New-To-Us Favorites

Because sometimes, your favorite musical discovery of the year didn’t come out this year. [View this email online]( [NPR Music]( by Marissa Lorusso One of my very favorite traditions in the NPR Music newsletter is this one: After spending most of December sharing lists, essays and interviews about the best music that came out in the last 12 months, we take a moment to share our favorite recent musical discoveries that aren’t, exactly, new. As our year-end list season is winding down, I ask members of the team to share an album they fell in love with that didn’t come out this year, or an artist whose catalog they finally dove into, or even a musical moment that stuck with them — anything that isn’t a new release, but was nonetheless central to their listening this year. Because while we’re all obsessed with discovering new voices and new sounds, we know that music history is filled with overlooked gems waiting to be uncovered. Here are our team’s gently used, new-to-us favorites for 2021. --------------------------------------------------------------- Newsletter continues after sponsor message --------------------------------------------------------------- New-To-Us Favorites Nikki Birch, Jazz Night in America: From its first throaty whispers, I knew I was in for something special when I first heard [Attalie’s “Homeless.”]( It’s featured on her sophomore EP, Sigh, which came out this year, but the song is technically from 2020, which qualifies it as a not-new favorite! The song has deep-cut quiet storm R&B vibes with swaying horn lines and seductive percussion that belie the seriousness of the lyrics — feelings of isolation and detachment from what used to be familiar, something to which many of us can relate two years into our strange new normal. Hazel Cills, weekend editor: I didn't come to Italian composer Caterina Barbieri's work until this year, after hearing her credited on Lyra Pramuk's 2021 remix album Delta. The gloomy analog synth works of her 2017 second full-length album, [Patterns of Consciousness]( really hooked me. There are hints of the meditative, slow-building sounds of forbears Laurie Spiegel and Suzanne Ciani, but a horror film-worthy sense of pacing and dread cloaks the whole project. It's a gorgeous, creepy little album. Felix Contreras, Alt.Latino: I found [Dr. John's Gris-Gris]( from 1968 while putting together a NOLA piano playlist on Spotify earlier this year. I had it on vinyl back in the ’70s, but I’d completely forgotten about it. Hearing it again 50 years later was like hearing it for the first time: My mind was blown by his musical vision. I scolded myself for the record not having been part of my sensibilities for so long, because it's so organic and scary and inviting and so ahead of its time. Now I listen at least once a month, just to reset my artistic bar. Lars Gotrich, producer: You call yourself a ’90s emo kid, and then you hear [Elliott]( for the first time. Blame it on punk tunnel vision, but Elliott came into my life just as car windows rolled down to let the summer in. False Cathedrals seems to be the critical darling and Song in the Air the “mature” swan song, but 1998’s U.S. Songs was the Louisville band’s scrappy, chugging debut — its reckless abandon matched only by its passionate urgency. On errands and road trips, I’d reach the end of the CD and start right back at the top, screaming, “Feels like a miracle!” Tom Huizenga, NPR Classical: This was the year I got turned on to jazz singer Johnny Hartman’s album Once in Every Life, a late-career gem recorded in 1980, just two years before his untimely death at age 60. Hartman’s richly upholstered baritone swings like mad in up-tempo numbers such as “By Myself,” and drops into basso profondo territory on a seriously chill rendition of Antonio Carlos Jobim’s “Wave.” Turns out the album is hard to find, not [available to stream]( but I received it as a birthday gift (an analog remastered 180-gram vinyl pressing!) from a friend with whom I’ve shared a love of jazz for more than 40 years. That makes it extra special. Suraya Mohamed, senior manager: I’m not a big pop music lover, and so my discovery was not something I missed, but rather a phenomenon I chose to ignore. Never mind the millions, maybe billions of fans who love these guys. Never mind the group’s record-setting [Tiny Desk concert]( premiere: 1 million YouTube views in just 33 minutes. Never mind the 95-slide PowerPoint presentation my daughter created to prep for our cross-country flight to LA for two concerts at SoFi Stadium. Now, I am ARMY, a proud member of the BTS fandom. Each night, the seven-member Korean boy band danced and sang for two and a half hours with perfect ease, their showmanship and artistic expertise enhanced by real compassion as they cried with gratitude for the chance to perform for all of their fans. It was truly one of the best shows I’ve ever seen. I’m grateful for the lifetime opportunity, and now I’ll be a BTS fan forever. Fi O’Reilly, editorial intern: Two years into a frankly horrendous time, it seems silly to pretend I'm anything other than soft-hearted and completely off my rocker. Thankfully, 2021 has brought with it the discovery of my long-dead twin flame, Tim Buckley. From the tender longing of "[Love from Room 109 at the Islander (On Pacific Coast Highway)]( to the frenzied eroticism of "[Honey Man]( to whatever he’s got going on in "[Venice Mating Call]( I can't help but feel seen in the way Buckley obsesses over the minutiae of desire with all the attentiveness of a learned scholar. Occasionally obnoxious but always sincere, he captures all the joy, vexation and occasional lunacy of trying to pin down that ephemeral thing called love. Daoud Tyler-Ameen, editor: With a Matrix sequel upon us, I’ve been thinking about an inspired piece of sound editing in the 1999 original — a moment I clocked only recently, that helps explain why that first meeting of Neo and Trinity feels so intoxicating. [You know the scene]( Neo is pressured to come out clubbing, and his furtive “Yeah, sure, I’ll go” tees up the smash cut like a drummer’s count-in. Trinity accosts him by the dance floor, while Rob Zombie’s remixed “Dragula” blares. But as they talk, the music changes, so subtly that you need to hug the speaker to catch it. The new song is The Prodigy’s “Mindfields,” which grows insistently louder — until, suddenly, it’s morning, and a screaming alarm clock has usurped the kick drum. In other words, the film executes a flawless DJ crossfade, both thematically and within the world of the story. Do they make ’em like this anymore? Guess we’ll find out. --------------------------------------------------------------- Stream your local NPR station. Visit NPR.org to find your local station stream. [Find a Station]( --------------------------------------------------------------- [Facebook]( [Twitter]( [Instagram]( What do you think of today's email? We'd love to hear your thoughts, questions and feedback: [nprmusic@npr.org](mailto:nprmusic@npr.org?subject=Newsletter%20Feedback) Enjoying this newsletter? Forward to a friend! They can [sign up here](. Looking for more great content? [Check out all of our newsletter offerings]( — including Books, Pop Culture, Health and more! Need a new playlist? Follow NPR Music on [Spotify]( and [Apple Music]( You received this message because you're subscribed to NPR Music emails. 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