I’m not exaggerating when I say Sharon Van Etten has the voice of an angel. In her first major acting role on the prematurely-cancelled sci-fi epic The OA, she played a woman who survived a near-death experience and developed a literally preternatural level of vocal talent as a result. There’s a memorable scene in which her character, Rachel, largely silent until now, sings a spine-tingling a cappella rendition of one of Van Etten’s early songs. Before that moment, I had assumed Rachel was played by an unknown actress, but I knew exactly who she was within seconds of the first note leaving her mouth. That’s power. On Remind Me Tomorrow, Van Etten’s first album in five years, she puts this voice to good use by playing up its strengths. Opener “I Told You Everything” and closer “Stay” mirror each other by being the starkest, most stripped-back songs here, recalling the raw energy of that a cappella performance. In between, Van Etten gives us one of the most cathartic songs of the year in “Seventeen,” where she perfectly allows her voice to sound a little bit imperfect, alongside several other highlights. Stepping away from the musical spotlight has clearly revitalized her artistically, which is a relief, since it’d be a shame for a voice this lovely to fade away.



Swedish artist Tami T makes some of the most singular music I’ve ever heard. In the past, she’s worked closely with Karin Dreijer, contributing vocals to “A Part of Me” from Fever Ray’s most recent album, Plunge (which, as a side note, I’ve discovered a bit late is spectacular). This is just to give you a sense of the aesthetic realm she’s working within. Like Dreijer, Tami T is a fan of vocal manipulation, and she pitches her own voice several octaves higher, until she sounds like an adorable squeaky-voiced femmebot programmed to sing sugary pop hits. It sounds vapid if you aren’t paying attention to her words, which would be a mistake. High Pitched and Moist chronicles the highs and lows of Tami T’s day-to-day life as a trans woman. She sings about getting blackout drunk and having meaningless hookups with partners she “only call[s] when I want to fuck, but that’s okay because I almost always want to fuck.” She sings about violent late-night encounters “in the club, in a so-called safe space . . . in my bed, in the streets, in police uniform.” She sings about straight cis people refusing to mind their own business, telling them to “show some respect and please shut up . . . It’s not our obligation to enlighten you.” At times, these are difficult words to hear but not nearly as difficult as the experiences that have inspired them. In the darkness, though, there are flashes of brightness, like the euphoric “Trans Femme Bonding,” where Tami T celebrates other trans women for being “so fucking brave, so fucking femme” and showing her “who I am and what I can do.”



For a band that has only been around since 2016, Terror Jr already has an insanely large (and surprisingly consistent) catalog of songs. Despite this, Unfortunately, Terror Jr is their official debut album, and having already cut their teeth on so many informal releases, the duo comes out swinging. For a hot minute a couple years ago, everyone thought Terror Jr’s lead singer was Kylie Jenner. At the risk of disappointing you, it’s not. But actual lead singer Lisa Vitale has a charming, deceptively sweet voice that lends itself well to blissfully excessive layers of autotune and hilariously biting (and occasionally vulgar) one-liners, both of which Terror Jr’s songs contain in spades. Moody opener “Maker” sets the album’s tone by showcasing how seamlessly Vitale switches between lyrical modes, breathlessly sprinting between silly insults (“If you want to die, I recommend you cop a feel, bitch”) and deadly serious musings (“I could meet my maker/I wonder what she’d say to me/And would she be ashamed of me?”). Unfortunately, Terror Jr revels in contradiction. “Heaven Wasn’t Made for Me” and “A-OK (Everything’s Perfect)” are surprisingly astute commentaries on the current political moment, while “Yamaguchi” and “Favorite Bitch” are playfully boastful odes to being fucking amazing. Not everything here sticks the landing, and the album occasionally strains beneath its obvious mainstream aspirations, but Terror Jr largely succeeds at balancing frivolity and sincerity.



The only weakness of Sir Babygirl’s debut, Crush on Me, is that it has just six full-length songs. But I’m hard-pressed to think of anything I’ve found more consistently delightful this year than the 25 minutes of music it contains. Kelsie Hogue’s enthusiasm for pop music comes through loud and clear in songs that sound like the love children of Britney Spears, Disney, and Broadway. There are hooks for days, and Hogue is an absolute vocal powerhouse. At the same time, they reflect a strong DIY ethos and a proudly queer perspective. The feelings and experiences documented in each track are as vivid and immediate as their exuberant candy-coated exteriors. “Flirting with Her” delves into the nervewracking ordeal of making your romantic feelings known to the girl you’ve been crushing on: “Flirting with her is like losing your keys/What the fuck is going on with me?” “Haunted House” explores partying until you reach the edge of self-destruction: “I can’t wait to lose all my friends in one night/I can’t wait to ruin the rest of my life.” And “Pink Lite” contains perhaps the most relatable quip about social anxiety I’ve ever heard: “I buy my lunch and hold my composure in the grocery line/But I’m shitting myself every time.” I recommend you hop inside Sir Babygirl’s Barbie-pink Jeep now, or it’s bound to take off without you.