TOP ABLUMS OF 2016

What a year for music. From Kendrick Lamar to Beyonce. From The Avalanches to Glass Animals. Month after month, I was overwhelmed with the sheer number of great albums that were released. And yet, none of these or so many albums were my favorites of 2016. So what did make my list? Those albums that not only really grabbed me from moment one, but those that I was drawn back to throughout the year. Each one is something special. And, I will go out on a limb and say that together, they may represent the strongest collection of albums that I compiled in a single year in a very long time. Enjoy.

10. Airbag, Disconnected

Airbag’s Disconnected is filled with widescreen longing, built on the bones of Floydian atmospheres and emotional gravity. It’s an album that deals in space, not just in its sonic breadth, but in its thematic core disconnection as a modern malaise. Each track unfolds with patience, pulling you deeper into its clean guitar tones, crystalline synths, and the soft ache of Asle Tostrup’s voice. This is music for late nights, headphones, and thoughts too big to say out loud.

9. Marillion, F.E.A.R.

Marillion’s F.E.A.R. (F*** Everyone and Run) is a sprawling and deeply political suite, dressed in the band’s signature lush prog rock fabric. It's an album that doesn't hide its anger, but channels it through Steve Hogarth’s poetic lens and the band’s soaring, cinematic arrangements. There’s grandeur here, but it’s in service of clarity, not indulgence. The band takes its time with each movement layered with urgency and disillusionment, grappling with a world slipping further from grace. It's a protest album that aches with sorrow.

 

8. Brent Cobb, Shine On Rainy Day

Brent Cobb’s Shine On Rainy Day is easygoing but not lightweight, a Southern singer-songwriter record that invites you onto the porch but leaves space for deeper reflection. Produced by cousin Dave Cobb, the album lets its songs stretch out naturally warm, conversational, lived-in. Cobb writes with a quiet grace, drawing out the everyday poetry in family, small towns, and slowing down long enough to notice what matters. There’s charm here, but it’s grounded in something real, something earned.

 

7. The Dear Hunter, Act V: Hymns With The Devil In Confessional

With Act V, The Dear Hunter brings its rock opera saga to a dramatic apex, folding orchestration, progressive rock, and musical theater into a seamless, immersive whole. It’s rich with callbacks and motifs, but never collapses under its own ambition. Casey Crescenzo remains a master narrator, shifting between grandeur and intimacy with a theatrical flair that never feels forced. There's tragedy here, but also transcendence. Even if you're not fluent in the story’s timeline, the emotional current is unmistakable sweeping, passionate, and beautifully composed.

   

6. The Amazing, Ambulance

There is something quietly devastating about Ambulance, a record that moves like mist through a dream you only half remember. The Swedish five-piece tap into the melancholic majesty of slow-burning guitar lines and washed-out textures, never in a rush, never needing to be. It’s an album that leans into vulnerability without flinching, guided by Christoffer Gunrup’s weary falsetto and a band that understands the power of restraint. Everything feels stretched at the edges, like a memory just out of reach, and somehow that distance only makes it hit harder.

   

5. Villagers, Where Have You Been All My Life

There’s a hushed intimacy running through Where Have You Been All My Life?, a reimagining of Villagers’ past work that feels less like a retrospective and more like a new beginning. Stripped down and rearranged, these songs breathe differently, slower, fuller, more haunted. Conor O'Brien’s voice carries more weight in this space, more detail in its shadows. What emerges is not a greatest hits collection, but a quiet reintroduction, as if the songs have lived a life between then and now, and are finally ready to tell you the whole story.

   

     

4. Radiohead, A Moon Shaped Pool

Twenty-three years in, Radiohead are still challenging themselves and surprising with their music. Their ninth album, A Moon Shaped Pool, is a haunting, intricately arranged work that unfolds with patience and quiet intensity. Strings and piano take a prominent role, weaving through the band’s textured layers of electronics and subtle guitar work, creating an atmosphere that feels both fragile and immersive. Thom Yorke’s vocals carry deep emotional weight, drifting through songs that reflect on loss, uncertainty, and fleeting beauty. It’s a record that rewards close listening, revealing new details with each return, and stands as one of the band’s most elegant and affecting releases.

 

3. David Bowie, Blackstar

Blackstar is a parting gift wrapped in mystery and cosmic noise, an album that stares straight into the void and grins. Bowie, always a step ahead, transforms death into a final art piece, playing with jazz, industrial textures, and narrative surrealism. The title track alone is a miniature universe, shifting form and tone with theatrical precision. There’s a profound stillness in the spaces between the notes, like Bowie is already halfway gone but still speaking in riddles from the other side. It's not just a final album, it’s a final statement.

2. Max Jury, Max Jury

Max Jury’s self-titled debut took me by surprise. Paste magazine wrote that it is 'a winning collection of songs with a lot of heart and swagger that defies his young age." So true. PM added that Jury’s songs bring to mind many classic songwriters of the Laurel Canyon area, as well as musicians such as Billy Joel, Elton John and Carole King." Also true. Most of the songs on this album do have elements of those....dare I say vintage songwriters....yet Jury’s songs feel modern and fresh. This album has been a family favorite since its release.

1. Michael Kiwanuka, Love & Hate

On Love & Hate, Michael Kiwanuka steps fully into his own voice, shedding the retro-soul comparisons to deliver something more expansive and deeply personal. Produced with Danger Mouse and Inflo, the album opens with the sweeping ten-minute “Cold Little Heart,” setting the tone for a record that is cinematic in scope and emotionally unguarded. Across its tracks, Kiwanuka grapples with identity, doubt, and resilience, his voice carrying both weariness and resolve. The arrangements are rich but restrained, with strings that swell, guitars that brood, and rhythms that simmer without overwhelming the message. It’s a soul album, yes, but one that reaches outward, fusing rock, psychedelia, and gospel into something raw and resonant. Love & Hate is simply a revelation.