Slept Ons and Listening Pest 2025: Things that we missed and albums that disappointed
Tunde Adibempe
Each year, we have some albums we mean to get to but somehow never do. But there’s always time to catch up and in this annual feature, Dusted writers dig through their piles and grab ones that almost got away. There are also a few thing that disappointed, bored and infuriated us. We try to stay positive, but we’ve tacked on a few things that just drove us crazy. Contributors to this yearly wrap up include Bill Meyer, Patrick Masterson, Jennifer Kelly, Jonathan Shaw, Ian Mathers, Bryon Hayes, Ray Garraty, Roz Milner and Justin Cober-Lake.
Slept Ons
Tunde Adibempe — Thee Black Boltz (Sub Pop)
It’s been a generation since TV on the Radio blazed its singular trail across indie-land, full of pulse and passion and inflamed experimentation, with soul vocals riding hard dance beats, weird sonic elements pinging off undeniable bops. Heck it’s even been more than a decade since they called it quits, more than time for TV on the Radio’s spiritual father to stake out his own legacy. And now here it is, the first ever solo album from Tunde Adibempe, with the drive and oddball hooks you remember. The singer who put a doo-woppy take on the Pixies’ “Mr. Grieves” reloads that casual oddity with “Pinstack”’s choral interpretation of “Would You Like to Wish on a Star?” its 1920s singsong flaring with guitars and chaotic rock energy. “I was thinking about my time in space/I was thinking about the human race,” croons Adibempe in the synth-stabbing, hands-in-the-air anthem “Magnetic,” as corrosively groovy as anything from Desperate Youth, Bloodthirsty Babes. In its heyday, TVOTR was one of the best live bands going, tight and skilled and powered by an unstoppable rhythm section (Jaleel Bunton on drums and the late, much-lamented Gerard Smith). Now all his own, Adibempe somehow retains much of that juggernaut power, breathing urgent life into a signature legacy sound.
Jennier Kelly
Samantha Fish — Paper Doll (Rounder)
I forget how I found this one, but it was probably an algorithm of some kind, or maybe the cover looked interesting. But right away I was hooked: Fish’s voice rises to a shout and she rips off slide lines like Lowell George at his best on “I’m Done Running” and on “Can Ya Handle the Heat” the band rocks like White Denim at their best. When the organ swells and her guitar sizzles, it’s some of the best blues-rock I’ve heard in a damn hot minute. And the thing is, blue-rock is a genre that’s easy to do but hard to do well. Anyone can copy an old Willie Dixon riff and ride it for a few minutes; lots of singers rely on lines that were old back when Eric Clapton was still a sidesman. Fish’s music feels alive to me in the way she’s using layers of background singers, the way she’s singing about female desire and the way the band thrashes like Crazy Horse. At her best, she draws on decades of rock but never feels like she’s indebted to any of her inspirations. It’s only a matter of time before she’s on Saturday Night Live or something and you wonder why you hadn’t heard of her before now.
Roz Milner
Fetty P Franklin — Frank (GroundHawg Entertainment)
Honorable mention here to Sublime Frequencies’ They Shall Take Up Serpents, Dari Bay’s Longest Day of the Year and any one of about four Boldy James projects, but I’m choosing instead to highlight a record that came out in early October right around the time Rob Mitchum began tracking year-end roundups in which, more than 600 entries later, Fetty P Franklin still has not appeared. The Charlottean gained some notoriety in late December linking up with fellow Queen City native DaBaby on Kirk Franklin, but it’s still Frank that (f)ranks as the more enjoyable listen. Fetty’s been hustling for a decade now, but this feels like his most accomplished work yet. Part of the appeal is that Fetty stands on his own two; the guy has never leaned on features — 2018’s Gettin’ Mine Off da Land featured an ascendant Deniro Farrar, Icewear Vezzo has joined him a few times in recent years, and DaBaby cameos on “SDA” for this one — which, as with any solo effort, only serves to immerse you in the artist’s world better. The first time I caught “Self Discipline” in a mix, I thought I was hearing RXKNephew, but Fetty P Franklin comes free of such drama, falling more in line spiritually with the Southern street rappers of yore. Savor accordingly.
Patrick Masterson
Hedonist — Scapulimancy (Southern Lord)
I have my son to thank for this one. Scapulimancy, the first LP from British Columbian band Hedonist, came out back in August. I listened to it and thought I might listen more closely, but then 2025’s unending cataract of music did its thing, and Scapulimancy receded in a flood of hardcore records, death metal demos and raw punk tapes. Months later, when the kid and I checked in with each other about end-of-year favorites, he said, “And of course, that Hedonist record.” Something about that “of course” made me listen again, and my son is right. The record is a pitch perfect blend of OSDM and brutish crust, with just enough of a sheen of production on it to make it effectively brawny through headphones. I especially like “Parasitic Realm” and “Profanation,” when the band’s pace and intensity verge into crasher crust, but the whole record is great. Fans of Vancouver’s excellent d-beat outfit Bootlicker should take note: git player and tatted rowdy Athena provides bass and viscera-vibrating vocals here. Still: Hedonist? Is the idea of prioritizing pleasure above all else really what’s needed right now? Maybe, if you can locate pleasure in music this nasty and full of sonic violence. I sure have.
Jonathan Shaw
Jamie Lidell and Luke Schneider — A Companion tor the Spaces Between Dreams (Northern Spy)
Jamie Lidell and Luke Schneider don't feel like natural collaborators. Lidell made his name primarily through his electronic music. Schneider has played pedal steel for an array of country musicians. Both artists, though, share an affinity for sliding across genres (Lidell's soul and Schneider's ambient music, for example) and for smart experimentation. They come together on A Companion tor the Spaces Between Dreams for a six-song set designed as an aid for Ketamine-Assisted Psychotherapy, or more general reflection.
Used for therapeutic purposes or not, the record's ideal for careful listening. Lidell's synths and Schneider's pedal steel create a fluid and immersive atmosphere. Tracks suggest a deep peacefulness across their scope while offering surprises in individual moments, the details creating a new world to get lost in. The album opens with “New Land,” a psychedelic cut full of crystal points, a pinging entry into the thickness of the sound. The duo shift throughout this space, alternating the focus between the synths and the guitar until closer “Left to Heaven.” The record closes with this lengthy meditative stretch, Schneider perfectly synced to Lidell's electronic orchestrations, creating a sense of enlightenment no matter how the album is used.
Justin Cober-Lake
Paal Nilssen-Love — 5th of March 2021 (PNL) Paal Nilssen-Love — 15th of December 2024 (PNL)
This is getting to be a bad habit. Last year I confessed to sleeping on a boxed set of long form explorations of resonance released by a Norwegian label. This year, my behind-the-beat review addresses a pair of concert-length investigations of resonant metal and room sound, both by Norwegian drummer Paal Nilssen-Love. The first is a COVID-era, audience-free performance at Galleri Vanntårnet, an art space in an old water tower located near Nilssen-Love’s home outside of Oslo. The second took place nearly four years later in the Gustav Vigeland museum, a structure with a legendarily long echo. The first spends a lot of time on swelling sounds; the second is more episodic, capturing both the musician’s playing and his perambulations between different gongs. Both are recordings that reward patient immersion abetted by decent speakers. So, what’s my excuse for delay this year? Every time I played each disc, I got lost in the sound and forgot that I was supposed to be figuring out what to write.
Bill Meyer
SML — How You Been (International Anthem)
Not only did I sleep on How You Been, the sophomore album from Los Angeles quintet SML, but I slept on most of International Anthem’s output from 2025. It’s sad, because there are numerous highlights in the roster, many of which I’m just discovering now. This particular release grabbed me immediately, with its noise bursts, electronic wizardry, passages of funky jazz, and its kaleidoscopic arrangements. The band (Anna Butterss, Jeremiah Chiu, Josh Johnson, Booker Stardrum, and Gregory Uhlmann) conjure a unique essence that blends their live sound with studio production; they pull sections of actual gig recordings together and use the alchemy of post-production to build clever worlds of shifting vibe and focus. It’s an arresting experience from start to finish, equally uncanny and groovy, and full of exploratory energy. Its echoes of Chicago’s genre fluid avant-garde fit it into the International Anthem oeuvre, but How You Been is a unique beast to behold. Fans of the weird and wonderful, take note.
Bryon Hayes
Winter — Adult Romantix (Winspear)
It feels like the last couple of years, especially as people become more aware of the practical issues with streaming (to say nothing of the many, many other issues, especially if one actually wants people to be able to make music for a living), I’ve been seeing more and more people ask how others are discovering new music. And I always feel like I don’t have much to say about it, because I’ve never adopted streaming not initially for any principled reason so much as… I didn’t need to. Now that promos are digital and Bandcamp exists, between those, the good folks here at Dusted, other friends, and keeping the occasional eye on music sites I’ve never felt like I’m missing much. So I’m a bit… miffed to only even hear that the maker of one of my favourite records of 2022 put out another LP last summer and I didn’t even hear about it until I was so sunk into working on my year-end piece that I didn’t find a chance to play it until 2026 rolled around. And even after just one listen Adult Romantix is great: longer, more diverse, and less densely punchy than What Kind of Blue Are You? but absolutely sharing many of its virtues. If I had been listening to it since August, I think it’s entirely likely it would have made my 2025 list. Now, what I could have possibly removed to make room for it, don’t ask me that…
Ian Mathers
Listening Pest
Armand Hammer — Mercy (Backwoodz Studios)
The first track of a recent JPEGMafia EP is pretty much just Peggy hating everything Flume lays down for a beat. It’s rare to hear that interaction actually on record, but you have to imagine it happens a lot more often than we hear (or hear about). Too bad, then, that results suggest no one is giving Alan Daniel Maman that kind of feedback. The producer better known as The Alchemist has been pumping out beats for a plethora of rappers in recent years — he shared top billing on four albums in 2025 alone — but the more you listen to his work, the more you realize he’s long since found his profit-making cratedigger pocket and isn’t budging an inch. I was never going to give Freddie Gibbs’ Alfredo 2 or Hit-Boy’s Goldfish much credence to begin with, but Armand Hammer are possibly the best working duo in bars-oriented hip-hop right now, and they’re certainly the most visible; that billy woods and Elucid sacrificed a slew of rhymes to an Alc on autopilot suggests both sides need some kind of slap in the face to shake them out of the stupor. Flatly, this is a boring record, which is a tremendous feat given the men behind the mics (not to mention the emcees’ respective solo records over the last year and change with other producers). At one point on “Track 1,” JPEG jokingly tells Flume, “I’m gonna have to call Fred again..., bruh.” I’m not necessarily saying it’s a good idea Armand Hammer dial those same digits, but I am saying it’d be in their best interest to find another number and let the phone ring next time Alc says he’s turned lead to gold.
Patrick Masterson
Big Thief — “Grandmother [feat Laraaji]” (4AD)
Big Thief’s songs are musical equivalents of the sweet nothings we whisper to ourselves in our least capable moments. “Grandmother [feat Laraaji]” has the band’s requisite gossamer textures but is somehow less subtle. It states its superficialities baldly: “It’s all right / Everything that happened / Happened.” Trenchant. Still, we might ask, what happened? The song seems to report on some catastrophe, a destruction of our contemporary cultural infrastructure (“…soon there’ll be no bar / No car / No stadium”). Fearsome negations for a massively successful musical act — where will they play? where will the Spotify streams go? — all delivered over shambolic rhythms and gentle, melodic strumming. They seem intent on rocking us to sleep, but Big Thief has plans for the loss and bummer sentiments: “Gonna turn it all / Into rock and roll.” That may put you in mind of another set of losses and another invocation of rock’s capacity to make things “all right.” In 1970, Lou Reed imagined Jenny “shaking to that fine, fine music” in spite of all the cynical “computations” of GE and McDonnell Douglas and all the horrific “amputations” of the Vietnam War. There was rock and roll on the radio, and “it was all right.” But there are crucial differences between the songs. Lou and the VU sing in past tense, in which Jenny had her epiphany when “she was just five years old” and was too young to know any better; more important, “Rock & Roll” works from the scene of her dancing by the radio out to the social world, where the computations and amputations go on, relentlessly. Big Thief’s song moves in the opposite direction. In its second half, the lyric speaker is heading back home and in that solitary situation sees “sun through the clouds” and “love through the pain.” Must be nice, to move in such insular comfort, toward greater comfort still. Again, the band informs us of their intent to “turn it all / Into rock and roll.” I might take that more seriously if there were any sign of rock and roll within earshot, especially if that music didn’t seek to assure us of the quietist pleasures of retreat.
Jonathan Shaw
KP Skywalka — I Tried to Tell You (Beat the Odds LLC / NEWWRLD)
There is no single reason why it wasn’t lost in the shuffle. A couple of years ago KP Skywalka made forgettable regional rap music, and nobody gave a damn. But in 2025 he accidentally has become a ‘rising star’ for the white audience. His music, it’s possible, got more lyrical and poppish, yet it remained the same regional rap like the one hundred other artists make. It’s neither too violent to alienate the middle class listeners, not too lyrical to completely cut ties with the streets. Somehow KP Skywalka was proclaimed a true original but he steals beats from Kookei (for example) and southern flow from dozens of rappers. “Pockets Flat” and a couple of other songs on I Tried to Tell You are amusing but it’s a real headscratcher why anybody would drool over it.
Ray Garraty
Goose — Chain Yer Dragon (No Coincidence)
I mentioned in my year-end review that I had a project for 2025 where I listened to a new album every day. Almost every single one of those listens were of the entire record (it felt a little unfair otherwise), but just as I gave myself a birthday dispensation to listen to whatever I wanted to that day and allowed the occasional reissue of a beloved favourite (as long as it had some new songs!), one day I played something I reacted so viscerally to that I both had to shut it off literally sixty-six seconds into the first song and post about it. The second we started talking about Listening Pest I knew that I had to pick Goose’s Chain Yer Dragon and equally dreaded having to listen to more of it. I don’t actually like being mean on the internet and I normally try to have some nuance about these things, but the beginning of (ugh) “Hot Love & The Lazy Poet” gave me a full-body, severe, seizure-like “oh my god everything about this fucking sucks” reaction. And while I couldn’t bring myself to listen to any other songs that day, I did read all the lyrics on the Bandcamp page and they all gave me the same sort of horripilated reaction. These guys are beloved by a lot of jam band fans, based on the size of venues they’re playing, and I’m sure (or I hope) they’re nice people. Not everything needs to be for me. But god, I could write about a book about why I think the lyrics are bad (I won’t do that here, you’re welcome) and finding out upon further listening that yes, it’s all married to the most anodyne, smoothed out, glossy, “tasty,” “soulful,” “rock” music activates my nervous system in a profoundly unpleasant way. Even though I know it must be possible, I cannot imagine sharing any common ground with a person who hears this record and loves it. And the fucking thing is 87 minutes long!
Ian Mathers