
12 Years a Slave
The first Best Picture from a Black director, and the least evasive film ever made about American slavery: McQueen holds shots long past comfort and refuses to look away.

The first Best Picture from a Black director, and the least evasive film ever made about American slavery: McQueen holds shots long past comfort and refuses to look away.

The third film is the one that hurts: Linklater and his two actors let nine more years pass, then take it somewhere the first two politely refused to go.

Rodgers' guitar, Pharrell's vocal, Nathan East on bass, and disco walked back onto the radio wearing robot helmets.

The Coens made the saddest film about failure that anyone has managed to make funny: a folk singer plays beautifully, sleeps on couches, and gets absolutely nowhere at all.

A stomping riff, a desert studio in Joshua Tree, and the band's first single to reach the Billboard Hot 100.

Three hours of pure excess that never once slow down: Scorsese was seventy-one years old, and it moves faster than films made by directors a third his age.

Sixteen years old, the lyrics done in half an hour, the title from a 1976 photo of George Brett.

Nothing else has made space feel this physically dangerous: Cuaron opens on a shot running almost thirteen minutes, and ninety minutes later you notice you stopped breathing.

Detail's beat was called "Drunk" before Beyoncé heard it; she and Jay-Z freestyled their verses in Manhattan.

The closest anyone has come to remaking La Dolce Vita and surviving it: an aging Roman journalist drifts through parties and ruins, and the city has never looked better.

Drake wanted a record that weddings would still play in ten years, and Majid Jordan's synths delivered exactly that.

Miyazaki announced his retirement with it, a retirement he later took back: a young man designs beautiful aircraft that become weapons, and nothing about that is resolved.

They put the drum machines away and hired session players who had made the records they grew up on. Giorgio Moroder narrates his own life.

Written first for CeeLo Green, whose label passed, cut in Miami, and given pop's first 24-hour video.

Piketty mined two centuries of tax records for the engine of inequality: capital grows faster than the economy, so fortunes pull away from wages. It made inequality the West's central political question.
Nina Simone's 1965 Strange Fruit against TNGHT's blaring horns, a breakup rendered enormous; platinum without ever being a single.

Barkhad Abdi had never acted and was cast out of a Minneapolis open call: he holds the screen against Tom Hanks through the last hour on a lifeboat off Somalia, and never blinks.

A wordless hum to open, then distortion flooding the chorus; lead single from the Mercury-winning Overgrown.
I did it for me. I liked it. I was good at it. And... I was... Really-I was alive.

Musgraves wrote it with Brandy Clark and Shane McAnally, a shrug at conformity the CMAs voted Song of the Year.

A Ponderosa Twins Plus One loop, Charlie Wilson singing the bridge, and Yeezus ending on chipmunk soul.

Six-times platinum for a soundtrack ballad: Rick Nowels producing, Craig Armstrong's strings, Del Rey singing Daisy Buchanan's doubt.

Payne wanted monochrome and the studio fought him over it: an old man believes a sweepstakes letter and sets off walking toward Nebraska, and his son drives him rather than argue.

Einziger's acoustic guitar over a house drop confused the crowd at Ultra in 2013, then it became Shazam's most-searched track.

One volume carries the whole human record from the first stone tools to the present, with the causes always in view: why civilizations rose where they did, and why each gave way.

A vocoder over a Strokes drawl: Casablancas welded two Daft Punk demos together and sang about a chance he missed.

Koenig named it for a Columbia classmate from his Buddhism class, and the final minute cracks wide open.

Four amateurs shaped the modern Middle East, Anderson argues, and the strangest was Lawrence, an Oxford archaeologist who led an Arab revolt knowing his government had already promised the land away.

Mike Zombie's beat samples a Bruno Sanfilippo ambient piano piece; the title came out of a Future studio session.

Packer follows a Youngstown factory worker, a North Carolina biodiesel man and a Washington lobbyist from 1978 to 2012, and shows the institutions that once held Americans in place giving way to money.

Kitchen by kitchen, Alexievich recorded Soviet citizens describing what the collapse did to them. They talk about lost savings and lost faith, and a bewildering grief for the country that jailed their parents.

Ludwig Goransson's synths under a hook everyone reads as romance; Glover insists it is really about fearing solitude.

Heaney's late poems turn from politics toward light and air. He writes his parents' deaths and his own stroke, and in "Postscript" an Atlantic wind off the Flaggy Shore blows the heart open.

Two sets of brothers make up the band around the singer, and his brother filmed a documentary about following them on tour.

Cate Blanchett plays a Manhattan wife whose husband's fraud has taken everything, arriving in San Francisco with nothing but luggage and manner: Allen's harshest film, and she is unsparing in it.

Cut with Joel Little in a small Auckland studio, the beat built before a word, that "Yeah" doing everything.

Three sisters, one kiss-off, and Ariel Rechtshaid's production splitting the difference between Laurel Canyon soft rock and nineties R&B.

Ghost Town DJ's 'My Boo' flipped by Mike Will Made It, Future co-writing, and Ciara singing barely above a whisper.

Timberlake wrote it for Jessica Biel, and Timbaland's eight-minute build spends its whole second half unwilling to end.

Seven and a half minutes, James Murphy at the desk, Haitian percussion, and Bowie volunteering his voice.

The defining novel of African immigration to America. Ifemelu leaves Lagos for university, discovers there that she is black, and turns the discovery into a blog that flays the country's racial pieties.

A piano ballad written for Teigen that gave Legend his first Hot 100 number one after nearly a decade.

Guitar that unspools for nine and a half minutes, Stella Mozgawa on drums, Vile in no rush anywhere.

Lorde was sixteen, recording after school in an Auckland studio, and the tracks are built from almost nothing but voice, bass and finger snaps.

Breakbot got a songwriting credit after the fact, and Mars turned late-seventies disco into a top-five American hit.

Snake and Tchami built the drop, Lil Jon shouted the title, and Daniels made a video of pure slapstick.

Ron Howard made the best racing film by making it about two men who need each other: James Hunt and Niki Lauda in 1976, and the engines were recorded from the actual cars.

Danielle, Este and Alana wrote it with Morgan Nagler as a stay-strong pep talk, and it moves like one.

David O. Russell rebuilt the real Abscam sting as a comedy of terrible hair: two con artists are pressed into working for the FBI, and everyone in it is lying about something.

Monae and Miguel trade verses over a slow guitar figure, an android love story dressed as a fifties slow jam.

They shot it in twenty-five days for five million dollars and won two acting Oscars: a Texas electrician starts importing unapproved drugs for himself and ends up supplying half the city.

Dylan left the chorus unfinished in 1973, Secor added verses as a schoolboy, and Rucker made it a country number one.

They recorded part of it in Jamaica with James Murphy of LCD Soundsystem producing, and David Bowie sings on the title track.

Written for Rihanna, passed to Mike Will Made It, and the la-di-da-di hook earned Slick Rick a songwriting credit.

A Duralcha loop, Hudson Mohawke and Kanye West on the boards, and Pusha weighing his dealing past against rap money.

Director X shot the video in Memphis with Drake's father, over a DJ Dahi beat that snarls.

Perry left therapy sick of staying quiet, and Bonnie McKee turned that into pop's loudest dust-yourself-off chorus.

The backing vocals everyone can sing were recorded by people nobody could name: Darlene Love, Merry Clayton and Lisa Fischer finally get the camera, and the singing is extraordinary.

Timbaland and The-Dream produced it, Timberlake sings the hook, and Courtney Love cleared the Nirvana interpolation underneath.

Nikki Williams co-wrote it for herself and lost it; Pia Toscano's backing vocals still sit under Lovato's.
No matter how honestly you open up to someone, there are still some things you can’t reveal.
If I could change one thing about you, it would be for you to stop trying to change me.
But if you want true love, then this is it. This is real life. It's not perfect but it's real.

Ninety minutes in the studio, twelve weeks at number one, and a copyright verdict for Marvin Gaye's estate.

Snippets leaked online, so Gaga rushed it to radio a week early, cheering the crowd that cheers her.

Mercer tried a falsetto in the booth, doubled the take, and Broken Bells arrived sounding like the Bee Gees.

González singing about taking responsibility over Winterkorn's organ, the track AMC used to send Breaking Bad off.

Rostam Batmanglij pitched the vocals up and down until they sound like other people, which is why the record keeps slipping out of focus.

Nic Nac's beat borrows from "Money Ain't a Thang," and three regional versions carried it thirty-six weeks on the chart.

Two Oslo singers formerly billed as Envy, a video shot at Victoria Falls, and a Hot 100 number four.

Dub reggae bass and Indian strings under a nod to Shampoo's 1994 hit "Trouble", produced by The Partysquad.

Bubba Strait pitched it off a rodeo friend's CD; his father left it on the coffee table, then cut it.

Needlz produced it around The Joy Formidable's Whirring, and the punchline turns a reckless slogan into pure paranoia.

Mike Will's synths under a Juicy J hook about Air Jordans, with Cyrus rapping on record for the first time.

Brett James co-wrote it with Gilbert and Weaver, his first million-selling single and a Hot Country Songs number one.

Recorded at Brooklyn's Rumpus Room with Nick Stumpf producing, and Julia Stiles stars in the video.