The best songs of 2022

There simply aren't enough songs about friendship. Sure, friends-to-lovers arcs are everywhere in pop music, but songs about the undiluted joy of platonic love are hard to come by.

Enter "Pool," a gorgeous duet by two real-life friends who just get each other. Remi Wolf and Sven Gamsky (a.k.a. Still Woozy) met in 2018 and immediately hit it off. They went on tour together in 2019, stayed in touch throughout quarantine, and spontaneously wrote this song during a casual poolside hangout last fall.

"We went into the writing process with the intention of being 100% honest and specific with where we were both at that day," Remi said in a statement. "I love how when I listen to the song it feels like a true time capsule to both of our life situations at the time."

Their mutual admiration and support are apparent; Remi sings about confiding in Sven and crying over "how much he loves his wife," while Sven declines to validate Remi's self-doubt ("She told me she was fucking up / But I wouldn't call her anybody's fool"). It's also reflected in the song's gentle production, which glitters like sunlight on chlorine-blue water.

"Another Man's Jeans" is the kind of song I have sent to every music lover I know, blasted on every road trip, and added to every summer playlist I own.

The lead single from Ashe's sophomore album, "Rae," feels like Stealers Wheel's "Stuck in the Middle With You" combined with Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" — an indisputably delicious concoction, with Ashe's ever-vivid lyricism as the icing on top. In other words, it's an absolute banger.

Charli XCX has always been a master of cheeky pop bops ("Vroom Vroom," "Boys," and "Sucker," to name a few), so naturally, her fifth album "Crash" is brimming with them.

But "Yuck" is the one track I find myself returning to over and over. It's got all the makings of a No. 1 hit: a steady, head bob-worthy beat, sparkly synths à la "Kiss Me More," and Charli's characteristically irreverent humor ("Yuck! That boy's so mushy / Sending me flowers, I'm just tryna get lucky").

"Music for a Sushi Restaurant" is the delightfully gaudy entrance to "Harry's House," Harry Styles' third and best solo album.

"It becomes really obvious what the first song should be based on what you play for people when they're like, 'Oh, can I hear a bit of the music?'" Styles told Zane Lowe. "It's like, how do you want to set the tone?"

Here, the tone is outrageous and enchanting. It's impossible to resist for Styles superfans and casual pop consumers alike, even winning over Insider's senior freelance editor Paige DiFiore, an avowed hater of horn sections and scatting.

"I should hate 'Music for a Sushi Restaurant,'" she previously wrote. "It's a recipe for everything I dislike in a song. And yet, this song is nestled just above 'Sweet Creature' and below 'Cherry' as my second-favorite Styles song of all time."

She added: "Whatever this chaotic bop lacks in profound lyrics or vivid storytelling, it makes up for with pure magic and I, for one, have fallen under its spell."

Sometimes TikTok gets it right. "Bad Habit" took off thanks to Gen Z's favorite app, and while that can be said for plenty of chart-toppers over the past few years, it's rare that a song is so deserving of the attention.

"Bad Habit" is the ideal crossover hit: an irresistible blend of modern R&B, Prince-inspired funk, and just a taste of emo-rock attitude. In an alternate universe, I'm convinced that Steve Lacy is singing this exact bridge at Warped Tour, where thousands of kids with side-swept bangs are screaming, "You always knew the way to wow me / Fuck around, get tongue-tied."

"Ceilings" is the understated centerpiece of Lizzy McAlpine's star-making sophomore album, "Five Seconds Flat."

The stunning ballad, built on a bed of guitar strums and soft strings, follows McAlpine as she gets lost in her own nostalgia — although that's not immediately apparent. The song begins in the midst of a sweet memory, described in the present tense, though McAlpine hints that something ominous is afoot: "You kiss me in your car / And it feels like the start of a movie I've seen before."

In the outro, she reveals this movie is closer to a tragedy than a romance, cleverly tweaking the lyrics to bring us back to reality: "But it's not real / And you don't exist / And I can't recall the last time I was kissed / It hits me in the car / And it feels like the end of a movie I've seen before."

It's a surprising plot twist, but there's no deception involved. It's the sound of a woman coming to terms with her grief — that familiar pang when the person you miss pops into your head, as clear and beautiful as if they never left.

"I feel like even if it's a fantasy or I'm wishing that moment was real, it's still a valid feeling to have," McAlpine explained to Insider. "Even if it's not what I'm experiencing in the moment, it's still true."

It's rare for a powerful visual and an equally powerful song to come together in absolute harmony.

But if any modern artist has mastered this art, it's Labrinth, whose original soundtracks for HBO's "Euphoria" reflect the show's surrealism and ecstatic melodrama — especially when it comes to the protagonist Rue, played by Zendaya.

Rue is a teenager who feels everything a little too much. Hers is a world of constant overstimulation and deep-rooted ache. During one pivotal moment in season two, in which Rue hallucinates a spiritual embrace with her late father, Labrinth's haunting hymn "I'm Tired" works like magic — collaborating with Zendaya's teary face to translate Rue's pain to viewers.

"People put this squeaky-cleanness on teens, but really it's gnarly as hell," Labrinth told the New York Times. "There are so many raw and gritty feelings, and some of your thoughts go to really dark places."

As "Green Light" was to Lorde, "That's Where I Am" is to Maggie Rogers.

The lead single from her near-perfect sophomore album, "Surrender," reintroduced Rogers as a dynamic vocalist and reinforced her reputation as a fearless songwriter.

Much like Lorde's beloved pop comeback, "That's Where I Am" delights in the intimate details, turning hyper-personal reflections into moments of screamable euphoria ("You never touched me, but I felt you everywhere").

This is climactic-kiss-at-the-end-of-a-rom-com music, or strutting-through-Manhattan music: optimistic, self-assured, and uniquely addictive.

The word "unapologetic" is thrown around a lot these days, but it lies at the very heart of "What I Want," a synth-pop anthem about chasing bliss after years of feeling stifled.

For the members of MUNA — Katie Gavin, Josette Maskin, and Naomi McPherson — bliss involves dancing in the middle of a gay bar, fireworks, chemistry, and convincing "that girl right over there to wanna date me." Every demand is succeeded by the essential queer mantra: "There's nothing wrong with what I want."

My favorite song from Bad Bunny's "Un Verano Sin Ti" changes on a daily basis, but I would be a fool not to acknowledge the crowd-pleasing brilliance of "Tití Me Preguntó," which kind of plays like a dembow-indebted successor of "Mambo No. 5."

Like much of the album, "Tití Me Preguntó" was written solely by Bad Bunny himself, whose knack for blending sheer silliness ("Auntie asked me if I have a lot of girlfriends / Today I have one, tomorrow I'll have another") with prodigious wordplay and sincerity ("I'd like to fall in love but I can't, sorry / I don't even trust myself") continues to astonish and intoxicate the masses.

Much like "The Only Heartbreaker," which landed on our 2021 ranking, "Love Me More" juxtaposes agony and angst with an exuberant swirl of '80s synths.

Mitski wrestles with deep existential questions: How can she stay interesting when the pop world demands reinvention? Is it possible to achieve self-actualization while simultaneously craving validation? Can she keep waking up every day knowing that it's more of the same?

If it sounds overwhelming, that's the entire point. Mitski pleads for more, more, more — and with each demand, her frantic energy increases. By the end of the song, she's no longer asking to be full, but to be clean.

It is extraordinarily hard to write a song that directly addresses domestic abuse and generational trauma, particularly without coming across as bitter, weary, or too raw to touch (though each of those would be understandable outcomes).

"Family Line," the eighth track on Conan Gray's vulnerable sophomore album "Superache," strikes a perfect balance between blunt honesty and artistic elegance. It's heart-wrenching, of course, and can be painful to fully take in.

But aided by Gray's angelic harmonies and the satiny sheen of Dan Nigro's production, it doesn't sound like a wound reopening — it sounds like healing.

Gray sings with astonishing self-awareness and maturity. This is most potent in the bridge, where he gives himself the space to throb and grieve, but refuses to submit to shame: "All that I did to try to undo it / All of my pain and all your excuses / I was a kid, but I wasn't clueless / Someone who loves you wouldn't do this."

"The very fact that it's uncomfortable for me to talk about it is the reason I have to talk about it," Gray told Paper. "It's better to feel something than to just live your whole life hiding from feeling anything."

When I asked King Princess if any lyrics on her new album were particularly painful to put on paper, she replied immediately: "I guess it's over, 'cause I'm hardly sober anymore."

Indeed, most people I know could hardly say that to a partner in private, let alone sing it to millions of rapt listeners.

But King Princess is not most people. "Change the Locks" is a bombastic display of candor and courage, inspired by a real-life rough patch in the singer's relationship. The song is equal parts accusation and confession, each one complimented by the ebbs and flows of Aaron Dessner's production.

The song ends with a tender reckoning, as King Princess clutches to her love with ghost-white knuckles: "You think it's all for nothing / But you're everything I've wanted / And the end is near, you promised / But I'm just getting started."

If you don't speak Spanish, "Hentai" is a delicate piano ballad that showcases Rosalía's bewitching voice, described by Rolling Stone's Julyssa Lopez as "Judy Garland-level warm."

But if you are able to understand the lyrics, the song is revealed as a "surprising, overtly sex-positive statement that takes her somewhere new." It's an ode to sexual pleasure on a woman's terms: "I wanna ride you like I ride my bike," Rosalía sings in the chorus.

Taken as either one or the other, "Hentai" is still lush, intriguing, and well worth a spin. But it's this exquisite duality — the contrast of beauty and raunch, of fluttery vocals and obscene lyrics — that boosts "Hentai" to best-of-the-year stature.

As any "Renaissance" lover will tell you, its songs are not designed for isolation. Unlike her peers who stuff albums with disparate sounds and compete for placement on Spotify playlists, Beyoncé's impeccable tracklisting resists fragmentation. Every transition is fine-tuned; each moment informs another.

But if the appeal and power of "Renaissance" could be crystallized into one banger, it's surely "Alien Superstar," which opens with a perfect synopsis of the album: "Do not attempt to leave the dance floor."

The standout third track is indebted to a variety of influences — namely queer ballroom culture, futuristic house beats, and Right Said Fred's campy hit "I'm Too Sexy," which has never before been sampled so masterfully — but the end result is pure Beyoncé.

It's an instant club classic that takes an oft-used axiom in pop music — celebrate being unique! — and elevates it to otherworldly genius.

When Florence Welch wrote "Girls Against God" in early 2020, it was conceived as an ironic portrayal of her own private wrath. She imagined herself waging a "holy war" while sitting in her pajamas at home and cringed at the absurdity of the image. "As if God cares that I'm mad," she told a crowd in Newcastle.

She couldn't have known that two years later, the song would be unleashed alongside the threat of abortion bans and global regressions in gender equality. But that's the thing about feminine rage: There is never an inappropriate time to feel it.

Fury can feel impotent when you're alone, crying into cereal at midnight. This is especially true if you're not a man. The patriarchy encourages our smallness and passivity.

But as Welch demonstrates, there is immeasurable power in speaking up and joining hands — maybe even enough to take down a deity, or a powerful man masquerading as one.

As she moves through the song and gives voice to her "darkest fantasies," Welch slowly expands her purview, shifting from "me" and "my" statements to "us" and "our." It transforms from an anxious lullaby to a battle cry: "I know I may not look like much / Just another screaming speck of dust / But, oh God, you're gonna get it / You'll be sorry that you messed with us."

At a concert in May, Welch dedicated "Girls Against God" to "everyone fighting for the right to choose."

"This is for you," she said. "I am so angry for you and I love you."

"American Teenager," the third and final single from Ethel Cain's debut album "Preacher's Daughter," skewers the so-called "American dream" with gothic imagery and biting wit.

This song scratches a similar itch that "Born to Die" did in 2012, but swaps Lana Del Rey's heavy-handed nihilism for a snapshot of youth that's far more complex and authentic.

Cain, whose real name is Hayden Anhedönia, shot the music video in her hometown of Perry, Florida, where she said she was "surrounded by visions of NASCAR, rock'n'roll, and being the one who would change everything." She added, "They make you think it's all achievable and that if nothing else, you should at least die trying."

As Rayne Fisher-Quann wrote for i-D, the result is an "enigmatic anthem" that's "bleak, beautiful, inexplicably macabre," and emblematic of Cain's talent as a songwriter: "The track, which uses Springsteen-inflected heartland rock and idyllic visuals to contrast a complex message about the American war machine, is a perfect example of the thematic tensions that underscore Hayden's musical canon."

"That's Where I Am" marked Rogers' triumphant transition from folk-pop wunderkind to bona fide rockstar, but "Anywhere With You" is her best song to date and the blazing core of "Surrender."

Throughout the 12-song tracklist, Rogers explores many avenues that she hopes will lead to freedom, seeking release after a bitter breakup and the pent-up days of quarantine. She breaks glasses just to watch them shatter. She dances to Britney Spears with her friends. She consults with a therapist.

The whole album is imbued with intense emotion, but "Anywhere With You" is the one time when she's not trying to find anything — she's just feeling everything, knowing exactly where it will lead. She pours herself into a homemade volcano like a kid at a science fair, building towards an explosive moment of catharsis: "You tell me you want everything, you want it fast / But all I've ever wanted is to make something fucking last."

The structure mimics the lyrical narrative with piercing precision. This is a product of an expert songwriter following all the right instincts.

"What I love about this record is the addition of craft," Rogers told Rolling Stone. "'Anywhere With You' is that in so many ways because of how that song unfolds and is such a journey. I rewrote the tempo shift in the bridge maybe 16 times."

For longtime fans of Noah Kahan, "Stick Season" may have felt like a deviation from the poppy melodies and upbeat duets favored on his first two albums. But for Kahan himself, it felt like coming home.

"I wanted to have something done that was just for me, and it was never something that felt like it needed to be released," he told Insider in September. "This song just made me feel happy about songwriting and happy about music."

Kahan said he wrote "Stick Season" during a quiet moment of "escape" after returning home from the studio, where he had recorded a pop song for his previous album. Then he teased the chorus on TikTok, armed with just his acoustic guitar, and fought the urge to delete the clip.

Thankfully, "Stick Season" found its folk-loving audience before Kahan's anxiety won out. It went viral and inspired covers by artists like Chelsea Cutler, Zach Bryan, and Maisie Peters, who hailed it as "the song of the year."

Although Kahan's lyrics describe a very personal Vermontian experience, they speak to a broader sense of loss, isolation, and impending doom. As "Stick Season" shrewdly observes, nursing a broken heart feels a lot like watching winter approach, feeling the cold seep into your bones — and this experience resonates far beyond the geographic boundaries of New England.

"The coolest thing about music is allowing people to interpret it their own way," Kahan told Insider. "It allows the song to have its own life over and over again."

As soon as I heard this song, pacing my bedroom before sunrise on the morning of Taylor Swift's 10th album release, I knew it would land at No. 1 on this list against all odds.

Just a few hours before, I had been let down by "Midnights," the 13-track album that Swift had cast as "a journey through terrors and sweet dreams." She also teased a "chaotic surprise" to follow at 3 a.m., which turned out to be a set of seven bonus tracks, presented as extra peeks into her creative process.

As the penultimate song on the extended edition, "Would've, Could've, Should've" is not a member of Swift's "complete concept album," in her own words. It won't appear on any physical tracklists, be it vinyl or CD. In other words, some of Swift's most casual fans may not even know it exists.

And yet, "Would've, Could've, Should've" is the only song that lives up to Swift's original promise of turmoil, tears, self-made cages, and desperate prayers that sent her into moonlit spirals. As I've already argued, it's the best song of the "Midnights" era by far, but moreover, it's one of the best songs that she has ever written — and the only song released in 2022 that brings tears to my eyes every time I hear it.

As I was finalizing this list, I reached out to Insider's senior music editor Courteney Larocca with exasperation: Even with a lackluster album, I groaned, Swift was about to claim the top spot on my yearly ranking for the third year in a row.

She replied without hesitation: "IF CLARITY'S IN DEATH THEN WHY WON'T THIS DIE YEARS OF TEARING DOWN OUR BANNERS, YOU AND IIIIII LIVING FOR THE THRILL OF HITTING YOU WHERE IT HURTS GIVE ME BACK MY GIRLHOOD IT WAS! MINE! FIIIIRRRRSSTTTTTTT!!!!!!!"

Listen to Insider's ranking, including 30 honorable mentions, on Spotify.