Every song, album and artist that helped me survive 2024.

On the last day of the year, let's celebrate everything that made it better.

In his introduction for Questlove’s excellent book Hip-hop is History, The Roots’ drummer details his struggles organising the 50th anniversary all-star rap tribute that happened at last year’s Grammy Awards. It was, he says, a complete and utter shit show, a mess of egos, beefs and schedule clashes that needed constant finessing.

On the day of the show, he suffered more drama. Right before the 13-minute showcase was due to begin, the night’s closing star dropped out on a whim. They texted Questlove from a car, already on their way home. He urgently fired a text to Lil Uzi Vert, who was sitting in the crowd, and asked him to fill in. As he hit send, his phone died.

His stress in this moment oozes out over several pages. The show worked out OK, but, on the way home afterwards, Questlove was sitting in the back of a taxi when he felt something rattling around in his mouth. He spat out a tooth. The whole process had been so stressful for so long that his damn teeth were falling out.

I’m repeating this story for a reason. I can relate. Questlove’s experience is how 2024 has felt to me. It’s been a rollercoaster, a constant grind, with things never settling. No matter how hard I’ve tried, or how often I’ve rearranged the deck chairs, it’s always felt like life has other plans and I’m submerged back into its murky depths.

So, this year, music has played a different role in my life. Sometimes I’ve needed songs that soothed me, that tied me to the moment, that helped me untangle things and make sense of them all. As Jon Toogood told me about his own torrid time, “I’m feeling fucking fragile. I’m going to write music that goes, ‘There, there’.” I’ve felt that too.

On the rare occasions that life hasn’t felt heavy, I’ve turned to music that’s at the opposite end of the scale. I’ve wanted glitchy beats, abrasive rap, searing punk-rock and scathing lyrical outbursts. I’ve wanted honesty. I’ve craved personality. I’ve demanded connection. This is the year I started listening to The Cure. I think that says something about how it’s all played out.

So, on the last day of the year, I want to pay tribute to all of the music that’s helped me survive 2024. Thanks for being here, for being a music fan, for paying attention, for showing up, for loving this silly awesome crazy dumbass insane thing as much as I do. Let me know how it’s been for you, and what’s helped you get through a year that seemed like it might never quit. And please, have a Happy New Year. We deserve it.

See you on the other side.

Chris ;)

Fazerdaze – Soft Power.

Amelia Murray spent eight years crafting the follow-up to her debut album with just an EP called Break! breaking her radio silence. She told The Spinoff she was “walking around in a total fog” struggling with personal issues and her mental health. Soft Power is what came next, a second album frontloaded with shimmery 80s-indebted sonics and synthy sheens on top of her grungy anthems. Seeing Murray this happy is delightful; hearing the results of that is the icing on the cake. (Go to her show!)

Ka – The Thief Next to Jesus.

I’ve followed the rap career of Brooklyn firefighter Ka for years from afar, and I always thought I’d get to go to New York, stand in the queue for one of his street corner vinyl pop-ups and tell him how much his music has meant to me. Sadly, that’s no longer possible. Just a few months after releasing his incredible, often beatless, ninth album The Thief Next to Jesus, Ka died at the age of 52. RIP king Ka, you will be missed.

Soccer Mommy – Evergreen.

In interviews, Sophia Allison has refused to say what her latest Soccer Mommy album is about, but, according to this Stereogum chat, it relates to a “deep personal loss”. To me, Evergreen is about being left with memories: she’s asking what you’re supposed to do when that’s all that’s left. Don’t be fooled by her gentle melodies and soft vocals: this is deep, intense and emotional: if I could pick just one album that’s helped me reckon with the events of 2024, it would be Evergreen. And if I could pick one song, it’s this one…

MOKOTRON – WAEREA.

By day, Tiopira McDowell (Ngāti Hine) teaches Māori studies at the Auckland University of Technology. On nights and weekends, he lays down heaving drum ‘n’ bass anthems in his garage, then layers them up with grimy vocals, growled exclusively in te reo. The results are intense and hypnotic, the sound of someone deeply connected to a land and its people. Honestly, this sounds more like Aotearoa than any other music I’ve heard this year. (Stay tuned for an interview with McDowell in the New Year.)

Bon Iver – SABLE.

I had big plans for 2024, pretty much none of which came to fruition. So, when Justin Vernon sings, “Nothing’s really happened like I thought it would,” on ‘S P E Y S I D E’, I feel that deeply, like he’s singing it just to me. This song is just one of three Vernon released this year, all of which appeared on his SABLE EP. It’s not an album. It’s barely an EP. But they answer the question, “Does Bon Iver still have it?” with an affirmative, “Hells yes”. Let’s cross our fingers for a full comeback in 2025.

JPEGMAFIA – I Lay Down My Life To You.

Soul loops. Succession quotes. Metal riffs. Jarring outbursts of pounding dance music. JPEGMAFIA will throw absolutely anything into his abrasive sonic blender to see what comes out, and the results are almost always unhinged. I Lay Down My Life To You is his best yet, a record I loved for jolting me out of my brain and shocking my synapses with noise. ‘either on or off the drugs’ is the album’s simplest song, and it’s also my favourite. He’d better play it at the Powerstation in February. Or else.

Charli XCX – Brat.

I can’t add anything else to the Brat discourse that hasn’t already been said. But if I get to see ‘Von Dutch’ and ‘Anthems’ live in February, my summer will be complete.

Mousey – The Dreams of our Mothers’ Mothers.

My most-played local album of the year is just 23 minutes long and is based on events that, at least when I met her, Sarena Close didn’t want to reveal. The eight songs of The Dreams of our Mothers’ Mothers are about finding your way through this, of dealing with sticky situations, of processing them with the aim of stopping generational pain. It’s emotional and honest songwriting enlivened by sparse and minimalist production that leaves me breathless with every listen. “My lungs carry a trailer of shit,” she sings on the haunting ‘Home Alone’. “I want to be free of it.”

Mannequin Pussy – I Got Heaven.

My most-played song of the year is ‘Loud Bark’ from the nearly un-Googleable Oklahoma punk group Mannequin Pussy. Their second album showed they could turn their punk-rock racket into arena-sized anthems and this is chocka with them, all of which demand you join in and find catharsis. I got to do this in person at their Tuning Fork show in mid-December, and they’re just as good live as they are on record. Expect to hear much more from them, in much bigger venues, next time they’re here.

Kendrick Lamar - GNX.

Honestly? It’s too much. Please, stop. It’s too good. I can’t deal. We’ve had weeks to get our heads around GNX, the surprise bomb Kendrick Lamar dropped at the beginning of December, and we’re still finding links, references and Easter eggs planted like buried treasure. After swinging his Drake-levelling wrecking ball, Lamar didn’t need to do this. He’d already had a killer year. This was the icing on an ice cold cake. He’s God. He’s Shakespeare. He’s everything. Please, 2025, can we have a Kendrick Lamar stadium show in Aoteraoa? After surviving this year, we deserve it.

And all the rest…

Shout out to the furious throwback riffage of Jack White’s No Name, the pure hip-hop spirit of Doechii’s Alligator Bites Never Heal, the ASMR whisper-pop of Billie Eilish’s Hit Me Hard and Soft, the gothic grime of The Cure’s Songs of a Lost World, the cruisy starkness of Vince Staples’ Dark Times, the bruising trap-rock of Kim Gordon’s The Collective, the thoughtfulness and creativity of Tyler the Creator’s Chromokopia, the dead-eyed thud of Future’s Mixtape Pluto, the relentless might of The Bug’s Machine, the loveable OG spirit of David Dallas’ Vita, the indie cool of Nilüfer Yanya’s My Method Actor, and the unsettling statement that is Schoolboy Q’s Blue Lips. I loved it all. Thank you for helping me soundtrack and survive 2024.

Bonus beat.

Thanks for being here. I have big plans for this newsletter in 2025 and I’ll only get to see them through because of my paying subscribers. If you’d like to contribute, the best way is by becoming one. You’ll get every issue, have access to the comments and the back catalogue, and rest easy knowing you’re supporting that rare thing, an Aotearoa music journalist doing his thing. Next time you’re in front of a laptop, you can do this by pushing this big blue button. Thanks to everyone already doing this – and wherever you are, have a Happy New Year!