Cosmopolitan's 20 Best Albums of 2014

Taylor Swift\'s \'80s-inspired fifth studio effort is her first \"official pop album,\" with heavyweights like Max Martin, Shellback, Ryan Tedder, and Jack Antonoff helping construct a sleeker, glitzier sound. \"Shake It Off\" mimics \"Hey Ya,\" OutKast\'s own pledge of allegiance to populism, and echoes of Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Belinda Carlisle can be heard throughout. *1989* is a juggernaut, as brash and brilliant as the lights of Times Square.

There\'s a long history of teens becoming pop stars after gaining fame on TV. What sets Ariana Grande apart from the Justins and Britneys of the world is her force-of-nature voice, which rivals Mariah Carey\'s in its strength and range. While Grande\'s first album was an R&B-pop effort helmed by Babyface, *My Everything* enlists almost *every* A-lister in music (Zedd, Iggy, Nicki, etc.) for an EDM&B hybrid that showcases the full breadth of Grande\'s talents. This is a perfect picture of pop in 2014, from the soaring Ryan Tedder–penned ballad \"Why Try\" to Zedd\'s Vegas-bright \"Break Free\" to the pulsing midtempo groove of \"Love Me Harder,\" featuring The Weeknd. Even One Direction\'s Harry Styles gets a writing credit on \"Just a Little Bit of Your Heart.\" That Grande ably anchors such an all-star lineup is a testament to her gifts, not to mention her staying power.

Though beset by label delays and Twitter squabbles, no amount of innuendo could stymie the vividly original debut by Harlem pop iconoclast Azealia Banks. The snaking electro-house breakout \"212\" remains essential listening, flanked by a kaleidoscopic mélange of Latin, funk, trap, and hip-hop: forget naming styles, they\'re all here. Rapping and singing with equal aplomb, Banks anchors the spooky U.K. garage of \"Desperado\" as ably as she does the industrial skronk of \"Yung Rapunxel\" (the conflation of \"rap\" and \"punk\" there is no accident). The Ariel Pink collaboration \"Nude Beach A-Go-Go,\" with its echoes of Gidget and \'50s pop, is positively flummoxing in the best way.

Miranda Lambert is known for being a renegade, unafraid to let it all hang out—and this is probably her loosest album of all. She makes *Platinum* a party, opening up her door to a host of talented friends, including Little Big Town on the slow-rolling, R&B-flavored \"Smokin\' and Drinkin\'\" and Carrie Underwood on the blues-rocking roof-raiser \"Somethin\' Bad.\" And whether she\'s delivering a honky-tonk ode to aging, like \"Gravity Is a B\*\*ch,\" or the wry, folky anthem of anachronism \"Old Shit,\" Lambert sounds supremely comfortable in her own skin.

This Swedish duo of sisters Johanna and Klara Soderberg play a sleek, pretty version of Americana that can only be achieved by outsiders who learn the music from the outside-in. Their harmonies are fresh and not always what one might expect from the Americana genre. Neither is the production, which is again handled by Bright Eyes’ Mike Mogis; songs like “Master Pretender” and “Cedar Lane” have gorgeous orchestration. The duo’s Fleet Foxes influence can still be heard, but the sisters veer closer to Handsome Family–styled Southwestern music on the mystical title track and the album opener, “My Silver Lining.” There’s also a Southern-style Bobbie Gentry/Jeannie C. Riley undercurrent; it\'s truly odd and fascinating coming from these young Swedes. “Shattered & Hollow” slows the tempo for the harmonies to shine even further. “The Bell” adds more bucolic instrumentation, which is enhanced by Mogis’ spacious production. “Waitress Song” imagines giving everything up to live in a small town and work in the food industry—as if these young women could ever turn away from the music they clearly love. 

Contemporary R&B is enjoying an embarrassment of riches, with innovative albums by FKA Twigs, Banks, and Kelela stretching the genre\'s boundaries. Tinashe\'s debut raises the bar yet again. Building on the momentum of the roiling summer jam \"2 On,\" *Aquarius* features a who\'s-who of names, from R&B iconoclasts like Blood Orange\'s Dev Hynes to bankable pop pros like Stargate. \"How Many Times\" is a throwback slow jam enlivened by Future\'s staccato vocals, while \"Pretend\" out-Drakes Drake with its liquid production and earworm hook. Tinashe remains the star of the show, cooing, rapping, and ruminating (via several interludes). It\'s one of the year\'s most adventurous pop records.

Kelis offers a soulful collection of horn-accompanied retro R&B that’s conceptually united by her gastronomic passion. At a glance, the conceit might seem a bit tongue-in-cheek (particularly since her breakthrough came with 2003’s ultra-sassy “Milkshake”), but neither the music nor the inspiration for *Food* can be taken lightly: as a sideline to her singing career, the vocalist became a Le Cordon Bleu-trained saucier. When she digs in to smoldering downtempo tracks like “Floyd” or “Runnin’”—delivering coy lines like “I know that I don’t look it but I can cook” in her husky alto—*Food*’s insinuations and double entendres are at once playful and deeply satisfying. The success of the concept is also due in part to TV on the Radio\'s Dave Sitek, who’s production flourishes nod to Stax icons on heavy-hitting tunes like “Hooch” and “Rumble.”

Although her first two studio albums had moments of girl-group sass, Swedish-born singer/songwriter Lykke Li has always been most powerful when the tempos come down. 2010’s *Wounded Rhymes* featured a mascara-stained ‘60s-influenced charmer called “Sadness is a Blessing”; Li’s third album, *I Never Learn*, hones this gift for wallowing with a collection of miserablist dream pop. Stacked with Wall of Sound strings, lean songwriting, and confessional drama, Li’s doleful highlights (“No Rest for the Wicked,” “Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone,” “Never Gonna Love Again”) are carefully constructed ballads that float along in a melancholy, reverb-washed haze. When she fades out with the mournful “Sleeping Alone,” *I Never Learn* emerges as a powerful artistic achievement, every bit as lonely as it is lovely.

When Beyoncé’s self-titled fifth album landed unannounced on the iTunes store in December 2013, the pop world trembled. Here was one of music’s biggest stars dispensing with the normal prolonged rollout of a major work, instead simultaneously alerting people to it *and* releasing it. That this was a visual album—with every song accompanied by a short film—only made Beyoncé’s flex more impressive, changing the game for how artists would handle releasing new music in the digital era. Surprise drops became something of a norm not just for pop’s top tier, but for any artist with a devoted fanbase—the month’s advance notice for *RENAISSANCE* seems almost quaint by comparison. But *BEYONCÉ* would have been a career achievement even if it had been released in an old-school way. Across its 14 tracks, Beyoncé pushes herself artistically and emotionally, opening up about her insecurities, her sexuality, and her happiness over songs that demonstrate the strength and versatility of her voice. Years after its release, *BEYONCÉ* remains a touchstone not just for Beyoncé, but for any marquee artist who wants to break from expectations, with Beyoncé’s forward-thinking, collaborative approach to creating art aiding its of-the-moment yet not-stuck-in-time feel. Opening with “Pretty Hurts,” a soaring ballad that dives into the body-image issues that even the most revered women have to endure, even as children, and closing with “Blue,” a swaying ode to her first child (who makes a cameo on the track), *BEYONCÉ* reveals where the pop star’s mind had wandered after the release of her monogamy reflection *4* two years prior. Eroticism is a large part of *BEYONCÉ*, both in sound and in subject matter—the spikily giddy duet with husband JAY-Z “Drunk in Love” and the slow jam “Rocket” are two of the most carnally delightful entries in Beyoncé’s catalog, while the massive “Jealous” examines what happens when desire fuels inner strife. The exploration of grief “Heaven,” the ferocious pop-feminist anthem “\*\*\*Flawless,” and the jagged statement of artistic intent “Haunted” fill out the emotional and musical spectrum. The videos, too, run the gamut in both style and feeling, with prestigious directors like Hype Williams, Jonas Åkerlund, and Melina Matsoukas creating companion pieces for each of *BEYONCÉ*’s songs. The Williams-directed video for the gently funky “Blow” is a roller-rink fantasia; the Åkerlund-helmed clip for the dreamy “Haunted” channels Madonna’s groundbreaking 1990 short film “Justify My Love” through Beyoncé’s 21st-century luxe aesthetic. Pop’s sound had shifted at the turn of the decade, with electro-pop-influenced tracks taking the spaces on radio and on the charts where Beyoncé and other R&B-leaning artists had ruled during the 2000s. On *BEYONCÉ*, the singer and mogul showed that, radio play or no, she was still a member of pop’s ruling class—and she did so not by flipping pop’s script, but by drawing inspiration from its most enticing aspects while writing a completely new playbook. *BEYONCÉ* did feature culture-ruling collaborators like Drake, who plays B’s foil on the skeletal “Mine,” and Frank Ocean, who locks up with Beyoncé on the sumptuous Pharrell Williams production “Superpower,” but Beyoncé’s willingness to explore music’s edges and revel in its greatest moments resulted in the album existing on its own plane, aware of the pop world’s trends but diverging from them in thrilling ways. *BEYONCÉ* represents a major turning point for Beyoncé, beginning the stage of her career where she would define “pop stardom” not by chart placement but by following her own artistic path—on her own schedule and on her own terms.

*Rips* indeed. Ex Hex’s debut delivers a steady stream of muscular riffs, dirty hooks, and sticky melodies. It’s tight, lean, and a lot of fun. Made up of singer and guitarist Mary Timony (Helium, Wild Flag, solo), drummer Laura Harris (The Aquarium), and bassist Betsy Wright (The Fire Tapes), Ex Hex cross garage rock with power pop. It’s not revolutionary, but it’s done well. You can pump your fist to it while appreciating Timony’s clever and often biting lyrics and straight-ahead guitar solos. Longtime Timony fans will also notice the difference in her voice. Trading her hushed vocals for a full-throated wail, here she sounds tough and assured.

On her third album, Angel Olsen rides waves of emotional intensity that take her from the depths of despair to the heights of hope. *Burn Your Fire for No Witness* is a worthy successor to her 2012 breakthrough *Half Way Home*, revisiting many of the earlier album’s themes with greater focus and maturity. Tracks like “Forgiven/Forgotten,” “Lights Out,” and “Enemy” probe the subtle torments of love with an unflinching hand. Olsen’s phenomenal vocal range—shifting from murmurs to howls and yodels with impressive control—brings out the expansive vision of “Iota” and the confrontational power of “High & Wild.” The album\'s pervasive angst gives way to a desperate yearning for healing and peace in the convulsive “Stars” and the tender “Windows.” Olsen’s expressive guitar work is lent sympathetic support by bassist Stewart Bronaugh and drummer Joshua Jaeger, who help her leap from the distorted alt-country of “Hi-Five” to the Leonard Cohen–like folk balladry of “White Fire” and the French chanson feel of “Dance Slow Decades.” Finely crafted and fearlessly sung, *Burn Your Fire* smolders with dark brilliance.

On her newest LP, 'Burn Your Fire for No Witness', Angel Olsen sings with full-throated exultation, admonition, and bold, expressive melody. With the help of producer John Congleton, her music now crackles with a churning, rumbling low end and a brighter energy. Angel Olsen began singing as a young girl in St. Louis. Her self-released debut EP, 'Strange Cacti', belied both that early period of discovery and her Midwestern roots. Olsen then went further on 'Half Way Home', her first full-length album (released on Bathetic Records), which mined essential themes while showcasing a more developed voice. Olsen dared to be more personal. After extensive touring, Olsen eventually settled for a time in Chicago’s Logan Square neighborhood, where she created "a collection of songs grown in a year of heartbreak, travel, and transformation," that would become 'Burn Your Fire For No Witness'. Many of them remain essentially unchanged from their bare beginnings. In leaving them so intact, a more self-assured Olsen allows us to be in the room with her at the very genesis of these songs. Our reward for entering this room is many a head-turning moment and the powerful, unsettling recognition of ourselves in the weave of her songs.

Dolly Parton is still a serious musical force on 2014’s *Blue Smoke*, her 42nd studio album. Her covers of Bob Dylan (“Don’t Think Twice”), the traditional “Banks of the Ohio” and Bon Jovi’s (!) “Lay Your Hands On Me” prove she’s both steeped in tradition as well as open to new challenges. The duets with Kenny Rogers on “You Can’t Make Old Friends” and Willie Nelson on “From Here To the Moon and Back” fill the nostalgic quotient of the album with true tearjerkers from each of their previous albums. “Home” is brash country pop, while the title track and “Unlikely Angel” hew to sounds of bluegrass and country without attempting anything too contemporary. “Miss You-Miss Me” is an affecting acoustic ballad that’s remarkable for just how strong and nuanced Parton’s voice is after all these years. Filling out the album with “If Had Wings,” “Lover du Jour” and “Try” tips the album nicely into country.

After a prolific first decade as a recording artist—between the band Rilo Kiley, her solo efforts, and side collaborations, she released eight full-length albums—Jenny Lewis took her time working on *The Voyager*, her third solo album. The six years that followed her sophomore release (2008\'s *Acid Tongue*) let Lewis refine and polish these 10 buoyant tracks. Working with two producers who are worthy of her wickedly intelligent songwriting—Ryan Adams and Beck—she devised her most mature and confident album to date. Lewis has rarely sounded in greater command of her versatile vocal gifts, from the sharp, vaulting chorus of the beat-driven opener, “Head Underwater”—which chronicles her emergence from a dark period (“I put my head underwater, baby/I held my breath until it passed”)—to the classic soul melody of “She’s Not Me” and the pleading western noir “You Can’t Outrun ‘Em.” The effervescent, summery production contrasts thoughtfully with Lewis’ piercing lyrics, which find her surveying life with restlessness and resignation in equal measure.

FKA twigs’ first full-length album brims with spartan, icy songs that whisk between distorted R&B and ethereal pop. While twigs’ pristine vocals and sensual lyrics are the cornerstone, *LP1* showcases the kind of confident production and instrumentation that play easily alongside celebrated pop minimalists like James Blake. Album highlight “Pendulum\" sees FKA twigs dabbling in manipulated vocals, as wavering guitars and electric drums stutter-step intoxicatingly, while “Video Girl” finds her melodic falsetto fluttering over churning, wobbling synths and creaking percussion.

Over the course of two astonishing albums, Perfume Genius, aka Seattle native Mike Hadreas, cemented his place as a singer-songwriter of rare frankness, creating songs that, while achingly emotional, offered empathy and hope, rather than any judgment or handwringing. Sparse, gorgeous and with Hadreas’ quavering vocals often only accompanied by piano, they were uncommonly beautiful tales of a life lived on the dark side – scarred, brutalised, yet ultimately, slowly but surely reclaimed. Too Bright, however, is something else altogether. Less self-conscious, and less concerned with storytelling and easily-digested melodies, it is a brave, bold, unpredictably quixotic exploration of what Hadreas calls “an underlying rage that has slowly been growing since ten and has just begun to bubble up”. Recorded with Adrian Utley of Portishead and featuring John Parish on several tracks, it is a stunning about-face which brings to mind audacious career-shift albums like Kate Bush’s The Dreaming or Scott Walker’s Tilt, records which walk the tightrope between pure songwriting and overt experimentation.

Singer/songwriter/guitar-shredder Annie Clark\'s fourth studio album as St. Vincent is, simply, her best yet. While her catalog is full of twists and turns, including 2013 David Byrne collaboration *Love This Giant*, this self-titled release is both audacious *and* accessible, a canny balancing of Clark\'s experimental leanings with her pop sensibility. Amid a flurry of sonic textures ranging from the clamoring horn section of \"Digital Witness\" to the subdued balladry of \"Prince Johnny,\" Clark critiques our technology-obsessed culture (\"Huey Newton\"), satirizes suburban ennui (\"Birth in Reverse\"), and shares about her love for her mother (\"I Prefer Your Love\"). Her anxieties laid bare, the songwriter asserts herself via pyrotechnic guitar riffs, rhythmic somersaults, and a wayfaring vocal range, resulting in a vertiginous set that\'s as dizzying as it is captivating.