By Justin Poulin, Contributor

Fiona Apple, “Fetch The Bolt Cutters”

Ah yes, the canonical album of 2020, and for good reason. Over the course of the past five years, Apple dug deep from within to write some of her most candid and pithy verses of her career, all while dramatically revising her approach to songwriting. To call Fetch The Bolt Cutters “eclectic” is an understatement. It’s her familiar blend of chamber pop, but it’s also a little bit of post-bop, found sound, and even some industrial for good measure. It’s invigoratingly raw, both in content and execution—Apple famously left unedited takes in the finished product, making for an exceedingly “human” experience. I love the introverted melancholy that spurts from every note, every beat, every rhyme. I love Fiona Apple’s aggressive, chafed vocals that make every condemnation of each abusive, misogynistic, sadistic archetype she sets in her crosshairs seem so stark and poetic. And, of course, it couldn’t have come at a more appropriate time, when we’ve all sought some escape, to break free.

Nick Storring “My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell”

The extraterrestrial charm of Toronto-based composer Nick Storring’s My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell is like nothing else I think I’ve ever heard. It’s arresting and beguiling. For me, this album arrived on one of the weirdest weeks of my life and perfectly encapsulated the lonely, yearning, mysterious, and unnerving emotional rush that came when 2020 finally meant something entirely different than any year experienced in my life. I recall walking the streets of my neighborhood, witnessing the sheer absence of life, the quiet streets. It was listening to discordant strings clash like a zombified old Disney score on “Pretending You and I” when I realized I was emerging into a bizarre nightmare. But My Magic Dreams is not the soundtrack to a horror movie, no, it’s the consolation from a parent after watching one, when you were too young to begin with. It brings a chilly comfort with each listen. With its lush—and I mean LUSH—arrangements, its unique electro-acoustic instrumental construction, and its broad expanse of emotional peaks and valleys, My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell is a feat in modern composition. It’s one of those albums that can transport you to another plane from the comfort of your headphones. It’s a cinematic masterpiece, resplendent with pianos, harps, electric guitar, assorted percussion, vibrant strings, and some of the wonkiest drones imaginable. Although hard to discern, the album is a sonic tribute to the soul singer, Roberta Flack. Storring was quoted saying, “much of her music feels as though it’s designed for solitary consumption… not only does her vocal timbre sound like a private conversation with you, the music feels introverted in scope and texture.” To me, this is executed exceptionally on My Magic Dreams. Indeed, this album is built for quarantine nights and dreams of brighter horizons.

Nana Adjoa: “Big Dreaming Ants”

This one came as a bit of a surprise to me, but when it clicked, it really clicked. Very few albums seemed capture a moment in time this year quite like Big Dreaming Ants. Yes, there were albums that represented the distance and the isolation that was a focal point of 2020, there were albums that provided an escape, there were albums that were outright political and captured the rage and righteous indignation that stoked protests and movements nationwide, but this one tapped into all of the above with an honest, naked vulnerability. Nana Adjoa’s compositional style is rooted in her jazz education and her Ghanaian heritage, which comes through clearly on Big Dreaming Ants. Rich, colorful melodies are paired with lively polyrhythms, but delivered with such understated gestures and nuance. It’s indie pop that can be hushed and delicate, and explosive and triumphant, all in the same song. A message that rings loud and clear on this album is that we’re often helpless to the larger forces that shape our daily lives. Adjoa holds onto optimism though. In all of its shimmering, unassuming beauty, Big Dreaming Ants is as defeating as it inspiring; it embraces a tentative hope that can be felt right down to its pale, doleful melodies. It’s an unexpected balm and a welcome reprieve.