The Mamas and the Papas \u2013 Mansions (1968)<\/p>\n
I grew up listening to the Mamas and the Papas\u2019 hits but had never heard their albums before this year. I had no idea anything as creepy as Mansions lurked within their sunny oeuvre. Its sound is ominous, its mood one of stoned paranoia, its subject rich hippies sequestered in the titular luxury homes, haunted by the sensation that the flower-power dream is going wrong.<\/p>\n
The weirdest thing about it is its eerie prescience. A year after its release, a group of people not too dissimilar to those depicted in the song found out just how wrong the 60s counterculture could go. The spectre of the Manson murders hangs chillingly over the track, compounded by the fact that, on their eponymous 1966 album, the Mamas and the Papas recorded Strange Young Girls, about precisely the kind of lost souls that Charles Manson would ultimately convince to do the devil\u2019s work. A minor but thoroughly unsettling slice of buried pop history. Alexis Petridis<\/p>\n
Katy B \u2013 Katy on a Mission (2011)<\/p>\n
There\u2019s a well-known cognitive bias where, after you become aware of something new, you start seeing it everywhere. It\u2019s known as the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, but from this year, I\u2019ll think of it as the Katy B<\/a> effect, after Katy on a Mission became the unexpected soundtrack of my summer. Having spent my teens and early 20s in New Zealand, I\u2019d never heard it before; I first clocked it at Glastonbury, when two friends and I stumbled on Katy B\u2019s set at the Shangri-La stage at 4am. \u201cStumbled\u201d is the word: I didn\u2019t learn its title until three weeks later, at a house party with the same friends. Handed control of Spotify, they agreed: Katy on a Mission. Two weeks later, I caught it again at Brighton Pride, the womp-womp bursting from the tent.<\/p>\n Discovering this pop-dubstep classic has made me feel connected to a moment in British culture I missed, while coming across it in the wild 15 years later has felt like a second wind for my own youth. As much as I loved 2010s pop at the time, I now find much of it too saccharine to readily revisit. Katy on a Mission shares the era\u2019s exuberance but tempers it with foreboding that now seems prescient. Since summer, I\u2019ve had it on high rotation, making up for lost time. Elle Hunt<\/p>\n Roberto De Simone and Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare \u2013 La Gatta Cenerentola (1976)<\/p>\n When Barcelona electro-punk duo Dame Area worked in the tiny club M\u00e0gia Roja, a hub for the city\u2019s 2010s experimental scene attended by the likes of Arca and Bj\u00f6rk, nights often closed with the dark, pounding Secondo Coro Delle Lavandaie. Sounding like an acoustic version of some industrial dance banger, it\u2019s actually a piece from Neapolitan artist Roberto De Simone\u2019s 1976 folk opera La Gatta Cenerentola, in which several washerwomen discuss a sex dream. Dame Area showed me that track years ago, calling it a major influence, and it\u2019s so good I barely gave the rest of the musical a chance. When De Simone died this year, I finally listened to the whole 1976 recording, and kicked myself for not doing so sooner. This eccentric gem celebrates his city\u2019s folklore \u2013 based on Giambattista Basile\u2019s 1630s version of Cinderella \u2013 and musical traditions, from the Renaissance villanella to the wild folk dance of the tarantella. Alastair Shuttleworth<\/p>\n Opal \u2013 You Ready (2012)<\/p>\n I was at a party when the DJ played an unfamiliar song from a familiar voice, which instantly sent my hips swinging as though I already knew every beat. I scrambled for the Shazam app and found that it was I Said It by Opal, a name I recognised from the lyrics of Mr Vegas\u2019s dancehall classic Hot Fuk: \u201cA Opal, Hottaball and Vegas!\u201d I soon had the song on repeat, in love with its incredible lyrics \u2013 \u201cNookie well tight \/ It nuh quicksand\u201d \u2013 then discovered it was from a six-track EP from 2012, You Ready. That record served me the track Physically Fit, set to the English nursery rhyme One, Two, Buckle My Shoe, which has become the soundtrack to my lifting sessions in the gym.<\/p>\n What amazed me is how singularly inventive, playful and sexy this tight EP is and how little known it seems to be despite Opal\u2019s voice being familiar to anyone who knows anything about dancehall; you can\u2019t even find the lyrics or much reference to these songs online. It was released on the label Zojak, also home to Vybz Kartel\u2019s global hits Fever and Summertime: I\u2019ll be trawling through its catalogue for more vulgar, frisky, addictive hits. Jason Okundaye<\/p>\n Ulver \u2013 The Norwegian National Opera (2011) Immersive \u2026 Kristoffer Rygg sings with Ulver at the Fekete Zaj festival in Hungary in 2011. Photograph: Bal\u00e1zs Mohai\/EPA\/Shutterstock<\/p>\n Ulver are the kind of fearless creatives more people should idolise. They started as part of Norway\u2019s black metal scene before escaping not just the borders of that genre, but plenty more as well. Between albums, soundtracks and EPs, they\u2019ve put out more than a dozen studio recordings, and they\u2019ve run the gamut from contemporary classical to post-rock and synth-pop. All of it\u2019s great. So, I was borderline giddy after I stepped into a secondhand shop and stumbled on a tattered copy of this CD\/DVD of the band performing at their country\u2019s opera house that I\u2019d never heard of. When I put it on, I discovered that it wasn\u2019t just some oddity, but Ulver in excelsis. It brought their avant garde spirit to new dimensions, using enigmatic video projections as well as interpretive performances from British artist Ian Johnstone. Whether the band were exploring the vaudevillian verve of In the Red or the spoken word of Plates 16\u201317, it all felt immersive and mystifying. Matt Mills<\/p>\n Bob Dylan<\/p>\n The stats don\u2019t lie: my most-played artist this year is one Bobby Zimmerman, spurred by my slightly embarrassing Damascene conversion<\/a> at the hands of A Complete Unknown<\/a> in January. (In second? America\u2019s next great bard, Addison Rae<\/a>.) It stuck: on a long drive, Blonde on Blonde or Blood on the Tracks will inevitably find their ways on to the stereo.<\/p>\n Last month, I went to see him live for the first time, figuring that his advanced 84 years might limit future chances. I\u2019d heard so much about Dylan\u2019s contemporary shows being formless dirges in which you might, four minutes into a song, suddenly get a recognisable snippet of It Ain\u2019t Me Babe \u2013 albeit potentially in the style of Irving Berlin\u2019s Puttin\u2019 on the Ritz, as a perplexed Bon Iver told me he got at a show in Wisconsin<\/a> earlier this year. I was prepared for that to be the whole night, and to enjoy the latter-day Dylan experience for what it was: who am I to argue, showing my face this late in the day?<\/p>\n But that night in Leeds, he played pristine versions of It\u2019s All Over Now, Baby Blue and Desolation Row. Witnessing such classic 60-year-old songs feels like the gig equivalent of looking at the Mona Lisa or The Scream \u2013 getting to share these unbelievable moments of kismet with timeless, foundational art. (Equally captivating was watching this stubborn legend, who largely performed with his back turned, do human things like scrunch his hair and scratch his nose.) Maybe my favourite bit, though, was the spooked, still rendition of Key West (Philosopher Pirate) from 2020\u2019s Rough and Rowdy Ways. I wish that alone had lasted an hour. Never mind the best old music I discovered in 2025: I sense this is a process that will see me through at least the next decade. Laura Snapes<\/p>\n La Bionda \u2013 One for You, One for Me (1978)Extremely stupid, extremely catchy \u2026 La Bionda in Italy, 1980. Photograph: Mondadori Portfolio\/Archivio Marco Piraccini\/Marco Piraccini\/Mondadori\/Getty<\/p>\n I saw Brady Corbet\u2019s The Brutalist<\/a> four times in 2025. It\u2019s a masterpiece, as is composer Daniel Blumberg\u2019s Oscar-winning score \u2013 a sublime kaleidoscope of noise lurching between grandiosity and slipperiness. I listened to it a lot this year, but not as much as I listened to One for You, One for Me by Italian disco duo La Bionda, which plays over the credits.<\/p>\n Extremely stupid but extremely catchy, with the squelchiest synth I\u2019ve ever heard, it slaps in the simplest way a song can slap. Every time I left the cinema I was compelled to listen to it over and over, an addictive rush rendering critical thought impossible. The film ends with its complex narrative knowingly forced into a neat conclusion, wryly reflected in its switch from Blumberg\u2019s tricksy score to novelty pop. Perhaps my smooth-brain response was conceptually engineered as part of this tone shift, but I can\u2019t be mad when the song is this good. Claire Biddles<\/p>\n Badly Drawn Boy \u2013 Once Around the Block (2000)<\/p>\n It\u2019s no secret that I\u2019m drawn to slightly naff provincial guitar music from the early 2000s (I\u2019ve written glowing reviews of Keane and Hard-Fi at recent editions of Glastonbury), but this year I surprised myself by becoming totally enamoured with Once Around the Block by Badly Drawn Boy<\/a> after hearing it played in a park in Serbia. Many will associate the track with singer-songwriter landfill, or the About a Boy soundtrack, which BDB composed and performed, but as someone who missed it the first time round, I find it extremely charming: the jaunty but melancholy melody, Damon Gough\u2019s pained cadence, the airy backing vocals. It\u2019s so twee and understated, you could imagine it being sung by the Marine Girls or some Sarah Records band, if you ignored the very real connotations of flannel shirts, beanies and open mic nights. I\u2019m not bothered about the rest of Badly Drawn Boy\u2019s music, but this song has had me in a chokehold. Safi Bugel<\/p>\n Labi Siffre \u2013 Crying Laughing Loving Lying (1972)<\/p>\n Despite not having a functioning record player for about two decades, my dad still has boxes of LPs gathering dust in his attic. Earlier this year while I was helping him make space so the ceilings wouldn\u2019t cave in, I came across Labi Siffre\u2019s 1972 album Crying Laughing Loving Lying and, intrigued by the live-laugh-love\u2013style title, decided to take it home with me.<\/p>\n Siffre had always been a name I associated with the mighty civil rights anthem (Something Inside) So Strong and had otherwise dismissed as some kind of one-hit wonder. Listening to Crying Laughing Loving Lying, I realised how embarrassingly wrong I was. Armed with an acoustic guitar and his yearning falsetto, Siffre\u2019s 40-minute record led me through the emotions of its title, from crying to the sweet entreaties of My Song, to laughing at the coy lyrical twist of the title track, loving the rollicking rhythm on Cannock Chase \u2013 and lying since that I had always known about his masterful songwriting skill. It\u2019s a record that has been on repeat for the rest of the year and has cemented Siffre as a national treasure in my mind. Ammar Kalia<\/p>\n Oppenheimer Analysis \u2013 Don\u2019t Be Seen With Me (1982)<\/p>\n It\u2019s rare that a cover version outstrips the original song, and even rarer that the cover and original are equally good. But the latter happened this year when cosmic techno producer Avalon Emerson did her superb version of Don\u2019t Be Seen With Me by early 80s synthpop duo Oppenheimer Analysis. Using plenty of echo on her vocals alongside propulsive drum programming, her take is psychedelic and relentless, like the lights of a tunnel seen through a passenger window. I could scarcely believe the original, which I\u2019d never heard before, would be a match for it.<\/p>\n But it is, while being thoroughly different. It shares the same vocal melody and synth motif, but a heavy, bone-dry snare tolls like a portent throughout, and the production\u2019s stiffer, more uptight bearing is a better match for the lyrics. It\u2019s the tale of a person who, on realising that determinedly keeping people at arm\u2019s length is no way to live, feels their old self disintegrate at the arrival of a charismatic newcomer. \u201cFresh from the cradle, you\u2019re a passion lethal \/ Innocent smiles don\u2019t mask the evil to a fool like me.\u201d Is this person trying to exploit our narrator? Or is it all paranoid self-loathing from someone terrified of love and society? It\u2019s a great bit of dancefloor storytelling, whatever form it takes. BBT<\/p>\n Dua Lipa \u2013 Be the One (2017) \/ The Ting Tings \u2013 Be the One (2008)<\/p>\n When I recently joined my 11th band, they gave me a list of 32 original songs to practise plus a few well-known covers they throw in at smaller gigs. On the list was Be the One \u2026 which I took to mean Dua Lipa\u2019s hit from 2017. Playing along with it gave me an epiphany. This glorious electro-pop banger had somehow passed me by, although I wasn\u2019t sure how it would transpose to my band\u2019s indie-folk-pop setup. \u201cWhat Dua Lipa<\/a> song?\u201d they asked me, looking rather befuddled, at rehearsals. It turned out that they\u2019d wanted me to learn the Ting Tings\u2019 Be the One, a 2008 indie-pop hit which had also passed me by but which I\u2019ve now discovered is a little gem. So far, it\u2019s going down really well at gigs, but if the world ever cries out for an acoustic\/guitar indie-folk-pop reinvention of Dua\u2019s electro-pop colossus, I\u2019m ready. Dave Simpson<\/p>\n Dido \u2013 Life for Rent (2003)Beyond balladry \u2026 Dido performs at the Live 8 concert in 2005. Photograph: Dan Chung\/The Guardian<\/p>\n