Tim’s 2025 Music Year in Review
IT WAS BIBLICAL, MATE.
Describing the band Oasis in that manner—“biblical”—began as a bit of cheeky limey braggadocio and developed into a fandom cliché. The first known usage, I was surprised to learn, was not by the band’s swaggering frontman Liam Gallagher, who came to adopt it most fervently, but by his more talented, less ostentatious brother, Noel. Noel used the term in describing the 1996 concerts at Knebworth, England’s largest outdoor music venue. The shows drew a quarter million fans over two days, eclipsing even the great ’70s and ’80s British rock acts.
But over the years, the “biblical” nature of Oasis became a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts, as if they willed the grandiosity of their musical output into existence, made it into something celestial, and came to be defined by their own hyperbolic excess. The word began shaping them.
In an interview with ITV following the Knebworth shows, Noel seems to wonder if that biblical moment was ephemeral. Success in show business is fickle. Popularity can wane. “The gig is just one night or it’s two nights,” he said. “It’s an experience and you experience it as it’s happening and then it’s over.”
It was a rare instance of Gallagherian false modesty, and it ended up being completely incorrect. The Knebworth gigs became eternal despite the band’s best efforts to self-sabotage their triumph. In the ensuing years, the brothers feuded, became embittered, drank and smoked their voices to shite, and released decidedly less biblical albums that only the real sickos revered. Thirteen years after Knebworth, the band officially broke up and the brothers went their separate, unbiblical ways.
But their personal bollocks couldn’t tarnish the world that had been created around their music.
Despite (or because of?) their feuding Cain and Abel act, the band’s mystique endured. Given their life choices and the actuarial tables for your average rock star, the smart money would’ve been on at least one of the brothers having received their eternal reward. Yet they persisted, not shuffling off this mortal coil, and the fates (or Liam’s need for money) brought them back together. The Knebworth shows became a beloved documentary. Prodigal Liam dialed back on his brotherly taunts. And this summer they reunited for a world tour that sold more tickets than any other, even Beyoncé.
I was lucky enough to see it. My college besties and our spouses took the pilgrimage to their hometown of Manchester for the first shows Oasis played there in sixteen years. I’ve been to lots (thousands?) of concerts over the years and never experienced anything like it.
We were surrounded by Brits young and old. Out on the grass in Heaton Park, strangers hugged and shared cigs. Set off smoke bombs. Threw beer and water (and hopefully not piss) on each other. Fieldmates who became friends for the day gave my girlfriends their bucket hats to bring back to the states. We cried through our plastered-on, shit-eatin’ grins. Every person in the park knew every goddamned word to every B-side. Darkness settled in for the last song, the one you have all heard, and it all ended with a supernova in the sky.
We walked back to the car the wrong way. Like completely the opposite way. It wasn’t a forty-year journey home but it might as well have been. And that was fine. We basked in the night. Our feet hurt. Pilgrimages require sacrifice.
It may seem silly or sacrilegious or childish to try to turn this type of frivolity into reverence. It’s just a concert, after all. These guys aren’t Mozart—or even Thom Yorke. Oasis doesn’t have that secret chord that pleased the Lord. It’s just rock music. Catchy hooks. Eight-bar loops. Falsetto.
And yet . . . those simple elements combine to create something greater. What is God if not that? If not teeming masses of mankind gathering in his image, lighting the night sky, singing for life everlasting, seeing the humanity in your neighbor, and searching for the one who saves us?
If that is not biblical, if it’s not Oasis, then maybe I don’t really wanna know what is.
BEFORE WE GET TO THE LIST, I want to offer the same caveat that I have over the past five years: I am merely a humble political content man, dad, and music buff. I don’t have the schooling to judge these albums on musicianship, and given the craziness that was my 2025, I sure as shit didn’t have the time I once did to scour the internet for deep-cut gems. (And this year, I think I did worse than ever in that task, alas.)
As such, I am going to try to keep it brief and offer you a collection of new music that resonated with me when it came over the transom, with a brief description of the genre and context for the album in the hope you might find here something new to love.
To that end: Here’s a Spotify playlist with a selection of songs from what’s to follow.
Before we move on to the main list of my favorite fifteen (really seventeen) records, here are a few additional excellent ones worth checking out.
Honorable Mentions:
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Indie Rock: This Is Lorelei, Holo Boy; Wednesday, Bleeds; U.S. Girls, Scratch It; Bar Italia, Some Like It Hot
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EDM: Ninajirachi, I Love My Computer
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Pop: Addison Rae, Addison
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Punk: Lifeguard, Ripped and Torn
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Singer-Songwriter: Eric Cannata, Holding Onto the Holy; Dean Johnson, I Hope We Can Still Be Friends
And now on to the main event.
15. La Reezy, Welcome to Lareezyana Vol. 1 and LAREEZYANA SHAKEDOWN
Classic New Orleans rap is alive and well in the form of 21-year-old La Reezy, who did a set at my local venue to a blended crowd of his peers and Cash Money Records era old heads. His breakout moment this year was a shoutout from Tyler, The Creator on young rappers to watch.
Best tracks: “Have Mercy,” “TIANA ANTHEM.”
14. Ryan Davis & the Roadhouse Band, New Threats From the Soul
A modern twist on a honky-tonk band, Ryan Davis takes the classic “roadhouse” formula and adds some elaborate and unexpected musical layers. The lyricism is fun, with a bunch of little gems tucked into the album. Very accessible for anyone who likes some jangly rock.
Best tracks: “New Threats From the Soul,” “Better If You Make Me”
13. FKA Twigs, Eusexua
Twigs is a weird cat. She canceled both performances I was supposed to see this year, is notoriously challenging to work with, and intentionally cultivates a strange vibe. And yet . . . the music is great. The song of the year among my daughter’s second-grade classmates (non-Demon Hunters category) was “Childlike Things.” And the rest of the record is full of ethereal grown-up things to vibe out to.
Best tracks: “Drums of Death,” “Childlike Things”
12. Gerry Read, Curses Broken
A music-industry buddy sent me the following text after I told him that the Gerry Read house record he had recently suggested “fucks.”
“Gerry Read is an enigma that [a friend] in Atlanta found (I think through her Discover Weekly?) and we’ve been gatekeeping it for a year lol. He has like no presence online, barely any following on IG so idk what the fuck is going on.”
I feel compelled to do my part to un-gatekeep it. Give it a try during some private time with your S.O.
Best tracks: “You Don’t Look Well,” “Taking All My Clothes Off”
11. JID, God Does Like Ugly
The Atlanta rapper JID has the smoothest verses out there and the first half of this record is exquisite lyrically with gorgeous backing tracks in the Pusha T mold. The second half takes a turn to reflect more wide-ranging hip-hop influences with poppier tracks featuring Ty Dolla $ign & Ciara next to some sizzurpy trap with Don Toliver. The entire album is great and if you like hip-hop at all there will be something on here for you.
Best tracks: “Community,” “VCRs”
10. Tyler Childers, Snipe Hunter
A rollicking country record that’s well-crafted lyrically and full of blood-red passion that’ll have you screaming the verses driving across the bayou with the Jeep top off (or maybe that’s just me).
Best tracks: “Eatin’ Big Time,” “Bitin’ List”
9. Baxter Dury, Allbarone
Maybe I’m just getting more enamored by old men putting out great music (see: Oasis, Clipse) as some middle-aged cope, an internal belief that I might have some great art left in me. But self-psychoanalysis aside, my favorite dance record of the year was put out by a 54-year-old gray-hair. Dury offers sardonic vocals over dance tracks that take you to the Mykonos in your mind. Couldn’t recommend more highly for your next poolside spin.