mucky, out of his system, and into the world. —<em>Pryor</em></p>
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https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/7/8/23198661/best-songs-kendrick-glorilla-drake-gunnaThe Ringer Staff2022-07-07T08:26:00-04:002022-07-07T08:26:00-04:00The Best Albums of 2022 (So Far)
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<p>Our ranking of the best rap, pop, and indie albums released so far this year, from to Kendrick to Beach House to some rising stars</p> <p id="XRHNgO">You’ll notice this list is a little longer than it’s been in the past. That’s a reflection of a strong start to the year that’s seen big-ticket rap releases (Pusha T and the long-awaited return of Kendrick Lamar among them), a handful of major indie rock albums (see: Beach House’s and Big Thief’s double-album comebacks), and a bunch of smaller releases we’re very excited about (take your pick from the list). To fully capture 2022 in music so far, it felt necessary to count down the best 25 albums, as opposed to 10. (Truthfully, we could’ve done 50, but we’re reasonable people.)</p>
<p id="tUpz6q">What’s causing this glut of great music? Is it a pandemic build-up finally releasing? The full-stop return of festivals and touring (fingers crossed)? New voices rising up in pop? It’s tough to say, but either way, we’ll take it. </p>
<p id="iPu1jL">Albums released by June 30 were eligible for consideration. Check back on Friday to find out our favorite songs of the year so far.</p>
<h3 id="IO4MHO">25. <em>Few Good Things</em>, Saba</h3>
<p id="Gi8EeG">Remember that rad tweet that dismissed Chance the Rapper as “OL HAPPY ASS”? (Deleted, alas.) Rude, yes, but if you like your earthy Chicago hip-hop warm and buoyant but just a touch less naive, the tenderhearted but hard-nosed third album from Saba is the move. The deceptively serene rapper and producer (and occasional Chance collaborator) both revels in and struggles with outsized success on <em>Few Good Things</em>, a deft and melodically rich and beguilingly glum exploration of what it means to Make It (whatever that means) without Losing It (likewise). “Is a peace of mind worth / Leavin’ everything you knew behind? / Move another town and / Hope the trauma don’t amount to what you do in life,” he thunders on a song called “Survivor’s Guilt”; “I’m just scared to go back / Didn’t have shit to eat / Half my bread go to taxes / The actual thieves,” he grouses cheerfully on a song called “Fearmonger.” Best of all is “Soldier,” a woozy and hooky anthem grounded by a hard-earned wisdom worthy of Kendrick Lamar or, if you’re old enough, Goodie Mob. His cup floweth over, even when his glass is half-empty. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/rob-harvilla"><em>Rob Harvilla</em></a></p>
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<cite>Cheryl Dunn</cite>
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<h3 id="I5esBY">24. <em>Versions of Modern Performance</em>, Horsegirl</h3>
<p id="fH0NaQ">The easy tagline for Horsegirl’s first album is: <em>For fans of ’80s and ’90s</em> <em>indie rock</em>. It certainly tracks—while listening to <em>Versions of Modern Performance</em>, you’ll hear strains of Sonic Youth and Dinosaur Jr., homages to My Bloody Valentine and Built to Spill. But with Horsegirl, the sum is greater than the influences. The trio of teenaged Chicago musicians—Gigi Reece, Nora Cheng, and Penelope Lowenstein—have crafted an album as vital as any of the music it’s indebted to. Listen as they alternate between infectious college-rock riffs and dance-punk on “Anti-glory,” or let the sea of fuzz on “Option 8” envelop you. <em>Versions of Modern Performance</em> is such a realized debut that it may itself influence a later generation down the road. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/justin-sayles"><em>Justin Sayles</em></a></p>
<h3 id="lYgQMF">23. <em>Continuance</em>, Curren$y and Alchemist</h3>
<p id="VGgrmM">The second collaboration from Spitta and Alchemist is a drive down Canal Street, toward the New Orleans riverwalk at 2 a.m. minutes after taking a nibble of the edible. Along the ride, there are features from Babyface Ray, Larry June, Havoc, and Boldy James, all rapping over slick loops. <em>Continuance</em> is a love letter to New Orleans, armed with the spirit of the speakeasies that line the streets of the French Quarter. This project also marks Curren$y’s 11th since the start of 2021, as he’s sidestepped the pandemic to put out content at a rate not seen since his famed mixtape run in the early 2010s. The vibes are here, and Curren$y plans to keep it that way. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/logan-murdock"><em>Logan Murdock</em></a></p>
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<br>22. <em>PAINLESS</em>, Nilüfer Yanya</h3>
<p id="izZi7A">“Why do other people have this idea that artists need to be suffering in order for their music to be good?” the rising 27-year-old British singer-songwriter <a href="https://www.npr.org/2022/03/04/1083369755/on-painless-nilufer-yanya-doesnt-play-nice">Nilüfer Yanya told <em>NPR</em> in March</a>. The question pervades <em>PAINLESS</em>, her stellar second album built on big drums, big riffs, and bigger emotions. Over lush tracks that occasionally recall <em>The Bends</em> or <em>OK Computer</em>, Yanya sings like she’s sharing a late-night confessional, alternating between whispery cries and bellowing declarations. <em>PAINLESS</em>’s songs can be intimate (“Try,” “Midnight Sun”) or pulverizing (“The Dealer,” “Stabilise”), but they always feel like they’re working toward catharsis. At times, she finds it: Take the album’s best song, “Shameless,” which boasts a sentimental melody that belies the lyrics’ aching heartbreak. “If it feels good / Then it’s alright,” she sings, and for a second, you’re inclined to believe her. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="7POg6g">21. <em>Monologues</em>, Ogi</h3>
<p id="pCYLk8">As its name suggests, <em>Monologues</em> is a proof-of-concept record. Six songs. Twenty-one minutes. No I.D. behind the boards. One signature voice. Instead of kowtowing to the modern R&B rat race, <em>Monologues</em> operates in a warmer and more nostalgic ecosystem. At the center is Ogi, a Nigerian singer raised in Wisconsin. <a href="https://ratedrnb.com/2022/05/ogi-breaks-down-every-song-on-debut-ep-monologues-interview/">Ogi has said that</a> her deep and rich voice, honed in jazz choirs and a cappella groups, is meant to mirror singers like Ella Fitzgerald, Nina Simone, and Sarah Vaughn. But what brings the project an inherent levity is that Ogi’s beyond-her-years voice is still preoccupied with the trappings of 2022 dating. Songs about persistent exes (“Let Me Go”), bad dates (“Bitter”), and clout-chasing gremlins (“Envy”) abound. At any point, <em>Monologues</em> could’ve felt like a bigger record. The piano plinks and jazzy horns of “Envy” seem to point to a Grammy-darling future. Thankfully, <em>Monologues </em>isn’t that record. It’s a smaller, more intimate portrait of an artist with a lot left to give even if the initial audition is so mesmerizing. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/charles-holmes"><em>Charles Holmes</em></a></p>
<h3 id="avRsgR">20. <em>Laurel Hell</em>, Mitski</h3>
<p id="1zvBul">“I need you to love me more / Love me more / Love me more,” demands one of the most adored and breathlessly scrutinized art-rock stars of her generation on a synth-pop stunner midway through her sixth album, which agonizes over what all that adoration and scrutiny has cost her. “Love enough to drown it out / Drown it out / Drown me out.” <em>Laurel Hell</em> pulls you closer and pushes you away with effortless magnetism and merciless honesty: “Open up your heart like the gates of hell” sums it up. These are uneasy but razor-sharp pop songs about the tyranny of love (“If you would just make one mistake / What a relief that would be”), the tyranny of growing up (“Maybe at 30, I’ll see a way to change”), the tyranny, perhaps, of pop stardom. (She’s <a href="https://www.tiktok.com/tag/mitskitherapy?lang=en">huge on TikTok</a>, but Twitter arguments about her are <a href="https://slate.com/culture/2022/03/mitski-tour-fandom-tiktok-twitter-memes.html">insufferable</a>.) Whoever she’s addressing with lines like “I haven’t given you what you need / You wanted me but couldn’t reach me,” this is a dense and mesmerizing excoriation of hero worship destined, of course, to only inspire more. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<h3 id="fiYjf6">19. <em>DEATHFAME</em>, Quelle Chris</h3>
<p id="ivx6rL">“Repeat until you see desired results,” Quelle Chris says at the start of one song off his new album, <em>DEATHFAME</em>. For years, this has been the cerebral Detroit MC/producer’s modus operandi: Since 2011, Chris has released eight albums with him as a featured rapper (including 2018’s excellent Jean Grae team-up, <em>Everything’s Fine</em>). But despite critical acclaim and some breakthroughs—last year, he collaborated on the score for <em>Judas and the Black Messiah</em>—on <em>DEATHFAME</em>, he wants more. Throughout the album’s 42-minute running time, he sneers at lesser MCs and contemplates the mechanics of an industry that values posthumous success more than its living talents. Built on a bed of pitched-down, disjointed samples that build tension but never quite release, <em>DEATHFAME</em> may be Chris’s most intriguing artistic statement. It’s a dense, heady album from a dense, heady artist. But while it may not ultimately lead to those desired results, it won’t stop Chris from trying: “I do this for the love and money,” he raps on the title track. “I do this for the love of money, anyone say otherwise is broke or frontin’.” —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="M4MC9K">18. <em>40 oz. to Fresno</em>, Joyce Manor</h3>
<p id="SlTCfQ">Fantastic title, first of all. Joyce Manor—ecstatic and aggrieved rock ’n’ roll miniaturists from Torrance, California, who pack more sugary hooks and ferocious dissatisfaction into a two-minute song than lesser bands cough up across whole careers—are masters of compression on their sixth album, blowing through nine perfect pop-punk songs in less than 17 minutes and wasting not a second. Put it on repeat for hours and see what jumps out: the delicious hostility of “You’re Not Famous Anymore,” the infectious turbo-charged chorus of “Don’t Try,” the glorious crunch and falsetto earworm of “Gotta Let It Go.” Hours later you’ll still be discovering wonderfully sardonic details, like the bridge that goes, “Look at me, yelling love is free / Then why is everybody always stealing shit from Best Buy? / Could it be that the room’s empty / And I’m just tearing out my heart for the sound guy?” Absolutely sublime. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<h3 id="faASMC">17. <em>Cocodrillo Turbo</em>, Action Bronson</h3>
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<p id="oqZqYq">Action Bronson is often at his best when the stakes are lowest. The music at this point is a bonus—today, he’s perhaps better known as a Viceland mascot and olive oil pitchman than he is as a rapper. But that shift has allowed him to dig deeper into his eccentricities in ways he couldn’t even five years ago. <em>Cocodrillo Turbo</em> may be the greatest realization of that yet. He jumps over the hood of a Jaguar, “like a jaguar.” He doesn’t cut the bread with a knife—he rips it “like a man supposed to.” It’s viscerally thrilling—fitting for a man who has built an empire out of his vices—and it’s his best project since <em>Blue Chips 2</em>. It’s also perhaps the most purely fun listening experience you’ll have in 2022. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="o2vn5C">16. <em>2 P’z in a Pod</em>, Larry June, Jay Worthy, and LNDN DRGS</h3>
<p id="jDC0p3"><em>2 P’z in a Pod </em>is the audio embodiment of your two uncles clad in velvet suits, Stacy Adams hard bottoms, and a top hat, scoping out the scene with the coldest gangsta lean. For 11 silky tracks, June and Worthy bless the LP with a swagger that only California can produce. Features from Jim Jones, CeeLo Green, and Suga Free function as the latest stamp for June and Worthy, who have ascended to the door of the West Coast elite. —<em>Murdock</em></p>
<h3 id="sXT1V3">15. <em>High School, </em>Tim Heidecker</h3>
<p id="a9hqs5">Yes, <a href="https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/6/23/23179484/tim-heidecker-new-album-high-school-interview-profile"><em>that</em> Tim Heidecker</a>. The alt-comedy legend returned last month with a new album, the latest in his continued lean into earnest, heart-on-his-sleeve singer-songwriter rock. It’s his best yet: On <em>High School</em> Heidecker mines the past to make sense of the present. Songs like “Chillin’ in Alaska” and “Stupid Kid” tap into adolescent heartbreak, while “Buddy” paints a composite sketch of old friends lost to drugs and other circumstances. At other points, like on the standout single “Sirens of Titan,” it plays as though Heidecker is recalling buried memories in real time, piecing them together to complete the puzzle of who he is today. With Mac DeMarco helping with the production and Kurt Vile dropping by for an assist, it’s not just Heidecker’s best record—it’s one of the best indie rock records you’ll hear all year. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<aside id="9v0Tbg"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"Will the Real Tim Heidecker Please Stand Up?","url":"https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/6/23/23179484/tim-heidecker-new-album-high-school-interview-profile"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="9hC82L">14. <em>Lucifer on the Sofa</em>, Spoon</h3>
<p id="tWqNN1">“For the first time in my life / I let myself be held / Like a big ol’ baby,” crows indomitable Spoon frontman Britt Daniel on what feels like his 200th fantastic album, and the ornery zest with which he rips into the words “big ol’ baby”<em> </em>alone<em> </em>ensures that this’ll be somebody’s all-time favorite. These fellas started out 20-plus years ago as major-label survivors turned indie-rock superheroes, but they long ago transcended such feeble pigeonholes and became just an all-time great rock ’n’ roll band, their songs skeletal but full to bursting, rough and noisy but exquisitely, precisely calibrated. <em>Lucifer on the Sofa </em>has a rawer, surlier edge than usual (“The Hardest Cut” lives up to its title), but the disarming tenderness of the second half especially is just as surprising. (“My Babe” and “Astral Jacket” live up to their titles, also.) And the incredible “Wild” is the perfect mix of laid-back groove and raucous ecstasy, a monster jam that suggests, for like the 2,000th time, that these guys really could put out albums this great forever. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
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<h3 id="1yOVXh">13. <em>Once Twice Melody</em>, Beach House</h3>
<p id="QfsrC5">Eighteen years after they formed—a time when most bands would be slowing down or shifting into the comfortable “nostalgia” space—Beach House has released their most ambitious project yet. The sprawling <em>Once Twice Melody</em> is their biggest and boldest statement, more ethereal and gauzier than anything that’s come before it. An 84-minute double album, <em>Melody</em> is an immersive experience, one that washes over you with a mix of swirling synths, floating vocals, and shoegaze riffs. Songs like the sun-kissed title track and the sparkling “New Romance” feel like the culmination of everything the Baltimore dream-pop duo has been building toward since their 2006 debut. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that this marks the first time Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally have fully produced their own record. <em>Melody</em> is mesmerizing, and it raises exciting possibilities of how Beach House’s sound could evolve in the next decade-plus. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
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<h3 id="wSKmhm">12. <em>Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You</em>, Big Thief</h3>
<p id="ZcUGYn">At 20 songs, 80 minutes, and roughly 50 abrupt but exhilarating vibe shifts, nothing about the mammoth fifth album from this burgeoning Brooklyn festival-rock institution is restrained, from the loopy title on down. Track 2 (“Time Escaping”) is an amiable prog-funk ode to entropy; Track 3 (“Spud Infinity”) is a bouyant, barefoot folk tribute to, uh, potatoes. (And infinity.) Take your time, choose your own adventure, and build your own Album of the Year tracklist: Mine would include the slow-motion droning ecstasy of “Sparrow,” the delicate flute solo that winds through the soft-rock majesty of “No Reason,” and the dreamy drum-machine chant of “Wake Me Up to Drive.” <em>Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe in You </em>takes no time at all to warm up to, but rewards every ounce of further energy you put into it, especially when it comes to wrapping your head around singer Adrianne Lenker’s vivid and surreal lyrics (“From the 31st floor of the simulation swarm / With the drone of fluorescence / Flicker, fever, fill the form”) or, better yet, never fully wrapping your head around them at all. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<aside id="AOsH4p"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"The Beauty in the Sprawl of Big Thief’s New Double Album","url":"https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/3/10/22970131/big-thief-dragon-new-warm-mountain-i-believe-in-you-double-album-review"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="HQvQpH">11. <em>Waterslide, Diving Board, Ladder to the Sky</em>, Porridge Radio</h3>
<p id="TRjsY8">The pandemic robbed Porridge Radio of their breakout moment. At least that’s been the narrative around the Brighton, U.K., quartet, who released one of 2020’s buzziest albums just as the world was shutting down. But to the extent the band buys into that story, they don’t appear any worse for wear. Porridge Radio’s latest album builds on the strengths of its predecessor, <em>Every Bad</em>, while pushing their music in an exciting new direction. The instrumentals are bigger, swelling with synths and organs and reaching for the rafters. They’re ethereal, cathartic, and even a bit spiritual, providing a perfect backdrop for lead singer and chief songwriter Dana Margolin, one of the most exciting and emotive new voices in music. With titanic songs like the heart-wrecked singalong of lead single “Back to the Radio” or new-wave groover “The Rip,” <em>Waterslide, Diving Board, Ladder to the Sky</em> hits you like a megaton bomb of feelings. And maybe that’s enough to change the narrative around Porridge Radio. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<aside id="L8ANnq"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"Porridge Radio and the Redemptive Power of Cringe","url":"https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/5/20/23131087/porridge-radio-new-album-interview"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="bBt4xX">10. <em>Ramona Park Broke My Heart</em>, Vince Staples</h3>
<p id="rTzmoX"><em>Ramona Park Broke My Heart</em> is a reckoning with nostalgia. Throughout his fifth studio album, Staples balances the love for his hometown with the pain endured to make it out. Surviving the perils of gang life in Long Beach is a feat, but confronting the lasting wounds of the journey is what makes this album stand out. It’s a layered project that gives the forgotten homies of yesteryear their humanity and reveals Staples’s complicated relationship with love. His “Player Ways”<em> </em>won’t let him love his partner as much as he loves his pistol, which offers more protection on his ascent. </p>
<p id="XOtfN3">The album coincides with the recent cultural mainstream validation of Staples. In recent months, he’s been on television promoting cars, and he’s gearing up for a revamp of the iconic film <em>White Men Can’t Jump</em>,<em> </em>in which he has a starring role. Somehow he still seems like the same grounded rapper that would run around Mac Miller’s studio way back when, hoping to get a verse off. And he has Ramona Park to thank for that. —<em>Murdock</em></p>
<h3 id="xb0806">9. <em>A Light for Attracting Attention</em>, the Smile</h3>
<p id="7gpp9L">The Smile’s debut album is not a new Radiohead album. But it’s also <em>not</em> not a new Radiohead album, at least in terms of energy. <em>A Light for Attracting Attention</em> finds Thom Yorke teaming up with guitarist-composer and his main RH songwriting partner Jonny Greenwood, plus longtime producer Nigel Godrich. (Drummer Tom Skinner, whose work includes collaborations with Floating Points, is also in tow.) The result is something that sounds not entirely dissimilar from the main group’s more recent work while also gently nudging Yorke and Co. in new directions. “The Smoke” and “The Opposite” show that the Smile can groove harder than what you’ve come to expect of Radiohead-related projects (which is saying something, considering the dearth of 4/4 time signatures on <em>A Light</em>). “A Hairdryer,” which layers a hypnotizing riff over a flickering double-time beat, splits the difference between <em>The Bends</em> and Yorke’s electronic sojourns like <em>The Eraser</em>. “You Will Never Work in Television Again” recalls the <em>Hail to the Thief</em> era, just updated for a new age. Marking the distinctions between a Smile song and a Radiohead one can sometimes fall into the “narcissism of small differences” camp. (A song like “Free in the Knowledge” plays like a classic Radiohead ballad, for instance.) But there’s a freedom that comes with some of these songs that Yorke and Greenwood may not have been able to achieve within the confines of their most famous group. And perhaps that’s why <em>A Light for Attracting Attention</em> exists as its own stand-alone concern. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="Z8jjcF">8. <em>Diaspora Problems</em>, Soul Glo</h3>
<p id="AuxDCE">With their Epitaph debut, Philadelphia anarcho-punks Soul Glo have crafted the year’s loudest, brashest album—you can deadlift to <em>Diaspora Problems</em> or you can start a revolution to it. Songs don’t get much more cathartic than opener “Gold Chain Punk (whogonbeatmyass?),” which hits like centuries of rage channeled into a 20-pound wrecking ball, or “Coming Correct Is Cheaper,” which builds a hardcore caucophony atop the Lyn Collins break Rob Base & DJ E-Z Rock flipped for “It Takes Two.” Elsewhere, Soul Glo plays with industrial-tinged trap music (“Driponomics”) and blissed-out funk-metal (“Spiritual Level of Gang Shit”). <em>Diaspora Problems</em> is perhaps 2022’s most overtly political major release—both lyrically and in terms of the flag the now-trio is planting in their white-dominated genre. (Lead vocalist Pierce Jordan and bassist GG Guerra are both Black.) You’ll either sprain your neck headbanging to <em>Diaspora Problems</em> or throw out your arm chucking bricks through Starbucks windows. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<aside id="oK2SxR"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"The Survival Psalms of Soul Glo","url":"https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/3/29/23000750/soul-glo-diaspora-problems-epitaph-album"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="e7gltb">7. <em>It’s Almost Dry</em>, Pusha T</h3>
<p id="KoAyyk">To understand the significance and grandeur of <em>It’s Almost Dry</em>, the number 23 is of vital importance. That’s how many years Pusha T has been releasing rap records—some mind-splitting, others occasionally droning, all overwhelming in their allegiance to a singular vision—without a no. 1 album. That dates back to 1999. Things that hapepned in the meantime include but are not limited to: a war on terror, a financial collapse, a Black president and an orange one, a captial insurrection, and a global plague. 1999 to 2022. It’s a wilderness. Making it out of that requires what Push and his brother Malice aptly called “Grindin’” on their major label debut.</p>
<p id="GC4hqk"><em>It’s Almost Dry</em> is a testament to the grind, to workmanship, to steady improvement mixed with a refusal to change. There’s a reason the record is a hodgepodge of Pharrell and Kanye beats, why it sounds both positively spooky and unassailably accessible, and that reason is simply: because the man wanted it to be. Push doesn’t care if the culture has changed. Push cares only about his sound, his nook. His head is still above ground, but he’s choosy with his muses. <a href="https://www.theringer.com/2022/5/3/23054774/pusha-t-its-almost-dry-interview-pharrell-kanye">When we talked, in the spring</a>, he said he wanted to be Scorsese. It’s summer now. The dust has settled. <em>It’s Almost Dry</em> is pure; utterly potent. Every auteur has their hit. This is his. —<a href="https://www.theringer.com/authors/lex-pryor"><em>Lex Pryor</em></a></p>
<aside id="0B7JAp"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"“There’s No Other Rapper I’m Competing With”: Pusha T Is Ready to Re-up ","url":"https://www.theringer.com/2022/5/3/23054774/pusha-t-its-almost-dry-interview-pharrell-kanye"}]}'></div></aside> <figure class="e-image">
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<cite>Angela Ricciardi</cite>
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<h3 id="4Nzm6G">6. <em>Big Time</em>, Angel Olsen</h3>
<p id="9riwMc">Angel Olsen’s voice, colossal but intimate, vulnerable when she wants to be but electrifyingly resolute when she has to be, was made for country music, for the warm caresses of deep reverb and pedal steel, for searing explorations of grief and soaring declarations of new love. </p>
<p id="vy8wq5"><em>Big Time</em>, the North Carolina–based singer-songwriter’s sixth full-length, is her proverbial Country Album at long last, and it shatters you and glues you back together from song to song, from the one that softly starts, “I had a dream last night / We were having a fight / It lasted 25 years” to the one with the booming chorus of “Why’d you have to go and make it weird?” She can make a hush feel gargantuan (“All the Flowers,” a waltz that revolves around the phrase “to be alive,” is extra devastating) and a massive crescendo (“Go Home” is a killer) feel like an impossibly detailed miniature universe. Details aside, when she sings, you stop in your tracks, you focus, you <em>submit</em>. Wherever she goes, go with her. —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<h3 id="eYnnRr">5. <em>Boat Songs</em>, MJ Lenderman<em> </em>
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<p id="xQsGIX">This guy was described to me as “Jason Molina with an <em>Athletic </em>subscription,” which is the weirdest musical recommendation I’ve ever gotten in my whole life, and the most accurate, too. “Jordan wanted to sign with Adidas for shoes,” begins the witty and rambunctious breakout album from this North Carolina garage-country savant. “But Nike gave him an offer that he could not refuse.” Then he starts talking about that alleged poison pizza in Utah; the song’s called “Hangover Game.” Amazing. MJ Lenderman’s got another song called “TLC Cagematch” (cheerfully downbeat, oddly empathetic), and another called “Dan Marino” (likewise, plus it peaks with the line “But I think Big Dan will be alright / For he’s a Hall of Famer”). <em>Boat Songs </em>is occasionally so shaggy and lo-fi it sounds like ol’ MJ fell out of said boat, but when the scruffy electric-guitar riffs mesh with the pedal steel just right, boom, transcendence: “Seed fell out of the feeder / And the birds are eating on the ground,” he drawls, a song called “You Are Every Girl to Me” blooming shambolically all around him. “<em>Jackass</em> is funny / Like the earth is round.” —<em>Harvilla</em></p>
<h3 id="Ym5QVW">4. <em>Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers</em>,<em> </em>Kendrick Lamar</h3>
<p id="fAgmAw">For years, Kendrick Lamar has made bold attempts to critique the world around him, from the designer clothes we wear to the music we listen to. What separates <em>Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers</em> from its predecessors is the decision to put the mirror on himself. He grapples with his upbringing on “Father Time” and copes with abuse on “Mother I Sober.” The process of revealing such trauma wasn’t easy, as he coped with writer’s block, fear of cancellation, and depression. </p>
<p id="bF6Zrn">The album was born from reflective absence. Writer’s block killed his creativity for much of the stretch, leading to the longest hiatus of his career. The conundrum forced him to reveal everything he’s been hiding, which is why this album is so special. For much of his career, Lamar has used his Compton upbringing as a badge of resilience. He got through the rigors of a forgotten world so it was time to celebrate, and use his music as a guide to get others out. He told us things were gonna be “Alright<em>,” </em>then told us to be “Humble”<em> </em>two years later. After a while, the message began to get preachy. </p>
<p id="aTiMyq">It’s not like this version of Lamar is angelic. He’s still the guy telling us to take off our weird-ass jewelry while wearing a $3 million crown of thorns. But now, he’s revealing his whole truth: that no amount of money, cars, and access will remove the scars his childhood gave him. Only internal work will do that. —<em>Murdock</em></p>
<aside id="YpkoQ6"><div data-anthem-component="readmore" data-anthem-component-data='{"stories":[{"title":"Kendrick Lamar’s ‘Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers’ Is As Messy and Complicated As the Man Who Made It","url":"https://www.theringer.com/2022/5/16/23074781/kendrick-lamar-mr-morale-big-steppers-review"}]}'></div></aside><h3 id="L03Z02">3. <em>Un Verano Sin Ti</em>, Bad Bunny</h3>
<p id="gZV8WP">No one is safe from Bad Bunny. He’s pop music’s grim reaper: Harry Styles, Post Malone, Drake, and Kendrick Lamar have all fallen prey to his scythe. <em>Un Verano Sin Ti</em>, Bunny’s fourth studio album, has returned to the no. 1 spot on the Billboard 200 multiple times, has broken the Spotify record for the most streams of an album in a month, and for eight weeks has managed to breeze past 100,000 album-equivalent units with relative ease.</p>
<p id="nd8lfo">As inevitable as Bunny’s dominance now seems, it’d mean very little if his 23-song opus was bullshit, streaming fodder made to game the system. But in a year when the biggest stars are more concerned with fumbling their way through various dance genres or mining years of generational trauma, <em>Un Verano Sin Ti</em> is a rare oasis. The unrelenting scope of Bad Bunny sees the star working through dembow, bachata, techno, and everything in between with a singular drive that’s too enjoyable to deny. “The album is very Caribbean, in every sense: with its reggaeton, its mambo, with all those rhythms,” Bunny told <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/05/06/arts/music/bad-bunny-un-verano-sin-ti.html"><em>The New York Times</em></a> in May. “I like it that way,”</p>
<p id="7EVrha">Bunny is like a consummate party host making sure the sheer charisma of him and his collaborators keeps the barrier to entry low. There’s an electricity to a song like “Tití Me Preguntó” and its accompanying video where the lilting sample of Anthony Santos’s “No Te Puedo Olvidar” bleeds into an explosive frenzy of drums and sirens. “Ojitos Lindos” is anchored by Bomba Estéreo, but Bunny’s hums around the three-minute mark that feel like watching a soft-serve melt. In the coming months, there will be a slew of summer records begging the populace to turn away from the never-ending collapse of modern society, but <em>Un Verano Sin Ti </em>will likely be the only one to do it so effortlessly. —<em>Holmes</em></p>
<h3 id="ZWtj89">2. <em>Aethiopes</em>, billy woods </h3>
<p id="iEklSh">Like the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/2022/5/13/23071291/kendrick-lamar-mr-morale-big-steppers-exit-survey">most ambitious major-label album of the year,</a> <em>Aethiopes</em> searches for meaning in generational trauma. But where <em>Mr. Morale & the Big Steppers</em> turns a mirror on its protagonist, the latest LP from billy woods finds pain everywhere: the stoops of the “slum villages” he inhabits, far-flung lands that white tourists come to colonize and cannibalize, the museum exhibits that exploit historical Black pain. He sees himself in those dioramas, in the drug-addicted local he says “no hard feelings” to. The world becomes a reflection of him, and <em>Aethiopes</em> a snapshot of that reflection.</p>
<p id="vAMdaA">A New York underground veteran, woods is very likely the best working writer in rap. In nearly 20 years, he’s released 14 full-length projects, including solo ventures and collaborative efforts alongside Elucid in Armand Hammer. Nearly every woods project can be described as serpentine, but <em>Aethiopes</em> stands as one of his densest and most rewarding works. Named after an archaic term Europeans used for Africans, the album tackles “Blackness as an idea, Africa as an idea, Africa as a reality,” as woods told <a href="https://www.thefader.com/2022/04/08/billy-woods-and-preservation-on-the-cinematic-chaos-of-aethiopes?utm_source=tftw"><em>The Fader</em> upon its release</a>. The stories he weaves are spellbinding, connecting hundreds of years of history to a single present-day moment. You can occasionally be entranced by the vivid details of a song like “Christine” or the references to 9/11, <em>The Stranger</em>, and the racism of capitalism on “Versailles.” But woods is a masterful lyricist who understands how to snap you back to attention with a single couplet. (“The future isn’t flying cars / It’s Rachel Dolezal absolved” is among the sharpest—and bleakest—truisms you’ll ever hear on a song.) </p>
<p id="fxsomn">If this makes <em>Aethiopes</em> sound like homework, that’s unintentional—the production, supplied by DJ Preservation, is uniformly excellent, and the features, which include indie-rap stalwarts El-P and Breeze Brewin’, harken back to a forgotten era of underground rap. <em>Aethiopes</em> is enjoyable on a purely aesthetic level. But it’s also the kind of album that demands you dig in and peel back the layers, just as woods has done. The results can sometimes be upsetting, but more often than not, they’re revelatory. —<em>Sayles</em></p>
<h3 id="iXqIuc">1. <em>MOTOMAMI</em>, Rosalía</h3>
<p id="fy8aCy">Rosalía’s third album could’ve been a success simply by just existing. The 29-year-old Spanish superstar has seen her star rise to astronomical heights in recent years, landing features on songs by Travis Scott and the Weeknd, and netting a mainstream Grammy nomination for Best New Artist (to go along with a few Latin Grammy wins). Repeating the formula that previously worked for her—one built on traditional flamenco, albeit pushed in experimental directions via her last LP, <em>El Mal Querer</em>—would have yielded a massive success. But that’s not what truly fascinating pop stars do, and that’s certainly not what Rosalía did.</p>
<p id="YQPOJU">Arriving in March, <em>MOTOMAMI</em> moves beyond the flamenco that made her famous, instead fusing avant-garde pop with progressive Latin music. It’s consistently thrilling—at its best, like on the electrifying “CUUUUuuuuuute” or the opener “SAOKO,” she moves through genres swiftly, going from hyper-pop to driving reggaeton to jazz breakdowns with ease. When <em>MOTOMAMI </em>stands still—to the extent it does—Rosalía still excites: “CANDY,” one of the album’s sultriest songs, samples Burial’s landmark garage anthem “Archangel.” Some moments recall Björk, while others recall M.I.A. (who gets a shout-out on <em>MOTOMAMI</em>’s lone flamenco track, “Bulerías”). Sometimes, when Rosalía sounds the sweetest, she’s being the dirtiest—like on “HENTAI,” a soft ballad that we implore you not to Google the name of if you’re not already familiar. There’s always something deeper at play on this album. Largely self-produced by Rosalía with help from trusted collaborators like El Guincho and hired guns like the Neptunes, <em>MOTOMAMI</em> is pure musical auteurism—a vision of where not only the artist is headed, but also where she’s taking pop music. It’s a proposition she understands all too well: As she sings on “SAOKO,” “Yo soy muy mía, yo me transformo.” Translation: “I am very much me, I transform.” —<em>Sayles</em></p>
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https://www.theringer.com/music/2022/7/7/23197181/best-albums-midyear-rosalia-kendrick-angel-olsen-bad-bunny-pusha-tThe Ringer Staff2022-07-06T06:20:00-04:002022-07-06T06:20:00-04:00The Best Movies of 2022 (So Far)
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<p>Amid the returns of America’s greatest stuntmen—Tom Cruise and Johnny Knoxville—directors from across the world like Terence Davies, Apichatpong Weerasethakul, and David Cronenberg have also submitted superlative work</p> <p id="WmJMXz">“It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot,” says Tom Cruise in <em>Top Gun: Maverick</em>,<em> </em>a wryly self-reflexive line of dialogue reminding us that the one thing a star vehicle really needs is a star. But while <em>Maverick </em>is undeniably a “star text”—a movie contoured to the myth and mystique of Tom Cruise—it’s wrong to reduce director Joseph Kosinski to a wingman: His steady hand helps the film achieve liftoff. When looking at the best movies of 2022 so far—<em>Maverick </em>among them—the common denominator is keen, inventive directorial choices that either reconfigure conventional material in unpredictable ways, pare stories down to their essence, or show us things we haven’t seen before (and maybe aren’t sure we want to). A few movies on this list are holdovers from last year’s international festival circuit, but there’s also an encouragingly solid percentage here of multiplex-friendly titles—movies that don’t have to be sought out, so much as met and appreciated on their own populist terms. </p>
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<h3 id="tKuVfB">Honorable Mention</h3>
<h3 id="EuXgrD"><em>Mad God </em></h3>
<p id="mRIw87">Whether or not special effects guru Phil Tippett’s stop-motion labor of love—produced over a period of 30 years and released to streaming on Shudder this summer—is actually one of the <em>best</em> films of 2022 is beside the point. In an era of compulsory CGI when genuinely visionary imagery is rare, this beguilingly tactile vision of an analogue apocalypse, set in a Boschian hellscape whose inhabitants and their backdrop have been literally handcrafted in miniature-slash-maximalist detail, qualifies as a heroic act. The film is disorienting, disgusting, and, at times, genuinely disturbing; think Tim Burton minus the cuteness, or maybe a vintage Tool video stretched (and gorily distended) to feature length. Tippett, who once joked that the animated dinosaurs of <em>Jurassic Park </em>were going to make him extinct (a line that made it into the movie), has drawn—or, more truthfully, physically etched—a line in the sand on his side of the uncanny valley. The best compliment you can pay to <em>Mad God </em>is to say it’s made in the image of its creator. </p>
<h3 id="DsmZr1">10. <em>We’re All Going to the World’s Fair </em>
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<p id="TCuv4G">Jane Schoenbrun’s nifty dish of internet creepypasta draws a bead on online loneliness and isolation; think <em>Unfriended </em>except there’s no actual ghost in the machine. Drawn into a mysterious role-playing game that asks its participants to record testimonials about their psychological and physical mutations, an impressionable teenage girl starts believing in her own transformation. As a simultaneously perverse and tender coming-of-age story, <em>We’re All Going to the World’s Fair </em>vibrates with empathy for its heroine while also finding the right mix of curiosity, skepticism, and empathy for the older male gamer who’s styling himself as her white knight for reasons known only to him. When the history of 21st century screen-life horror movies gets written—or blogged about—Schoenbrun’s inventive cult favorite will warrant its own chapter. </p>
<h3 id="Hbmoge">9.<em> Jackass Forever </em>
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<p id="oeBqC8">Alternate title: <em>More Crimes of the Future. </em>It’s a good bet that David Cronenberg’s body-artist Saul Tenser would get along with Johnny Knoxville—they’re both willing to put their lives (and limbs) on the line for the purposes of entertainment. Knoxville doesn’t take too much punishment in <em>Jackass Forever</em>,<em> </em>using his elder statesman position to victory lap around past triumphs and bask in his own surprisingly elegant middle-aged gravitas, but when it’s his turn he steps the fuck up. Knoxville is ably supported by a younger generation of self-destructive daredevils who seem so happy to be part of the franchise that they don’t mind being on the wrong end of everything from punches to paintballs to poisonous spiders, all of which is filmed with the same sense of deadpan slapstick that’s made up the greatest torture-porn movie series of all time. There won’t be a funnier, cringier scene this year than <em>The Silence of the Lambs </em>bit featuring the troupe locked in a dark room with what they think are poisonous snakes slithering around. Good luck trying to breathe.</p>
<h3 id="W6Q4oq">8.<em> Both Sides of the Blade </em>
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<p id="qVS6Zo">Love hurts in Claire Denis’s films, and <em>Both Sides of the Blade </em>is as jagged as anything she’s made in the past 15 years. Ten years ago, Sara (Juliette Binoche) left her monied lover Francois for rumpled, tender ex-con Jean (Vincent Lindon); now, Francois is back, and after recruiting Jean to help run his new rugby team, he’s pursuing Sara as well. Or is Sara the hunter? Shot in a tense, pressurized style that feels closer to a horror movie than a romantic drama—all off-center close-ups, pitch-black Parisian nightscapes, and brooding mood music via Tindersticks—<em>Both Sides of the Blade </em>explores the double-edged nature of intimacy: the mix of comfort, desperation, and terror that comes with truly knowing or being known by another person. The lead actors are phenomenal, with Lindon inhabiting a weary decency coursing with electric currents of insecurity and Binoche plunging deep into the skin of a woman at the mercy of her own crossed wires. The only thing she knows is that she doesn’t know what—or who—she wants. </p>
<h3 id="iqR0H0">7.<em> RRR</em>
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<p id="GGdnQ4">I had S.S. Rajamouli’s previous Telugu-language blockbuster, <em>Eega</em>, on my list of the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/movies/2019/12/31/21042809/best-foreign-films-of-the-decade-2010s-parasite-burning-toni-erdmann">best foreign-language films of the 2010s</a>, and <em>RRR </em>is even more rousing and accessible: an epic period drama about two Indian revolutionaries—mythic stand-ins for real-life figures—battling the British Raj in 1920. Verisimilitude isn’t really Rajamouli’s thing: He’s a purveyor of broad, stylized, seriocomic chaos, a gifted and unpretentious hybrid of Baz Luhrmann and James Cameron who puts showmanship first. And he should, because he’s a really great showman. The movie’s two big set pieces—a turbo-charged ensemble dance number and a fiery siege featuring a menagerie of lethal CGI animals—are so much more choreographically sophisticated than anything Marvel has produced that they seem to belong to another medium. At three hours, <em>RRR</em>’s relentless pacing and endless narrative reversals can feel punishing, but the overall effect is exhilarating. When’s the last time a big-budget action movie felt like too much of a good thing?</p>
<h3 id="vHicYP">6.<em> Top Gun: Maverick</em>
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<p id="wbQTpW">Speaking of too much of a good thing, <em>Top Gun: Maverick </em>is also over the top—which is where a movie set in fighter planes belongs. No less warnographic than its flag-waving mid-80s predecessor—and no less hackneyed as a male-bonding melodrama—<em>Maverick </em>nevertheless shows us exactly how a legacy sequel should be done: with shock, awe, and a sliver of self-awareness. If the movie is propaganda, what it’s selling isn’t so much American military power as the enduring might of Tom Cruise’s persona. His performance here is priceless; flashing that same old smile and flaunting that same old six-pack, he makes Pete Mitchell an ageless, flawless, and maybe soulless icon to rival Dorian Gray. It helps that the filmmaking is pretty much impeccable, with director Joseph Kosinski providing the kind of clear, streamlined action sequences that make blockbuster spectacle feel fun instead of mandatory. </p>
<h3 id="UmqFAP">5.<em> Happening </em>
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<p id="FNZpSu">Audrey Diwan’s prize-winning drama keeps the camera close to its protagonist, observing the world—or more specifically, a prosperous French university campus circa 1960—in shallow focus from over her shoulder. The visual idea of a character who’s blurring out everything around her works beautifully for a story about a young woman trying to procure an illegal abortion—a scenario that obviously resonates in an American present tense, but betrays no sense of opportunistic topical engineering. </p>
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<p id="w1ii1s"><em>Happening </em>is adapted from a memoir by Annie Ernaux, which accounts for both its sense of grimly lived-in experience and subtly literate sensibility. What’s at stake in the heroine’s journey is not just a matter of biological choice or political defiance, but a future in a world that’s already difficult for a young woman to penetrate. Anamaria Vartolomei’s lead performance is necessarily and intensely physical—and subject to some harrowing bodily choreography in the homestretch—but what binds us to her is a sense of the perceptive, gifted writer trapped behind weary, terrified eyes.</p>
<h3 id="VR3fAy">4.<em> Benediction </em>
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<p id="LTRyJ0">The great British director Terence Davies specializes in a brand of thinly veiled confessional, delicately filtering elements of his own autobiography through the lives of other great artists in a dualistic act of solidarity and projection. In 2016’s excellent <em>A Quiet Passion</em>,<em> </em>he found kinship in the self-effacing genius—and despair—of Emily Dickinson; in <em>Benediction</em>,<em> </em>his surrogate is the WWI veteran Siegfried Sassoon, who wrote haunting, politically charged poems about his time in the trenches and ended up as one of Britain’s most famous public dissenters. For the most part, <em>Benediction </em>eschews combat movie tropes and focuses instead on its subject’s troubled private life, including his affair with the composer Ivor Novello. But, the horrors of the battlefield are never far from Siegfried’s mind. Superbly incarnated by Jack Lowden (as a young upstart) and Peter Capaldi (in his embittered domestic dotage), the character seems to be buckling under the psychic weight of his own experiences and the responsibility of enshrining them in verse. As always, Davies’s careful craftsmanship and keen sense of melancholy (as opposed to melodrama) keeps the film subtle, but not benign; its portrait of the artist as a broken man gets under your skin. </p>
<h3 id="inyVBV">3.<em> Crimes of the Future</em>
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<p id="rXKy1k">The end is the beginning: The post-millennial dystopia of David Cronenberg’s latest looks an awful lot like ancient Greece, and the shocking murder of a child in the opening scenes riffs with complexity on the myth of Oedipus. More abstractly, <em>Crimes of the Future </em>grapples with the collateral damage of generational warfare as the human race goes down to the wire. Yet somehow, a movie about civilizational breakdown and the impending necessity of living off our own waste products—of bodies evolving in defiance of known science to consume and subsist off of recycled plastic—is more hilarious than horrific. Cronenberg’s hero Saul Tenser (Viggo Mortensen, impersonating his director) is a deadpan performance artist who resents sprouting auxiliary tumors, but is happy to show them off for fun and profit (including to a very organ-horny Kristen Stewart, contributing the best line readings of the year). The question of where <em>Crimes </em>ranks among its maker’s murderers’ row of genre masterpieces is irrelevant. At once sparse and thematically loaded, it’s the sort of visceral-slash-cerebral provocation that only Cronenberg could—or would—make in the first place. Meet the new flesh, same as the old flesh.</p>
<h3 id="H2MEpD">2. <em>Hit the Road </em>
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<p id="r0jRwu">Panah Panahi is a chip off the old block. His father, Jafar Panahi, is one of the greatest living Iranian filmmakers, and the warm, subtly political <em>Hit the Road </em>honors the family legacy. The story line, about a middle-aged couple trying to smuggle their eldest son out of the country while keeping his precocious little brother in the dark, is as simple as it gets, but Panahi uses it to mine a wealth of human, social, and cultural dynamics. Even the most static, stalled sequences are filled with ideas and humor (the clan’s affectionate name for their youngest member is “shithead”). There are also a few startling, unexpected nods to American movie classics—including an all-timer from Stanley Kubrick—which suggest the scope and breadth of Panahi’s own personal cinephilia, and give the idea of global, accessible arthouse filmmaking a good name.</p>
<h3 id="M2Pxtp">1. <em>Memoria </em>
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<p class="c-end-para" id="EdQ4jq">In which Tilda Swinton copes with her bouts of insomnia by searching for the source of some otherworldly, middle-of-the-night sounds. It’s a slender, surreal story line on which Apichatpong Weerasethakul can hang his usual array of enchantments. What the Thai auteur does can technically be categorized as minimalism, but there hasn’t been a more spacious, generous movie on display this year than <em>Memoria</em>,<em> </em>which juxtaposes loneliness and obsession against some larger, cosmic sense of mystery. In a summer in which Jordan Peele looks set to riff on <em>Close Encounters of the Third Kind</em>,<em> </em>Apichatpong activates his own distinctive sense of Spielbergian wonder. One sequence, set by a riverside outside of Bogotá, depicts the thin line between life and death—and cinema and dreaming—with heart-stopping clarity, making us aware of the smallest physical movements in ways that prove more mesmerizing and rewarding than the typical big-screen spectacle. </p>
<p id="nviK26"><a href="https://twitter.com/brofromanother"><em>Adam Nayman</em></a><em> is a film critic, teacher, and author based in Toronto; his book </em>The Coen Brothers: This Book Really Ties the Films Together<em> is available now from Abrams.</em></p>
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https://www.theringer.com/movies/2022/7/6/23195451/best-movies-2022-so-far-top-gun-maverick-jackass-foreverAdam Nayman2022-07-05T08:22:58-04:002022-07-05T08:22:58-04:00The Best TV Shows of 2022 (So Far)
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<p>From ‘The Righteous Gemstones’ to ‘Severance’ to ‘Abbott Elementary,’ 2022 has offered plenty of quality among a crowded TV field</p> <p id="0kVW82"><em>The best TV of 2022 so far runs several different gamuts: from returning favorites to surprising newcomers; from tear-jerking dramas to uproarious comedies; from traditional networks to tech-backed streaming services to media companies stuck somewhere in between. What unites them all is the ability to stand out from a </em><a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/5/25/23140505/emmys-tv-better-call-saul-awards"><em>packed crowd</em></a><em> as shows emerge from pandemic breaks and vie for awards. The Television Academy won’t announce their picks until later this month. Until then, these are </em>The Ringer<em>’s</em>.</p>
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<h3 id="J3DGEt">10. <em>Reacher </em>
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<p id="HCU6LA">A few years after Lee Child’s book series was turned into a pair of solid if unspectacular films, <em>Jack Reacher</em> is back in a big way—literally—on the small screen. With respect to short king Tom Cruise, the latest take on the source material casts a more <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/2/16/22937239/jack-reacher-huge-size-amazon-prime-series">appropriately sized leading man</a> in Alan Ritchson. (Per the canon, Jack Reacher is a commanding 6 feet, 5 inches tall; Ritchson is only a few inches shorter and built like a linebacker.) Size isn’t the only variable that makes the Amazon Prime series <em>Reacher</em> click, but it’s the first step in a faithful adaptation that finds the title character caught up in a small-town conspiracy for large-scale counterfeiting. </p>
<p id="5HvkUp">Using his brains and brawn to get to the bottom of the sprawling mystery, Reacher is essentially a superhero whose uniform is jeans and a plain T-shirt. (Reacher is a drifter, you see, and travels only with the clothes he’s wearing.) There is never a point when you worry about the safety of one swole man going up against an international syndicate—Ritchson, in turn, brings a witty stoicism to his performance that underlines that everyone is in on the joke. <em>Reacher</em> won’t be mistaken for an Emmy contender, but the show is to television what <em>Top Gun: Maverick</em> has been for cinema: a pop culture event the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/movies/2022/5/12/23067733/top-gun-maverick-sequel-dad-cinema-tom-cruise">dads of the world</a> can get behind. —<em>Miles Surrey</em> </p>
<h3 id="4AzlzM">9. <em>The Righteous Gemstones</em>
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<p id="SQ5ixh">Danny McBride’s latest masterpiece may be the best-looking comedy on TV. The deeds it depicts are often disgusting, whether physically (mass projectile vomiting, the birth of a “toilet baby”) or morally (a family of evangelical ministers exploiting their congregation and hoarding mass wealth in the name of the Lord). But <em>The</em> <em>Righteous Gemstones</em> looks <em>incredible</em>,<em> </em>with McBride and collaborators like David Gordon Green and Jody Hill delivering spectacle after spectacle. A team of Christian bodybuilders known as the “God Squad” tote a cement cross as a show of strength; a gang of motorcycle bandits stage an assault on a party bus. If you can focus on the visuals between bouts of hysterics, it’s wildly impressive.</p>
<p id="zyYfk1">As befits its megachurch milieu, <em>The Righteous Gemstones </em>started big. But in its second season, it’s only gotten bigger, introducing new characters like Eric Andre’s rival preacher while shading in the past of patriarch Eli, played with rumbling gravitas by a scowling John Goodman. <em>The Righteous Gemstones </em>has grown into a unique blend of staggering ambition and straightforward laughter, delivering delightfully silly gags even as it pulls off impressive stunts like <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/2/20/22940914/righteous-gemstones-baby-billy-harmon-reunion-macaulay-culkin">surprise-casting Macaulay Culkin</a>. McBride has always excelled at playing masculine depravity. But he’s rarely been surrounded by such a deep bench, nor given so many resources to realize his vision. God bless. —<em>Herman</em></p>
<h3 id="m0zxEX">8. <em>Tokyo Vice</em>
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<p id="N1bIJ1">It’s been seven years since Michael Mann’s underappreciated tech-thriller <em>Blackhat</em> bombed at the box office, and while there’s finally headway on the auteur’s next big-screen project—<a href="https://deadline.com/2022/04/michael-mann-ferrari-adam-driver-penelope-cruz-shailene-woodley-1235009093/">forza, <em>Ferrari</em></a>!—his brief detour to television wasn’t half bad, either. Mann directed the pilot of the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/4/7/23013398/tokyo-vice-found-the-right-mann-for-the-job">HBO Max drama <em>Tokyo Vice</em></a> and served as an executive producer, and he finds an intriguing small-screen story to match his stylish sensibilities. Based on Jake Adelstein’s memoir of the same name, the series stars Ansel Elgort as a fictionalized version of the journalist starting on the crime beat at one of Japan’s biggest newspapers, where he learns the intricacies of Tokyo’s seedy underworld in the late ’90s.</p>
<p id="RFsUKV">As Jake builds relationships with both the yakuza and detectives trying to keep the syndicates in check, the series highlights how Tokyo was caught in a delicate balance between order and corruption at the turn of the century. At its best, <em>Tokyo Vice</em> shows the lengths that journalists, criminals, and law enforcement will go to uncover the truth or attain power, regardless of the personal cost. In other words, it’s right in the “dudes who should really go to therapy but are very good at their jobs and look cool while doing it” wheelhouse that Mann has made a career out of. (It also helps that the series <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/01/arts/television/tokyo-vice-hbo-max.html">filmed on location</a> in Tokyo, breathing life into every neon-infused set piece.) Here’s hoping <em>Tokyo Vice</em> remains as thrilling and immersive in its <a href="https://variety.com/2022/tv/news/tokyo-vice-renewed-season-2-hbo-max-1235286508/">second season</a>, even in the event that Mann doesn’t return behind the camera. —<em>Surrey</em> </p>
<h3 id="04pdvZ">7. <em>Hacks</em>
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<p id="pWaZSR">The first season of <em>Hacks </em>forged an uneasy partnership between comedian Deborah Vance and her Gen Z joke writer Ava. The second put that bond to the test, taking the two on the road and revealing a shit-talking email an intoxicated Ava sent about her boss. Ultimately, it built to a conclusion that felt earned: a seemingly definitive break between the two that was made not out of anger, but mutual respect. Deborah tells Ava early on that she’s just like her, an observation she doesn’t mean as a compliment. In the end, though, she recognizes Ava won’t achieve Deborah-level success if she’s working in her shadow. It’s harshness as love, as is the <em>Hacks </em>way.</p>
<p id="spos22">In between, <em>Hacks </em>let Deborah and Ava explore both America and themselves. The season’s middle, best stretch takes them from a lesbian cruise to a state fair to a grubby Memphis comedy club where Deborah figures out the key to confessional performance: going after herself harder than anybody else. As Deborah perfects her tone, <em>Hacks </em>feels similarly dialed in: often wacky but emotionally grounded; warm and collegial without getting ooey-gooey. It’s become a comfort show that doesn’t come off like it’s pulling any punches for the sake of comfort. Some fans felt this season’s finale felt like a logical end to the series, but I much prefer it to last year’s cliffhanger. This is one story corner I can’t wait to watch the team write its way out of. —<em>Herman</em></p>
<h3 id="hwPnSv">6. <em>Severance</em> </h3>
<p id="3bzcq1">It can be tricky to maintain a healthy work-life balance, so imagine if you could “sever” your life between what you do in the office and everything outside of it. That’s the setup for the <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/2/18/22940057/severance-apple-tv-plus-review-adam-scott-work-life-balance">absorbing Apple TV+ drama <em>Severance</em></a>, which follows a group of workers at the mysterious Lumon Industries who volunteered for the experimental procedure. The concept wouldn’t feel out of place on an episode of <em>Black Mirror</em>, and like the popular sci-fi series, <em>Severance</em> excels because its technology feels both plausible and terrifying if it fell in the wrong hands. </p>
<p id="1vMdiJ">And that’s the thing: What does Lumon actually <em>want</em> out of severing its workers? Creator Dan Erickson keeps viewers guessing throughout the first season, culminating in a cliffhanger finale that invites plenty of questions even as it answers some of them, including the real identity of the company’s newest severed employee, Helly (Britt Lower). With mystery-box shows, there’s always a danger of testing the audience’s patience and falling off the rails. But as one of the best new shows of the year, <em>Severance</em> has more than earned the benefit of the doubt. I might never want to work at Lumon, but I’m certainly drinking the Kool-Aid. —<em>Surrey</em> </p>
<h3 id="gEwGyH">5. <em>Pachinko</em>
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<p id="TcqyjU">Min Jin Lee’s sprawling novel <em>Pachinko </em>is a multigenerational epic that follows a single family’s journey from occupied Korea to postwar Japan. Its adaptation, a limited series on Apple TV+ spearheaded by <em>The Terror</em>’s Soo Hugh, puts its own inventive twist on Lee’s structure, reshaping the story for TV while amplifying its themes. Rather than a single, linear narrative that moves forward through time, this version of <em>Pachinko </em>juxtaposes two timelines: one in which a young woman named Sunja (Minha Kim) must cross an ocean to provide for her family, and another in which her grandson Solomon (Jin Ha) attempts to assimilate by working for a prestigious Japanese bank. </p>
<p id="L0hNTk"><em>Pachinko </em>makes other clever choices in its group portrait of a Korean family in Japan, members of a postcolonial wave little-known to American audiences. The show color-codes its subtitles, calling attention to how younger generations like Solomon’s intersperse Japanese words into their Korean-language conversations, while a matriarch like Sunja—played as an adult by Oscar winner Youn Yuh-Jung—clings tightly to the home she’s lost. Combined with the best <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1GgKXR_J-ww">opening credits sequence</a> this side of <em>The Sopranos</em>,<em> Pachinko </em>proves itself an exceptional entry in the literary-hit-to-prestige-miniseries pipeline. The tears <em>will </em>flow, and every one is earned. —<em>Herman</em></p>
<h3 id="RTeFEC">4. <em>Abbott Elementary</em>
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<p id="wnTMPB">Reports of the network sitcom’s death have been greatly exaggerated. (Yes, it’s been a while since <em>30 Rock</em>,<em> The Office</em>,<em> </em>and <em>Parks and Recreation </em>shared a single lineup on NBC, but we’ve had <em>Black-ish</em>,<em> Brooklyn Nine-Nine</em>, <em>Superstore</em>, <em>The Good Place</em>, and more<em> </em>in the years since.) Still, it’s been ages since a broadcast half-hour broke into the zeitgeist as definitively as <em>Abbott Elementary. </em>Star and executive producer Quinta Brunson is an alumna of BuzzFeed’s early efforts to institutionalize viral stardom. <em>Abbott Elementary </em>is not about nor especially oriented toward the internet—but it marries the structure and classical appeal of ABC prime time with an audience ready and able to boost it on social media. The show’s live ratings are solid enough, but those numbers <a href="https://deadline.com/2022/01/abbott-elementary-first-abc-comedy-premiere-quadruple-ratings-in-mp35-1234919539/">quadrupled</a> as younger viewers caught up on platforms like Hulu.</p>
<p id="aJ0xwZ">A workplace comedy set in a Philadelphia public school, <em>Abbott Elementary </em>features a slew of charming child actors as its namesake’s rambunctious student body. (One of the show’s many triumphs is how it mines the kids’ behavior for laughs without mocking them.) But its core cast are the teachers, who form a flawlessly balanced ensemble. Brunson plays Janine, a relative rookie as earnest as she is inexperienced. The part is an effective showcase, but compared to her costars, it’s clear Brunson had the savvy and lack of ego to cast herself as the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Straight_man">straight woman</a>. Sheryl Lee Ralph shines as Barbara, a seasoned pro intimidating in her efficacy, while Janelle James is the breakout as Ava, the deliciously incompetent principal. <em>Abbott Elementary </em>is neither saccharine nor cynical in its treatment of systemic issues, an impressive balancing act that’s actually earned the acclaim it deserves. —<em>Herman</em></p>
<h3 id="5jCNG7">3. <em>Barry</em> </h3>
<p id="5CEH1T">The initial premise of <em>Barry</em>, in which a hitman catches the acting bug during an assignment in Los Angeles, mined plenty of humor from the ways that Barry Berkman (Bill Hader) treated his lethal profession with the same apathy as someone stuck in a cubicle. (And, to a lesser extent, how show business can be as brutal as contract killing.) But as the series continued exploring the moral rot within Barry’s soul in its third season, the atrocities he’s committed have become no laughing matter. </p>
<p id="xQyCGO">Barry believes he can still find redemption and maintain a relationship with his acting teacher Gene Cousineau (Henry Winkler), who’s learned that his pupil isn’t just a hired gun, but the person who killed his girlfriend Janice Moss (Paula Newsome) at the end of first season. The brilliance of Season 3 is that the show has abandoned all hope that Barry can change and is in turn putting a spotlight on the many victims who’ve been caught in his path. (Barry has ruined enough lives to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=113KoZEjKlU">fill out a purgatorial beach</a>.) The final scene of the season—a shot lingering on a grieving father and a portrait of his daughter—underscores the humanity that exists within <em>Barry</em> in spite of its title character having none himself. All told, <em>Barry</em>’s <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/6/10/23162016/barry-season-3-episode-7-bleak-dark-comedy">never felt less like a comedy</a>—and it’s all the better for it. —<em>Surrey</em> </p>
<h3 id="78DceM">2. <em>Our Flag Means Death </em>
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<p id="qfkXu5">Loosely based on the real-life experiences of British aristocrat Stede Bonnet (Rhys Darby), who traded away a life of luxury to explore the high seas as a “gentleman pirate,” the new HBO Max series <em>Our Flag Means Death</em> could’ve easily coasted as a fish-out-of-water comedy—no puns intended. But what makes the show so riveting is how seamlessly it pivots from wacky high jinks to swashbuckling queer romances, chief among them the growing bond between Bonnet and the infamous Blackbeard (Taika Waititi). </p>
<p id="7tdXwx">It’s Bonnet and Blackbeard’s relationship, along with the eccentric pirates under their wing, that gives <em>Our Flag Means Death</em> an unexpected depth and sincerity. The series always remembers it’s a comedy, but at the same time, the romantic underpinnings are never treated as a punch line. (It’s perhaps unsurprising that the show’s tender approach has inspired a ton of <a href="https://www.polygon.com/23001873/our-flag-means-death-fan-art">gorgeous fan art</a> in response.) Thankfully, with the series’ <a href="https://deadline.com/2022/06/our-flag-means-death-renewed-by-hbo-max-for-second-season-1235036305/">recent renewal</a>, there’s more room for <em>Our Flag Means Death</em> to chart the emotional journeys of its characters after Bonnet and Blackbeard’s tragic falling-out at the end of the first season. But whatever happens next, <em>Our Flag Means Death</em> has already proved to be a genuine treasure. —<em>Surrey</em> </p>
<h3 id="OssN78">1. <em>The Dropout</em>
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<p id="gNjXNp">This spring saw a <a href="https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/2/25/22949799/super-pumped-showtime-dropout-hulu-wecrashed-apple-tv">slew of scripted series</a> about the rise and highly publicized fall of would-be tech moguls who modeled themselves after an earlier generation of starry-eyed founders. All were at least entertaining, pairing charismatic actors with compelling subjects. But in its dramatization of Elizabeth Holmes, the woman who built a billion-dollar startup on fraudulent technology and an equally hollow persona, <em>The Dropout </em>proved by far the best.</p>
<p class="c-end-para" id="KvovGB">Created by <em>New Girl</em>’s Liz Meriwether, bankrolled by Hulu, and centered on a jaw-dropping lead performance by Amanda Seyfried, <em>The Dropout </em>actually adds something substantive to the oceans of ink already spilled about Holmes and Theranos, the company she co-led with longtime boyfriend Sunny Balwani. Holmes herself is a black hole, with everything from her voice to her miraculous blood-testing device an empty affectation. Meriwether and Seyfried craft a convincing portrait of Holmes as a woman of genuine trauma, crushing insecurity, and utterly bizarre dance routines. But they never let her or her highest-profile marks, like executives at Walgreens or former Secretary of State George Schultz, off the hook—if anything, they make Holmes <em>more </em>terrifying in psychological context, not less. The Emmy is Seyfried’s to lose, and for good reason. —<em>Herman</em></p>
<aside id="3NVreU"><div data-anthem-component="newsletter" data-anthem-component-data='{"slug":"ringer_newsletter"}'></div></aside><p id="4oGWKw"></p>
https://www.theringer.com/tv/2022/7/5/23192227/best-tv-shows-2022-so-far-hacks-severance-barry-dropoutAlison HermanMiles Surrey2022-07-05T08:09:24-04:002022-07-05T08:09:24-04:00The Best Songs and Albums of 2022 (So Far)
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<figcaption>Photo by John Parra/WireImage</figcaption>
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<p>Charles and Rob discuss their favorite songs and albums of the year so far</p> <div id="RN3T7f"><div style="left: 0; width: 100%; height: 152px; position: relative;"><iframe src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/episode/5ljYG9TiiT56tiIklsGhYv?utm_source=oembed" style="top: 0; left: 0; width: 100%; height: 100%; position: absolute; border: 0;" allowfullscreen="" allow="clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture;"></iframe></div></div>
<p id="AD6YHt"><br><a href="https://open.spotify.com/episode/5ljYG9TiiT56tiIklsGhYv?si=6eebb3551ae14d56">This week, Charles Holmes is joined by</a> <em>60 Songs That Explain the ’90s</em> host Rob Harvilla to discuss, celebrate, and debate their favorite songs and albums of 2022.</p>
<p id="80fXGy">Host: Charles Holmes<br>Guest: Rob Harvilla<br>Producers: Justin Sayles and Devon Renaldo</p>
<p id="aGwFNX"><strong>Subscribe</strong>: <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/3IMryNjG2HG3nKqBWpyHxu">Spotify</a></p>
https://www.theringer.com/2022/7/5/23190606/the-best-songs-and-albums-of-2022-so-far-favoriteCharles HolmesRob Harvilla