Tunes Du Jour Presents 2012

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The pop music of 2012 was built around memorable hooks, but it did not follow a single formula. Carly Rae Jepsen’s “Call Me Maybe” made romantic uncertainty sound bright, tidy, and instantly singable, while P!nk’s “Blow Me (One Last Kiss)” gave the breakup song a sharper pop-rock edge. Psy’s “Gangnam Style” became an international sensation through its comic video, choreography, and highly recognizable refrain, showing how quickly a song could travel through YouTube and social media. Adele’s “Skyfall,” meanwhile, looked backward to the grand tradition of Bond themes, using orchestration and vocal drama rather than a dance beat. Together, these songs suggest a mainstream that could accommodate both carefully polished pop and something genuinely unexpected.

Electronic music also occupied a more visible place in the year’s popular sound. M83’s “Midnight City” paired a driving beat with glowing synthesizers and a saxophone solo, giving indie electronic music a strong pop presence. Grimes’ “Oblivion” was stranger and more intimate, using bright, sometimes uneasy production beneath an unusually light vocal. Major Lazer’s “Get Free,” featuring Amber Coffman, leaned into spacious reggae and dancehall influences, while M.I.A.’s “Bad Girls” turned a spare, bass-heavy beat into a forceful statement. Elsewhere, Todd Terje’s “Inspector Norse” offered a playful disco workout. These tracks were distinct from one another, but they shared an interest in texture, rhythm, and production as central parts of the songwriting.

R&B in 2012 often found power in restraint. Frank Ocean’s “Thinkin Bout You” is direct and emotionally exposed, yet its arrangement leaves plenty of room around his voice. Usher’s “Climax” transforms a breakup into a slow, tense electronic pulse, while Miguel’s “Adorn” draws on classic soul without sounding like a period exercise. Solange’s “Losing You” is more buoyant, using crisp percussion and layered vocals to give its sadness some movement. The year’s R&B did not always aim for a huge chorus or a crowded arrangement; many of its strongest moments came from pauses and carefully controlled atmosphere.

Hip-hop presented several different ideas about what a rap hit could do. Jay-Z and Kanye West’s “Ni**as In Paris” was built for impact, relying on repetition, forceful delivery, and dramatic samples. Nicki Minaj’s “Beez In The Trap” emphasized attitude and rhythmic precision, while Azealia Banks’ “212” moved between rap, house, and club music with restless energy. Kendrick Lamar’s “Swimming Pools (Drank)” sounded catchy enough for a party but used its verses to examine peer pressure and drinking culture. The contrast is important: 2012 rap could be boastful, dance-oriented, experimental, or reflective, sometimes within the same track.

There was also plenty of room for detailed, traditional songwriting. Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” built its emotional force through specific memories rather than broad declarations. Fiona Apple’s “Every Single Night” turned anxious thought into something rhythmically unpredictable, and Lana Del Rey’s “Video Games” treated romance through a slow, cinematic lens. First Aid Kit’s “Emmylou,” Miranda Lambert’s “Over You,” Jessie Ware’s “Wildest Moments,” Jack White’s “Love Interruption,” Bat for Lashes’ “Laura,” Beach House’s “Myth,” and Japandroids’ “The House That Heaven Built” all drew on older forms—country, folk harmony, torch-song drama, blues, dream pop, and guitar rock—while keeping their own contemporary identities. Looking back, 2012 stands out less for one dominant style than for how comfortably these different approaches existed side by side.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents 2015

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“Uptown Funk” opened 2015 by daring the rest of pop music to be as fun, and not much else quite matched it on that front — Mark Ronson and Bruno Mars had assembled something so precisely calibrated to delight that it almost didn’t seem fair. From there the year spread out in several directions at once. Drake’s “Hotline Bling” turned a mid-tempo, vaguely melancholic R&B track into a cultural event largely on the strength of its own awkwardness. The Weeknd crossed into genuine ubiquity with “Can’t Feel My Face” — a song that managed to be both a mainstream smash and, lyrically, a fairly dark piece of work. And then there was Adele, who released “Hello” in October and promptly reminded everyone that a big voice and a big melody, executed without a trace of irony, can still stop a room. The song broke streaming records almost immediately and felt, in its very straightforwardness, like a rebuke to the year’s more studied cool.

If one artist owned 2015 critically, it was Kendrick Lamar. To Pimp a Butterfly arrived in March and immediately reoriented conversations about what rap could do structurally and politically. “King Kunta” was the album’s most visceral punch — confrontational, funky, and specific in its references in ways that rewarded close listening. Elsewhere in hip-hop, Fetty Wap’s “Trap Queen” was one of the year’s most improbable success stories: a track rooted in trap music’s skeletal, skittering beats but softened by Fetty’s melodic looseness and a surprisingly affectionate lyrical premise. It peaked at number two on the Hot 100 and spent most of the year on the chart. Rihanna’s “Bitch Better Have My Money” drew from the same trap well but to a very different emotional effect — harder, more confrontational, and delivered with a precision that made the demand feel non-negotiable. Nicki Minaj, meanwhile, was doing something technically sharp on “Truffle Butter”: she announces early in her verse that she has a dozen flows, and then proceeds to demonstrate it, cycling through registers and tempos within a few bars in a way that most listeners registered as energy without necessarily clocking how much control it required.

Some of the year’s most durable music came from artists working at a slight remove from the mainstream. Carly Rae Jepsen’s Emotion became a critical darling almost in slow motion — “Run Away With Me” is the kind of opening track that makes you understand why people proselytize about a record. Tame Impala released Currents, and “Let It Happen” announced a shift toward synthesizers and a more expansive, unhurried sound that influenced a lot of what followed. Courtney Barnett’s “Pedestrian At Best” was wired and funny, running on nervous energy throughout. Grimes put out “Realiti” as a demo and it felt more fully realized than most finished records.

The year also had room for artists doing something closer to American roots music, though rarely in straightforward ways. Leon Bridges arrived with “Coming Home,” drawing on early soul so precisely that it occasionally felt like an exercise, but an extremely well-executed one. Alabama Shakes’ “Don’t Wanna Fight” was rawer and harder to categorize — Brittany Howard never let genre expectations dictate what she does, and her voice on that track does things that make those expectations feel beside the point. Father John Misty’s “Chateau Lobby #4” was a love song about his wife, filtered through deliberately bizarre imagery — satanic Christmas Eve, a wedding dress someone was probably murdered in — that somehow landed as genuinely romantic. Sufjan Stevens released Carrie & Lowell, and “Should Have Known Better” is among the most quietly devastating songs of the decade — it moves from grief into something that feels, carefully and without overselling it, like hope.

What holds this particular year together isn’t a unified sound but a productive restlessness. Run The Jewels brought Zack De La Rocha in for “Close Your Eyes (And Count to Fuck)” and made something that sounded urgently necessary. Skepta’s “Shutdown” was a reminder that grime had been building momentum for years and was finally getting its due internationally. Missy Elliott, back after a long absence, sounded exactly like herself on “WTF (Where They From)” — which is to say, like nobody else. Thundercat’s “Them Changes” and Julia Holter’s “Feel You” pointed toward where adventurous R&B and jazz-adjacent pop would head over the next several years. EL VY — the side project of National frontman Matt Berninger — closed things out with a song whose title alone (“Return to the Moon (Political Song for Didi Bloome to Sing, with Crescendo)”) tells you something about the year’s appetite for work that didn’t feel the need to make things simple.

Dig into thirty of the best offerings from 2015.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents 2009

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Looking at a list of songs from 2009 feels a bit like opening a time capsule. It’s a year that feels both incredibly recent and like a completely different era. The internet had firmly established itself as the primary engine of music discovery, yet the monoculture of massive, universally-known hits was still holding on. It was a year of distinct, confident sounds, where different genres weren’t just blending together, but thriving in their own parallel lanes. From stadium-sized anthems to bedroom-born electronic experiments, the music of 2009 was defined by a remarkable breadth of creativity.

One of the most prominent stories of the year was the flourishing of indie rock. This wasn’t the scrappy, underground sound of years past; this was indie at its most ambitious and critically adored. You had the intricate, harmony-drenched compositions of Grizzly Bear on “Two Weeks” and the hypnotic, looping bliss of Animal Collective’s “My Girls.” These were songs that rewarded close listening. Elsewhere, artists like Bat For Lashes (“Daniel”) and Dirty Projectors (“Stillness Is The Move”) were crafting their own unique sonic worlds, while bands like the Yeah Yeah Yeahs (“Zero”) and Japandroids (“Young Hearts Spark Fire”) delivered pure, cathartic energy. It was a moment where “alternative” music felt like it was setting the cultural agenda.

Meanwhile, the top of the charts was being shaped by bold new directions in pop and hip-hop. Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” wasn’t just a song; it was a high-concept art project, signaling a new level of theatricality in pop music. This stood alongside the effortless, feel-good charm of Miley Cyrus’s “Party in the U.S.A.” and Kelly Clarkson’s powerhouse hit-making on “My Life Would Suck Without You.” In hip-hop, the genre’s emotional palette was expanding dramatically. You had Jay-Z and Alicia Keys delivering a timeless, triumphant anthem with “Empire State Of Mind,” while at the same time, Kanye West’s auto-tuned melancholy on “Heartless” and Kid Cudi’s spacey introspection on “Day ‘N’ Nite” were paving the way for a more vulnerable sound. The arrival of Drake with “Best I Ever Had” confirmed this shift toward melody and emotional openness was here to stay.

This wasn’t to say that straightforward rock and roll had been left behind. On the contrary, it was a year of massive, unifying rock anthems. Kings Of Leon reached their popular peak with “Use Somebody,” a song that seemed to be playing in every stadium and on every radio station in the world. The UK, meanwhile, was providing its own distinct contributions, from the grand, theatrical rebellion of Muse’s “Uprising” and the clever songwriting of Arctic Monkeys on “Cornerstone” to the dance-floor-ready energy of Franz Ferdinand’s “Ulysses.”

Looking back at this collection of songs, what’s most striking is the confidence of it all. It was a year where artists were creating fully realized worlds for listeners to step into. Whether it was the raw nerve of The Ting Tings, the grime-infused electro of Dizzee Rascal’s “Bonkers,” or the classic synth-pop of Pet Shop Boys, each track feels like a distinct statement. It was a time when you could have a playlist that jumped from an introspective indie ballad to a global pop phenomenon, and the whole thing made perfect sense. It was the sound of several different musical futures all happening at once.

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Tunes Du Jour Celebrates Have A Bad Day Day

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Today is Have A Bad Day Day. Per holidayinsights.com, as a greeting today, you are encouraged people to wish people a lousy or terrible day.

I think wishing a terrible day to someone to their face might put you in danger. Instead, I choose to celebrate with song. If someone were to hear one of the songs on my Have A Bad Day Day playlist, they’d know that somebody out there wants their day to suck.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents The Bob Dylan Songbook

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One way to measure a songwriter’s reach is not by how often their work is covered, but how widely. The playlist below spans decades, genres, and sensibilities—from Adele to The Dead Weather, from Johnny Cash to the Neville Brothers—and all roads lead back to Bob Dylan. This is not just a reflection of his prominence; it’s a testament to the adaptability of his writing. Dylan’s lyrics aren’t locked into one style or moment—they hold up when filtered through gospel, punk, glam, folk, or soul. His songs invite reimagining because they’re grounded in strong narrative bones and emotional honesty, not ornamental frills.

Consider the different shades of “All Along the Watchtower.” Dylan’s original version is stark and cryptic; Hendrix turned it into an electrified storm. Likewise, “I Shall Be Released,” rendered with hushed reverence by The Band, has the structure of a gospel hymn but the ambiguity of a fable. “Make You Feel My Love,” one of Dylan’s later compositions, found new life in Adele’s version—proof that his songwriting didn’t peak in the ’60s, but simply evolved. His voice as a writer has always been the constant: a blend of plainspoken wisdom, sly humor, and a deep sense of historical and emotional context.

It’s notable, too, how Dylan’s songs seem to absorb the character of the performer. When Elvis Presley sings “Tomorrow Is a Long Time,” it feels like a Southern ballad. When PJ Harvey takes on “Highway 61 Revisited,” it becomes something raw and jagged. Nina Simone’s version of “Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues” brings out a haunted intensity not present in Dylan’s own delivery. That elasticity points to a rare kind of craftsmanship—songs written with enough specificity to be meaningful, but enough openness to be inhabited.

Even in unexpected settings, Dylan’s words linger. Tom Petty co-wrote the lyrics to “Jammin’ Me” with him, a pointed pop-rock critique of media saturation. Patti Smith’s “Changing of the Guards” channels the mystical imagery and layered storytelling that Dylan deployed throughout the ’70s. And when The Specials tear into “Maggie’s Farm,” it becomes a statement of punk-era defiance. These aren’t nostalgia pieces—they’re songs that meet each era on its own terms.

Dylan’s catalog isn’t just influential; it’s usable. His songs function as cultural currency, endlessly exchangeable yet retaining value. Whether you hear him through Joan Osborne’s gothic reading of “Man in the Long Black Coat” or the crystalline harmonies of Peter, Paul and Mary’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” what’s most striking is not just who sings Dylan—but what his songs reveal when they do.

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Tunes Du Jour Presents Adele

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Few artists in the 21st century have managed to make vulnerability feel as commanding as Adele does. Emerging from North London with her debut album 19 in 2008, she quickly distinguished herself with a voice that carried both technical precision and emotional depth. The songs weren’t flashy or heavily produced; instead, they leaned on classic soul and singer-songwriter traditions, framing heartbreak in ways that felt both timeless and personal.

What’s notable about Adele’s rise is how she has consistently succeeded on her own terms. At a time when pop music was increasingly leaning into EDM and maximalist production, she held firm with piano ballads and slow-burning anthems. Her second album, 21, became a global phenomenon not because it chased trends, but because it tapped into something universal—loss, regret, and the ache of moving on. “Someone Like You” and “Rolling in the Deep” didn’t just climb charts; they lingered, prompting singalongs in arenas and solo tears in bedrooms alike.

Over the course of her career, Adele has kept a relatively low profile between releases, letting the music—not a nonstop media presence—do the heavy lifting. Each album (25, and more recently, 30) has arrived as a kind of chapter marker, reflecting not just shifts in her personal life but broader changes in how we listen and connect with music. Her songwriting has grown more introspective with time, more willing to sit with ambiguity rather than resolve it neatly.

Despite the accolades and massive sales, Adele has remained surprisingly unvarnished in public. There’s a candor to her interviews and a grounded quality to her stage presence that seem to resonate just as strongly as her lyrics. In an industry often defined by reinvention, Adele’s appeal may lie in her consistency—both in her sound and in her refusal to be anything but herself.

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