The best songs of 2023

One of the best things about Doja Cat is that she's always in on the joke; she'll make fun of herself before you ever get the chance.

Even in a softer love song like "Agora Hills," the crown jewel from her latest album "Scarlet," Doja is witty and teasing. She can't help but sprinkle self-aware giggles, references to her chronic onlineness, and satiric spoken-word interludes that echo "Lucky" by Britney Spears ("Baby, can you call me back? I miss you. It's so lonely in my mansion").

The chart-topping provocateur does seem to get personal in "Agora Hills," at least more personal than she's been in the past — yet her sincerity is muddled by defiance.

Doja's anti-stan, prove-them-wrong mentality can get tedious on "Scarlet" when it's scaled to album size. But there's just a whiff of venom in "Agora Hills," which gives the song a welcome edge.

I decided to listen to Ryan Beatty's "Calico" after Lizzy McAlpine told me she likes to perform a cover of the second track, "Bruises Off the Peach."

It didn't surprise me that McAlpine is drawn to the best song on the album. It recalls her keen blend of soft guitar and strings, mixed beautifully with Frank Ocean-esque melodies.

The song's production is enchanting (Beatty is credited as a coproducer alongside Ethan Gruska, who has also worked with artists like Phoebe Bridgers, Bon Iver, and Moses Sumney), but even so, Beatty's sensitive lyricism is the star of the show.

In the chorus, he takes a cliché expression ("bruise like a peach") and subverts the expected meaning ("I cut all the bruises off the peach / Not as beautiful, but still as sweet"). The summer fruit becomes a symbol of resilience; Beatty proves that being tender isn't a weakness.

When I interviewed MUNA in October, Jo Maskin explained how "One That Got Away" was written too late to be included on the band's 2022 album.

When they debuted the song at Coachella in April, Maskin said, it wasn't a calculated decision to elongate the "MUNA" cycle or even jumpstart a new era of music. It was just a fantastic song they knew fans would love.

"It was something that we knew we wanted to work on and God was good to us in that circumstance," Maskin explained. "We're not ones to push things. We just know the music needs to be good."

Mission accomplished: "One That Got Away" builds on the riotous, self-assured energy of "MUNA" without feeling redundant. Lead vocalist Katie Gavin serenades her almost-lover with a vengeance, crowning herself proudly as "the kiss you never tasted." Her cockiness is well-earned, and her ex's loss is our gain.

"Flowers" will likely become a trademark hit of Miley Cyrus' career, earning eight weeks atop the Billboard Hot 100 and several Grammy nominations, including record and song of the year.

But just one spin of her 2023 album "Endless Summer Vacation" will reveal that "Flowers" is not the best cut, not by a long shot. That honor belongs to "Violet Chemistry," a hypnotic, lustful trance nestled humbly at track nine.

While the song is more restrained than one might expect from Cyrus, it draws from a variety of influences: slick '80s synths; '00s Timbaland beats; and even the vibrant strokes of 19th-century impressionism ("Fingers start to dance along the figures and the shapes / Mixing all the colors like we're making a Monet").

Taken as a whole, the interaction between elements is mesmerizing. Even as Cyrus has matured and pulled back in many ways, her capacity for chemistry hasn't dimmed.

Carly Rae Jepsen is known for her love of B-sides, but her second-tier songs can sometimes be just as good as the focus tracks — or, in the case of "Psychedelic Switch," even better.

Jepsen released "The Loveliest Time" in July as a companion to her 2022 offering, "The Loneliest Time." Despite their titles, however, the sister albums don't represent a dichotomy as simple as light and dark.

In an interview with Rolling Stone, Jepsen compared "The Loveliest Time" to emerging from hibernation; she doesn't only pursue beauty and joy, but all the inhales and complexities that come with being awake.

Although it was never promoted as a single, Jepsen said that "Psychedelic Switch" is the epitome and climax of the project.

"I think that is exactly the concept that we're talking about of a light bulb turning on in your life," she said. "It's also about the experience of really being present in the moment. It's less like, 'Now I found a partner and everything will be perfect.' It's just really living in the moment of feeling stuff."

Sabrina Carpenter's fifth album, "Emails I Can't Send," was generally well-received, but much of the tracklist felt like pop-lite to me, as though Carpenter wasn't ready to fully commit.

Well, she's definitely ready now. The deluxe track "Feather" is a full-sugar confection, diffusing disappointment and rage through Carpenter's distinctly feminine lens.

The song is drizzled with sweet melodies, garnished with a creamy bassline; meanwhile, her feelings are fizzing beneath the surface, like a musical root beer float. Surprise, surprise, yet another boy who dared to treat her as disposable. She knows she's better off without him, but she's still pissed enough to slam the door and block his number. Who wouldn't be?

The recipe is irresistible, and the music video is the cherry on top: a bubblegum-gore revenge fantasy that earned Carpenter a swift rebuke from the Blessed Virgin Mary Church in Brooklyn, where she filmed a scene wearing sexy funeral garb and dancing amid pastel-colored coffins. Her response? "Jesus was a carpenter." Real pop stars are back, baby!

In an alternate universe, where radio DJs have better taste and Morgan Wallen fans have common sense, "Super Shy" by NewJeans was this year's song of the summer.

"Super Shy" only peaked at No. 48 on the Hot 100, but the K-pop banger has been championed by fans and critics alike, including New York Times music reporters Jon Caramanica and Joe Coscarelli.

"To me, NewJeans is the best," Caramanica said on their "Popcast" podcast. "I like them as singers, but whoever's handling their production has a really, really, really forward-sounding ear when it comes to beat selection."

As Caramanica noted, "Super Shy" is the perfect example of that flair for futurism. The song is bright, fresh, pleasingly coy, and strikes just the right balance of upbeat and casual — resulting in a level of versatility that most pop stars could only hope to reach.

"Boyhood" was released in March as the lead single for "In the End It Always Does," the sophomore album from Amber Bain's solo project The Japanese House.

It was the song that inspired me to start compiling my picks for the year's best music. As soon as I heard it, I was hooked. Nearly eight months later, I'm still waiting to get sick of it.

"Boyhood" is a very special song. I use the word "special" intentionally because every other description I tried didn't seem to do it justice. I could say Bain makes "dreamy indie-pop" with "sumptuous synths" and "incisive lyrics," like other critics have, and I'd be right. I could say this song is warm, ethereal, and masterfully arranged, and I'd still be right.

Yet there's something about "Boyhood" that evades easy labels, much like the person Bain hopes to become: "I used to be somebody else / And I'm still out looking for me." Throughout the song, she grapples with selfhood as a fluid concept, trying to release old reflections in the search for something better.

"This song talks about how sometimes, however hard you try, you can't help but be a product of the things that happened to you or held you back earlier on in life," Bain said in a statement. "But also, and more importantly, it's about hope for overcoming those things."

Tom Odell's "Black Friday," which went viral on TikTok before it was even released, has the confessional juice to become this generation's "Creep."

Like Thom Yorke once sang, "I want a perfect body, I want a perfect soul / I want you to notice when I'm not around," Odell strips himself similarly bare: "I want a better body, I want better skin / I wanna be perfect like all your other friends." The haunting arrangement adds to his sense of foreboding, which swells to a cathartic crescendo. "What is happening to us?" he laments.

Both songs have inspired a visceral connection in their audiences. But where Radiohead's best-selling single is sinister and isolating, Odell's is more romantic. Even through the gloom, his hands are outstretched, seeking reassurance and connection.

In fact, in a statement distributed to press, Odell described "Black Friday" as a "love song."

"I wrote this song on my birthday last year, which happened to be the day before Black Friday," the UK singer said, naming the song's chief inspiration as "my admiration and love for the people in my life."

It feels surreal to feature The Beatles in a music ranking for 2023 — and even more surreal to say the song is as endearing as one could hope.

"Now and Then," billed as "the final Beatles song," was originally written by John Lennon and recorded as a demo in the late '70s. Yoko Ono passed it along to the surviving Beatles to finish for their 1995 docuseries "Anthology," but given the scratchy vocal quality and technical limits of the time, George Harrison voted to scrap the song.

Last year, the two remaining bandmates, Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr, decided to finish the process once and for all. With the help of AI technology, they were able to clean up the vocal stems from Lennon's demo and add Harrison's rhythm guitar parts from the abandoned '90s sessions. With the new bass and drum sections, plus McCartney's gentle vocals, the final product plays like a conversation with an old friend.

Maybe "Now and Then" isn't ingenious or groundbreaking. Maybe it wouldn't have caused a stir if it were released when it was written, 45 years ago. And maybe it's cliché to say that I don't care, because it feels like it was destined to be made this way.

Today, four decades after Lennon's death, his wistful lyrics take on new depth. McCartney surely felt the same way, which is why he was determined to revisit the demo. To hear the legendary songwriting duo harmonize on the phrase "love you" is prophetic and relevant in a way that's almost eerie.

That lyrical simplicity is what makes the song moving. We say stuff like "I love you" and "I miss you" because we understand the real emotions are too complicated to explain — emotions that linger after someone is gone.

No one song could hope to encapsulate the story of The Beatles, but "Now and Then" is certainly a fitting postscript.

Months after boygenius released "The Record," the best album of the year, the band followed up with a four-song EP titled "The Rest."

During an interview with Zane Lowe, Phoebe Bridgers explained how the new songs wouldn't quite fit on the full-length album. Instead, they were recorded and refined amidst the band's touring schedule, which removed the urgency and pressure from the process. Lucy Dacus described the EP as "sweet and immediate and not over-thought."

"Afraid of Heights," sung primarily by Dacus, is by far and away the best in the pack. Even though it's not the final song in the sequence, it plays the role of a digestif, especially the palliative third verse: "I never rode a motorcycle / I've never smoked a cigarette / I wanna live a vibrant life / But I wanna die a boring death."

"The ideal death… I want people to not even be sad," Dacus told Lowe. "I want them to have already been so satisfied with what I was able to give that it doesn't matter whether I live or die. Because everything I gave is enough."

Dacus confronts mortality in a way that feels wise, yet undermines the breadth and darkness of death itself. It can be peaceful, solemn, and ordinary, like leaving a restaurant.

"Afraid of Heights" is the bittersweet taste of a meal that's winding down; a goodbye that's looming; an empty home that awaits your return. It may hurt to hope for more, as the boys sing to end the song, but a risk-free life can be just as profound as one full of thrills.

Noah Kahan's "Stick Season," which I previously ranked as the seventh-best album of 2022, received a supercharged deluxe treatment this year.

In June, Kahan released "Stick Season (We'll All Be Here Forever)" with six brand-new songs. Since then, he has dueted with everyone from Post Malone ("Dial Drunk") and Kacey Musgraves ("She Calls Me Back") to Gracie Abrams ("Everywhere, Everything") and Hozier ("Northern Attitude"). It seems like everyone wants to get stuck in his anxious swirl of empty trees and shorter days.

But Kahan takes comfort knowing these friends are only visitors. "You're Gonna Go Far," the de facto closer on the deluxe album, is a love letter to faraway people with bright futures — and a promise to look after the place they left behind.

Kahan has a complicated relationship with his hometown (he has said so himself), but here, he demonstrates remarkable affection towards the creaky boards and dead leaves that surround him.

"This is good land, or at least it was / It takes a strong hand and a sound mind," Kahan sings in one of the album's most optimistic couplets. It's the New England version of the oxygen mask metaphor.

Even though a hint of resentment sneaks in, Kahan seems determined to care for the stuff that shaped him — and, in turn, care for himself. As the album comes to an end, we're left with the resolve to strive for strength and peace, not just survival.

Billie Eilish has spoken at length about her contribution to the "Barbie" soundtrack and how it aligns with her own life.

Director Greta Gerwig asked her to create "Barbie's heart song," Gerwig told the Los Angeles Times. "The song that is deep inside her core that she doesn't even completely know is there but that she starts to hear more clearly throughout the film."

After a spontaneous burst of inspiration, Eilish wrote the wistful ballad in about five minutes. ("It was like God," she said.) Only later did she realize how deeply she connected to its lyrics.

They speak to her experience as a celebrity, of course, idealized and often objectified by the masses ("Looked so alive, turns out I'm not real / Just something you paid for"). But the song also resonates with a broader theme of womanhood, as we wrestle every day with the fallacy of perfection.

It seems Eilish followed a path that resembled Barbie's own. The song subconsciously sprang from her heart before she began to hear it — her own voice — more clearly.

She also had the sense to preserve that voice as purely and honestly as possible. Throughout the ballad, Eilish is accompanied only by melancholy piano chords (courtesy of her brother Finneas O'Connell) and a gentle orchestral arrangement (added later by producers Mark Ronson and Andrew Wyatt).

The result is starkly minimal — a vague sense of unease crystallized into something real. The song is almost identical to her original demo, according to the Los Angeles Times.

"It's like a delicate butterfly wing," Eilish said. "And I didn't want to rip it."

When PinkPantheress tapped Ice Spice for a remix of her 2022 single, "Boy's a Liar," they created one of the defining pop-culture moments of 2023.

Released in February, "Boy's a Liar Pt. 2" was one of the year's first big hits, a rare strike of lightning that seemed to bond everyone with carefree delight. You couldn't open TikTok without hearing PinkPantheress bat her eyelashes ("Take a look inside your heart / Is there any room for me?") or Ice Spice coin a new term for her butt ("He say that I'm good enough, grabbin' my duh-duh-duh").

The song itself has a nostalgic, Y2K appeal; vocals are lightly brushed with autotune, while a vintage Nintendo-like synth bops along in the background.

This is a speciality for PinkPantheress, who likes to harness our nostalgia for the simpler, less self-conscious era of iPods and LimeWire. She makes the kind of music that would autoplay on your hottest friend's MySpace page. Her blunt lyrics ("What's the point of crying? / It was never even love") read like AIM status updates. After all, in the age of oversharing, queen bees aren't afraid to be vulnerable.

By joining forces with Ice Spice, a rising rap star from the Bronx who's been nicknamed "the people's princess," PinkPantheress magnified the song's cool-girl aura and cemented its role at the forefront of taste.

I don't know what Labrinth is putting in his "Euphoria" soundtrack songs, but keep it away from Rue at all costs.

Much like "I'm Tired," last year's excellent collaboration between Labrinth and Zendaya, "Never Felt So Alone" is a vivid, evocative vignette of Rue's addiction and trauma, the main focus of the popular HBO series.

The second verse in particular, helmed by Billie Eilish, evokes the star-crossed love between Rue and Jules that slowly crumbles in the show's second season: "I thought you were my new best friend / Wish I knew better then / Who knew you were just out to get me? / My whole world just fell apart."

Of course, the lyrics suit the source material — but they're ambiguous enough to stand up in the real world and resonate with real pain.

Eilish has rarely sounded so anguished, so utterly submerged in a song's emotional depths. Labrinth is a formidable vocalist in his own right, but she rises to the occasion, pushing her voice far beyond her signature whisper.

Eilish moves through the song like a ghost in the machine, threading hums and wails through Labrinth's trippy production. The assorted textures mimic the goal of "Never Felt So Alone," to muddle fiction with reality.

Troye Sivan's artistry has bloomed (pun intended) since his sophomore effort in 2018. This year, his third album "Something to Give Each Other" turned him into an "SNL" parody-level pop star.

To be sure, the entire tracklist is a treat. But even with the lascivious buzz of "Rush," or the brilliant 2010s throwback in "Got Me Started," "One of Your Girls" is the album's undeniable centerpiece — and Sivan himself agrees.

"It started with this guy who had previously not been with guys before," he explained at a listening party, where he also premiered the "One of Your Girls" music video. "Basically, I ended up saying to him, 'Well let me know if you're feeling gay on Saturday night.'"

Having gone through this process a few times in his life, Sivan added: "It can leave you feeling kind of empty inside."

Like many fans, you may be too distracted by Sivan in drag to really clock it, but "One of Your Girls" is a very sad song.

Sivan is so transfixed by his elusive muse, so overcome with desire, that he'll force himself to fit a mold. Sivan will be anything, wear anything, and keep all this guy's dirty secrets, just for a chance to be the one he calls when he's desperate. "I'll be like one of your girls or your homies," Sivan pledges. Either, both, it doesn't matter.

Nevertheless, Sivan makes pining sound impossibly stylish. "One of Your Girls" is where melancholy meets hedonism; loneliness and swagger coalesce; horny pleas are delivered through the angelic melodies of a Y2K boy band. Even Sivan's use of contemporary slang ("Face card, no cash, no credit"), which would be cringey coming from anyone else, registers as cool.

In the grand tradition of pop classics like Robyn's "Dancing on My Own" and Lorde's "Supercut," "One of Your Girls" is a song for sobbing masked as a song for strutting. If Sivan is the subgenre's heir, we're in good hands.

The phrase "triple threat" was invented for people like Victoria Monét. She can dance, she can sing, and as we've known for years, she can write the hell out of a pop song.

Monét's friendship with Ariana Grande has yielded more than 30 collaborations, including hits like "Thank U, Next," "7 Rings," "34+35," and "Be Alright." Her solo discography, albeit sparser, rivals Grande's in skill and sheer finesse.

"On My Mama," released as the third single from her major-label debut "Jaguar II," sees Monét step fully into the spotlight — unfurling, rejoicing, basking in her own glow.

"When they say, 'She get it from her mama' / I'ma say, 'You fucking right,'" she raps to open the song. "Body rude, it's unpolite / Done being the humble type."

Monét's mother actually makes a cameo in the music video, as does Monét's daughter, Hazel. Later in the "Jaguar II" tracklist, the 2-year-old is credited as a featured artist on "Hollywood," alongside R&B legends Earth, Wind & Fire. (Hazel has since become the youngest Grammy nominee in history.)

With these subtle flourishes, Monét elevates the song's central brag. "On My Mama" is not just about her radiant beauty, her "heaven-sent" smell, or even a choreo-ready beat that would make club DJs in the noughties seethe with envy.

In Monét's capable hands, "On My Mama" is about creating a legacy — not from thin air, but from the strength passed down by her female forebears. In turn, Monét sets an example for her own daughter, shedding self-doubt and shame as an act of rebellion. Someday, "On My Mama" will be Hazel's anthem, too.

Taylor Swift clearly intended for "Slut!" to be the focus track for "1989 (Taylor's Version)." But upon hearing the album, Swifties respectfully said no.

It was obvious that "Is It Over Now?" was the one destined for stardom. Sure enough, the song burst through the curtain like a scrappy young actor with something to prove.

Without a music video, without any formal promotion on Swift's part, it debuted at No. 1 on the Hot 100. ("Slut!" bowed modestly at No. 3.)

The song is such a sublime distillation of Swift's ideology — and, in turn, a representation of her power.

"Is It Over Now?" is what happens when a feeling is so intense, so overpowering, that it can be accessed at any moment. "1989" may tell a story about loss and growth, but there's a big difference between moving on and letting go. ("Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it.")

Many great poets have tackled this theme (Richard Siken's "Snow and Dirty Rain," Pablo Neruda's "Tonight I Can Write," and Mary Oliver's "When Did It Happen?" come to mind), but no modern singer has captured the sensation as successfully as Swift — how painful and embarrassing and fearsome it is to be the one who always remembers. Her catalog of memories has become a billion-dollar empire.

We don't know exactly why "Is It Over Now?" was cut from the original "1989" tracklist. But its postponed release, approximately 300 takeout coffees later, makes the point even sharper: "Was it over then? And it is over now?" Simply by posing the question, she gives us the answer.

Some people forgive and forget with ease, but not Swift. And presumably, none of her disciples do, either. "Is It Over Now?" reminds me of my first love, a relationship that ended in 2014 — the same year "1989" hit the airwaves. Still, when I hear Swift sing about wilted roses and flashing lights in 2023, I'm back in the thick of it. I can feel the snow. I can smell the blood.

To paraphrase what one fan wrote on Twitter, "You really think you're over it and then Taylor Swift writes a song about it."

Upon the release of his self-titled album in August, Zach Bryan topped the Billboard 200 and earned a No. 1 song on the Hot 100: "I Remember Everything" with Kacey Musgraves.

But it's actually "Dawns," a different duet with a female singer, that stands out as Bryan's greatest achievement.

"Dawns" was released as a loose single all the way back in January, as the sun began to rise on his biggest year yet. Even though it wasn't included on the tracklist for "Zach Bryan," it heralded a new era for the Oklahoma singer — and not just thanks to auspicious timing.

The song is like the smell of coffee; a gust of morning wind. It captures a poignant duality: the grief of something ending and the hope of a fresh start.

The lyrics invoke real tragedy, when Bryan sings about the death of his mother ("I lost her last July in a heart attack"). But the title itself implies new light, new days, new orange-pink skies. If the first hint of spring could be a sound, Bryan and Maggie Rogers bottled it for "Dawns."

Indeed, adding Rogers was exactly what Bryan needed to clinch this sense of tension and complexity. She adds another layer to Bryan's lament, challenging his version of events.

Where he sings bitterly, "She never said a thing about Jesus," she clarifies, "I believe in something bigger than both of us." While he was saying prayers, she was counting stars. "Give me my dawns back" means something different, though no less important, to each of them.

As the song ends and their voices intertwine, they summon an image of two former lovers, standing on the safer side of a wreckage. The song doesn't ask us to decide who's right or wrong; everyone is allowed the space to move forward.

This is one of those perfect pop songs that, yes, ages like a fine wine.

Just one sip of "Red Wine Supernova" will heat your chest and rosy your cheeks, but the song gets better, more intoxicating, with every second that passes.

Even simple lyrics and melodies come alive in Roan's gleeful realm, like rabbits appearing out of thin air. The roommate chirp in the bridge ("Don't worry, we're cool!") is particularly good, an itch-scratching stroke of magic that conjures a rare blend of campy fun and true brilliance.

"Red Wine Supernova" is a song that demands to be sung (though Roan makes hitting those high notes seem way too easy). "OK y'all, let's pick it up now!" is framed as an invitation, but in practice, it becomes a rallying call — especially at Roan's costume-party-themed concerts, where queer kids and super graphic ultramodern girls become their brightest, truest selves.

Roan, who always makes a point to thank drag queens for inspiration, was born to perform. Her charm would be dangerous if she decided to become a cult leader instead of an artist.

Roan's debut album, "The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess," is full of such dazzle and seduction: "After Midnight," "Casual," "My Kink Is Karma," and "Pink Pony Club" are just a few highlights.

But "Red Wine Supernova" is where her charm is hyper-concentrated, almost palpable, like a flash of déjà vu or Harry Houdini's best illusion — the sort of ripple that relaxes your tethers to reality. It has you preoccupied with something prettier, eschewing the earthly and mundane for a rush of wonderment, even if it only lasts for two minutes.

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