Rolling Stone's Best Albums of 2025 So Far

Since blowing up on TikTok in 2021, the English singer-producer has balanced polished pop ambitions with DIY experimentation. On one hand, dreamy wisps of drum and bass and garage that clocked in at under two minutes; on the other, runaway megahits like “Boy’s a liar” and its subsequent Ice Spice remix. It’s a line PinkPantheress has trod deftly between her debut mixtape, 2021’s *to hell with it*, and her first studio album, 2023’s *Heaven knows*. “Half of me really wants to be a very recognized and one day iconic musician,” she tells Apple Music. “And then part of me is also like, being an unsung hero seems cool, too.” She maintains the balance on her sophomore mixtape, *Fancy That*—at once slick and eccentric, nostalgic and new, crisp but not too clean. Here she channels the euphoria of ’90s big-beat heavy-hitters like Fatboy Slim or Basement Jaxx, the latter of whom she samples frequently throughout (most pointedly on “Romeo,” a nod to the UK duo’s 2001 hit of the same name). Basement Jaxx’s first album, *Remedy*, was a major source of inspiration. “It blew me away, and I felt things that I hadn’t felt before,” she says. She’s honed her knack for reinterpretation since. “Stars” features her second sample of Just Jack’s “Starz in Their Eyes” (she previously used it on 2021’s “Attracted to You”), and on “Tonight,” she flips a 2008 Panic! At the Disco cut into a swooning house number. Tying it together are her ethereal vocals, cooing sweet nothings across the pond over a bassline from The Dare on “Stateside”: “Never met a British girl, you say?” As for where she stands on the superstar/unsung hero spectrum, she’s willing to tilt in favor of the latter at the moment. “I’m very happy to have an album that is way more pensive and less appealing to virality,” she says. “The first project was underdeveloped, but hype and hard and cool. Second project was well done, cohesive. I’ve proved I can do both. Now I can go and do exactly what I want.”

Playboi Carti has hardly been absent in the roughly four years since *Whole Lotta Red*, appearing alongside the likes of Future, Latto, and Trippie Redd in the interim. Still, that didn’t keep his enormous fanbase from persistently clamoring over the prospect of *I AM MUSIC*, ultimately released with the truncated title of, simply, *MUSIC*. Its substantial length seems to acknowledge the wait, opening with a flurry of rage-rap tracks like “POP OUT” and “CRUSH” that herald the raconteur’s welcome arrival. Over its 30-track, 77-minute runtime, his sonics shift between the aggressively blown-out, synth-heavy post-trap he became infamous for and something markedly poppier, yet all of it undeniably within his stylistic range. Carti initially kept his choice of guests close to the vest, as has become custom for high-profile album drops. Yet it would be impossible not to recognize Kendrick Lamar spitting on “GOOD CREDIT,” Future emoting over “TRIM,” or collaborative career mainstay Lil Uzi Vert gliding triumphantly through “TWIN TRIM.” The Weeknd’s prominent feature on “RATHER LIE” makes for perhaps the most overt example of his envelope-pushing here, though appearances by Travis Scott on “PHILLY” and the tag team of Young Thug and Ty Dolla $ign on “WE NEED ALL DA VIBES” make the pivot even more plausible. Even with friends like these, Carti shines brighter on his own, his breathy near-falsetto vocal booming through the escalating video game arpeggios of “I SEEEEEE YOU BABY BOI” and his raspy snarl swerving around the cinematic noise of “COCAINE NOSE.” Not exclusively looking towards the future, there’s an almost nostalgic appreciation for Atlanta’s early 2010s sound evoked on “RADAR,” its beat reminiscent of classic 1017 Brick Squad tapes.

At the core of every PUP record is the tension between Stefan Babcock’s brutally self-analytical lyrics and the rapturous communal response that their music elicits. And that contrasting quality has become all the more pronounced as the manic Toronto punks have gradually eased off the gas pedal. After expanding their palette with brass sections and electronics on 2022’s high-concept corporate satire *The Unraveling of Puptheband*, they reemerge on *Who Will Look After the Dogs?* with a sharpened musical and lyrical focus, settling comfortably into a post-emo power-pop style that makes Babcock’s bitterest sentiments sound celebratory. Babcock has a knack for framing universal anxieties—be it breakups or the fear of death—in intimate yet irreverent details: The Weezer-esque chugger “Olive Garden” sees him trying to salvage a broken relationship by revisiting the Italian restaurant chain that’s hosted countless high schoolers’ first dates, while the breezy ’90s alt-pop jangle of “Hallways” reveals the morbid inspiration behind the album’s title, when Babcock talks himself off the ledge by declaring, “I can’t die yet/’Cause who will look after the dog?” (And while cataloging his joyless days and sleepless nights, he manages to slip in winking quotes of Disturbed’s “Down with the Sickness” and Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep.”) But if the entire PUP discography feels like an extended therapy session, then the irresistibly anthemic “Best Revenge” feels like a breakthrough, where the song\'s radiant guitars are matched by an equally sunny outlook: “The best revenge is living well,” Babcock sings, and even if there are days when he can’t fully live up to that promise, he’ll at least have a club full of fans shouting out the song’s ecstatic chorus to keep him on the right path.

When Rico Nasty proclaims, “I don’t sound like anyone, these bitches sound like me” on *LETHAL* highlight “BUTTERFLY KISSES,” she has a point. She’s one of the earliest luminaries of the rap-meets-metal marriage that has surfaced over the last decade-plus, and she’s arguably the best at merging those worlds too. The Prince George’s County, Maryland, native has blended a unique variety of chaotic rage-rap since her entry into the music industry in the mid-2010s, and she backs it up with mosh-heavy live shows, mercurial hairdos, and eccentric fashion sense. But since feeling restricted by her persona after the release of 2022’s *Las Ruinas*, she switched things up: She left the major-label system, signed to indie outfit Fueled by Ramen (the label that exalted bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! At the Disco), and enlisted Imad Royal (The Chainsmokers, Panic! At the Disco) as the executive producer for her next record. Many of her fans already associate her with creating on her own terms, but *LETHAL*<> is even more freewheeling than usual. “SOUL SNATCHER” finds her mutating between a half-dozen rap voices while boasting about her sexual prowess, “SMOKE BREAK” is full of guttural metal screams, “PINK” glows with bubbly femininity, and “CRASH” is a catchy pop-rock cut. The album is sonically unpredictable, but her unbridled confidence and chameleonic versatility hold everything together. Rico Nasty takes time for reflection as well: “SMILE” is a tender ode to her teenage son, and “YOU COULD NEVER” is a career retrospective that shows her earnestly proud of all she’s persevered. “When I reflect back, I know I’m blessed/I’ma be myself, you could be the rest,” she says on the latter. It’s an approach that’s proven effective for Rico, time and time again.

In his mid-to late twenties, Chicago rapper Saba earned a gold plaque for fan favorite “Photosynthesis,” performed on late-night TV, and made songs with rap greats like Black Thought and J. Cole. So, after a trio of thematically focused solo albums, his record with hip-hop production wizard No ID (Common, JAY-Z, Kanye West) finds him taking a confident, freewheeling approach. “Who is the GOAT, I wanna go toe to toe with it/’Cause I just know I’m not second to no n\*\*\*\*s,” he proclaims on “Woes of the World.” That doesn’t mean that he can’t still hold a subject though: “head.rap” pays homage to Black hair and his own locs, “Crash” romantically invites a woman to stay the night, and “How to Impress God” ponders spiritual fulfillment in light of his success. The synergy with his fellow Chicagoan is undeniable: No ID’s blend of bright piano keys and expertly chopped samples always hits, giving a warm landing place for Saba’s rhymes to land.

Samia’s third album, *Bloodless*, sounds as if someone’s opened a nearby window, allowing for a gush of fresh air to carry Samia Finnerty’s voice into the skies. The 28-year-old Minneapolis-based singer-songwriter’s follow-up to 2023’s *Honey* feels lithe and buoyant even at its most emotionally weighty. At times—the slinky “Lizard,” the echo-laden swell of “Sacred,” the thicket of woodwinds and vocals that run through closing track “Pants”—Samia recalls the ethereal New Wave of British pop-rock phenom The Japanese House, or the timeless bounce of Fleetwood Mac. At the center of such gestures is Samia’s close-to-the-bone lyricism, which continues to convey her pitch-perfect sly humor; atop the stormy strums and electronic frissons of “North Poles,” she wraps her bell-clear voice around evocations of “spyware lipstick” and fistfuls of natural wine before lobbing a grenade of reflection at the listener’s feet: “When you see yourself in someone/How can you look at them?”

The fourth album from Selena Gomez—the 32-year-old multi-hyphenate who needs no introduction, having been famous for approximately two-thirds of her life—doubles as her first album with her fiancé, benny blanco, who has produced and written more hit singles than you’ve had hot dinners. (It’s blanco’s third album, following 2018’s feature-happy *Friends Keep Secrets* and its 2021 sequel.) The 14-track collaboration, which the pair announced shortly after their late-2024 engagement, seemed to come together much like their relationship—comfortably, without being planned or forced. “This was just an idea that started in our bedroom—like, ‘Let’s just make something fun,’” blanco tells Apple Music’s Zane Lowe, describing the ease with which the songs unfolded, often collaborating with songwriters (Julia Michaels, Justin Tranter) whose relationships with both Gomez and blanco went back years. “Everything felt right. It almost felt too good.” Written and recorded mostly at blanco’s house, *I Said I Love You First* shows the power couple’s love story through a wide-angle lens, zooming out to include past heartbreaks, mistakes, and self-doubts. On “Younger and Hotter Than Me,” Gomez strikes a Lana-esque chord between vulnerable and withering, sniping gently at an old fling: “We’re not getting any younger/But your girlfriends seem to.” Meanwhile, blanco sets the tone at “dynamically moody” with ’80s synth-pop beats ideal for crying on the dance floor, or for highlighting Gomez’s legacy as one of modern pop’s iconic Sad Girls. Here, she sings in Spanish on the slow-burning “Ojos Tristes,” leaves ill-considered voicemails with Gracie Abrams on “Call Me When You Break Up,” and pulls off a respectfully bratty Charli xcx impression on “Bluest Flame.” Potential sappiness is countered by tongue-in-cheek humor: On the entendre-heavy “Sunset Blvd,” the couple embrace naked on a Hollywood street while concerned bystanders call the police. “This whole experience has been cathartic and beautiful,” Gomez says. “And I got to do it with my best friend.”

The tale of Sonny Moore’s career is a long and unpredictable one: Emo kid from LA makes a name as leader of a screamo band, then pivots in the late 2000s to effectively redefine dubstep for millions of raging revelers at the exact moment the EDM economy exploded. Early 2010s EPs like *Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites* are now considered canon; along the way, he had a hand in some of the best pure pop tunes of the decade, scored a Harmony Korine film (2012’s *Spring Breakers*), and circled back to reunite with his old band, From First to Last. But for his outsized impact on the past two decades of pop culture, his studio albums have been few and, well, not always far between. Nine years passed between his full-length debut, 2014’s *Recess*, and his second album, 2023’s *Quest for Fire*; one day later, he released his third album, *Don’t Get Too Close*. Naturally, it follows that the roguish superproducer would drop his fourth album out of the sky with no warning on April Fools’ Day. But the appeal of the so-called “brostep” disrupter has long been his ability to balance his prankster impulses with technical wizardry and boundary-pushing ideas. And though the title’s all-caps rant is delivered with a wink, there is a case for *F\*CK U SKRILLEX...* as a work of bona fide pop art. In this case, replace soup cans with DJ drops, which Skrillex incorporates gratuitously in a way you might call avant-garde as the album’s 34 tracks gallop into one another, then disappear just as you’ve started to wrap your head around them. Cacophonous Brazilian phonk wails into classic dubstep, hardcore techno, trance, and less-than-a-minute bursts of pop-EDM perfection. Meanwhile, increasingly unhinged Trap-A-holics-type DJ drops hint playfully at Skrillex’s mindset at this juncture in his career. “REJECT SOCIETY! RETURN TO NATURE!” bellows one such drop over the mystic-sounding “KORABU,” which crams six collaborators into two minutes (among them Drain Gang affiliates Whitearmor and Varg2™). “I SOLD MY SOUL TO GIVE YOU THIS SONG!” proclaims another one on “ZEET NOISE,” whose breakneck beat is co-produced by Boys Noize and 100 gecs’ Dylan Brady. “THIS BEAT DROP HAS BEEN SEIZED BY ATLANTIC RECORDS AND HAS BEEN REPLACED WITH SILENCE!” the cartoonish voice announces a minute into “BIGGY BAP” before the build-up ratchets back and the narration continues: “MY LIFE IS IN SHAMBLES! I HAVE SEVERE DEPRESSION!” Yet on “VOLTAGE,” the Platonic ideal of “filthy dubstep” erupts into a sentimental chorus: “Gotta believe there’s something more!” Of course, that’s before our ringleader brings things back to earth on closing track “AZASU” with a hearty thank-you to “the unknown graffiti artist who vandalized our wall,” as pictured on the album cover. These days, you never know where you might stumble upon a bold new work of pop art.

Each Stereolab album functions as a portal to a future we once imagined but never achieved: a world of flying cars, egg chairs, and space-age bachelor pads where the coolest Franco-pop, German psychedelic, and Brazilian jazz records are spinning 24/7. And so it remains on the indie icons’ first new album in 15 years, which begins with a minute-long flourish of oscillating synths that sounds like an old mainframe being rebooted back to life. *Instant Holograms on Metal Film* finds the Stereolab machine in perfect working order after an extended period of inactivity, and, if anything, the group sounds eager to make up for lost time with gloriously overstuffed songs that key in on familiar pleasure points while introducing all manner of shapeshifting surprises. “Immortal Hands” eases you into a laidback loungey groove before hitching itself to a funky drum-machine beat and coasting through a dizzying swirl of brass and flutes; “Electrified Teenybop!” plays like the theme music to some alternate-universe dance show where the kids get down to a frenetic fusion of ping-ponging Kraftwerkian electronics and lustrous disco orchestrations. But, as ever, Stereolab’s splendorous soundworld is built atop a foundation of pointed political commentary addressing our present-day struggles and inequalities: Embedded within the breezy kaleidoscopic pop of “Melodie Is a Wound” is a scathing indictment of social media disinformation and the oppressive elites that manipulate it to their advantage. And yet, when the band returns to their motorik hypno-rock roots for the song’s exhilarating second act, they reassure us that utopia is still within our reach.

The 21-year-old Canadian multi-hyphenate has barely stopped to take a breath since kindergarten: She began intensive dance training at age six, scored a record deal at 16, and tied for top nominee for the 2025 JUNO Awards. Her third studio album arrives just a few months after the end of her 2024 world tour in support of her sophomore album, 2023’s *THINK LATER*. “Being on tour for a year feels like a million years—you’re like, ‘Holy shit, I have been gone for a lifetime,’” McRae tells Apple Music, though naturally she used the time as a learning opportunity. “Being onstage every night and analyzing yourself that much, you become uber-aware of yourself and what’s going on.” She began paying closer attention to exactly what kind of songs inspired her to move, what beats triggered her dancers to get—in a word—“nasty.” *So Close to What* is not exactly a club record—more like a pop record you can viscerally feel, conducive to the kind of choreo that makes a killer stage show. Prominent on McRae’s mood board were Timbaland and The Neptunes, whose kinetic productions made the aughts feel like the future. Echoes of sparkly, club-friendly 2000s R&B abound: “bloodonmyhands” recruits Flo Milli for a Miami bass throwback, while “Purple lace bra” lands somewhere between The-Dream’s *Love vs. Money* and Lana Del Rey’s *Born to Die* (which checks out, given the latter album’s producer, Emile Haynie, among the credits). And on “Sports car,” McRae and co-writer Julia Michaels found unlikely inspiration in a 2005 crunk classic. “\[Michaels\] had been dying to reference the Ying Yang Twins’ ‘The Whisper Song,’ and I was like, ‘That’s crazy,’” she says. Sure enough, the concept worked. The secret to writing her most grown-up album to date, as McRae explains, was a writer’s room that skewed heavily towards women (including Michaels and songwriter Amy Allen). “With music and finding perspective on situations, no one quite understands like another girl,” McRae explains. “You need another girl to know exactly what we’ve gone through and to know what it actually feels like in order to write a song. When you’re in a writing session, you have to be one brain together, and if it’s not that, that’s when chaos happens,” she went on. “It is so liberating to be with other girls and talk about things that are so frustrating and then feel so satisfied and accomplished after.”

Tamara Lindeman’s music as The Weather Station seems to expand and contract with every movement. The long-running project broke through in 2021 as fifth album *Ignorance* grew her folk-rock milieu to encompass the sounds of sophisti-pop acts like The Blue Nile and Prefab Sprout, while 2022’s companion record *How Is It That I Should Look at the Stars* pared back her arrangements to nearly nothing. On her seventh album, *Humanhood*, Lindeman has blown up her sound yet again: Alongside the nocturnal vibe she so expertly cultivated across *Ignorance*, these 13 tracks—initially recorded straight to tape over the course of two improvisational sessions in late 2023—encompass freewheeling ’60s psychedelic pop, darkly shaded jazz, and flurries of spoken-word sound collage. Joining her trusty supporting players from the *Ignorance* sessions is a who’s who of left-field sounds, including orchestral-folk auteur Sam Amidon and ambient-saxophone jazz sensation Sam Gendel. At the center of it all, Lindeman’s ability to pull back and let silence briefly reign remains as breathtaking as her most acrobatic vocal moments. Her lyrical focus picks up from where she left off on the previous two Weather Station records, pivoting specifically from the encroaching threat of climate change towards an episode of depersonalization she experienced while contemplating the world’s ever-evolving ills. What results is an album that’s contemplative and soul-searching, as Lindeman avoids finding easy answers and instead seems to channel her thought process in real time. “I don’t know quite where to begin,” she sings over the brushed drums and elegiac piano of *Humanhood*’s quietly devastating closer, “Sewing.” “I know it don’t look like I’m doing anything.” Quite the opposite, in fact.

Tunde Adebimpe’s solo debut faced a long, hard road to fruition. In the wake of TV on the Radio going on hiatus in 2019, Adebimpe’s efforts were stalled by the pandemic, label disinterest, and, most tragically, the death of his sister Jumoke. By happenstance, *Thee Black Boltz* arrives in the midst of TV on the Radio’s reunion campaign, and if lead single “Magnetic” had been released under the TVOTR banner, no one would bat an eye: The song boasts a minimalist electro-punk sound that harkens back to the band’s early-2000s days in the Brooklyn DIY scene, and a buzzing energy that will satisfy anyone who regularly dials up the band’s raging performance of “Wolf Like Me” on Letterman when they need an instant adrenaline boost. But *Thee Black Boltz* is, naturally, a much more personal statement than TVOTR’s definitive life-during-wartime addresses. It’s distinguished not just by its open displays of grief (see: “ILY,” aka “I Love You,” a tender acoustic elegy for Jumoke), but in its defiant embrace of joy: “Somebody New” channels the pure discotheque ecstasy of mid-’80s New Order, while the stuttering synth-pop of “The Most” wraps its heartwarming sentiments in twinkling psychedelic flourishes and a mid-song flip of Wayne Smith’s dancehall classic “Under Me Sleng Teng.”