23. Beyoncé, "***Flawless."
It all comes down to those three stars. They're the paradox at the heart of one of the most confessional, most combative singles in a career that hardly wants for them. Technically speaking, those stars represent the losing score that Girl's Tyme received on Star Search. But lest you think they portend a humble Bey, just consider where those three stars put the song alphabetically. And then bow down, bitches, as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie breaks down centuries of ingrained gynophobia. Beyoncé trades every shade of fair-market fierce available, and she won't stop until every little girl's got a shirt proclaiming, "I woke up like this." But what do those three stars really stand for in her world? Me, Myself and I. Henderson
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20. Röyksopp and Robyn, "Monument."
For its release as a single, Röyksopp and Robyn's "Monument" was edited down to a more economical six-and-a-half minutes (featured below), and an even tidier five for the remix subsequently included on Röyksopp's own The Inevitable End. But the original version, in all its near-10-minute glory, stands as a monumental beacon to R&R's formal and esthetic synergy. Svein Berge and Torbjørn Brundtland don't push Robyn so much as elevate her, fitting for a synth-prog song that quite simply towers. The track pulsates, grooves, and swells as the singer methodically lays bare her existential crisis like a dying queen preparing her own sarcophagus, Jamie Irrepressible's mournful backing vocals and Norwegian jazz musician Kjetil Møster's wailing sax at once grieving and celebrating her. Sal Cinquemani
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14. Sia, "Chandelier."
As a songwriter, Sia has scored copious hits by channeling the voices of pop stars as varied as Rihanna and Celine Dion. On "Chandelier," her heart- and lung-rending delivery of a song about addiction feels entirely her own, the kind of full-throttle catharsis that you can't fake no matter how big the paycheck. From the reggae-inflected verse asserting that "party girls don't get hurt" to the sky-high chorus declaring the singer's intent to swing from ceiling fixtures while drinking her face off, "Chandelier" captures how denial can morph into jarring revelations about the extent of one's self-destruction. The song, however, keeps that reckoning in abeyance, riding its thudding beat and reveling in those final moments of exhilaration before the hangover inevitably hits. Annie Galvin
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10. St. Vincent, "Digital Witness." There's something about "Digital Witness" that hearkens back to a song by one of Annie Clark's most obvious influences: David Bowie's "TVC15." Both songs use herky-jerky vocal hooks to deliver sly existential horror about the prevalence of technology in the modern age, and almost 40 years after Bowie sang about a television swallowing Iggy Pop's girlfriend, Clark sounds even more distressed: "Digital witnesses, what's the point of even sleeping?/If I can't show it, if you can't see me/What's the point of doing anything?" But the funky, chopped-up horn bleats that form the backbone of "Digital Witness" manage to place the tune squarely in the 21st century. Winograd
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7. Sam Smith, "Stay with Me."
From its plaintive piano chords to Sam Smith's wavering inflections, "Stay with Me" bleeds vulnerability while proudly affirming the all-too-human need for intimacy, no matter how fleeting the attraction may be. The song builds on an initially spare arrangement of piano, drums, and voice, adding a full choir and Smith's spiraling grace notes with each chorus. A gospel tune sung by a jazz singer, "Stay with Me" dwells beautifully in its throwback simplicity, refusing to indulge the current appetite for synthesized distractions and showy production. Its massive commercial success attests to the fact that classic American genres can live alongside more contemporary ones, especially in the hands of an artist with Smith's technical mastery. Galvin
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6. FKA twigs, "Two Weeks."
The best sex songs are often not about sex at all, but dreaming about it. What with its nearly indecipherable pitched-down vocals and singer FKA twigs's breathy, staccato delivery, it's easy to dismiss "Two Weeks" as just another tribute to ****ing. At the song's climax, twigs (a.k.a. English singer-songwriter Tahliah Barnett) eagerly pants the best pop lyric of the year: "Hi, mother****er, get your mouth open, you know you're mine." But upon further inspection, "Two Weeks" reveals itself to be a wanton fantasy, and one inspired and perpetuated by a little green: "Smoke on your skin to get those pretty eyes rollin'/My thighs are apart for when you're ready to breathe in." Love is the drug and it's ***** she's dealing. Cinquemani
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5. Hozier, "Take Me to Church."
Irish singer-songwriter Hozier's blindsiding hit "Take Me to Church" is a paean to sensuality, starting out with piano and vocals in all the hushed intimacy of a church whisper and ending with tactile pagan swagger. In the best vein of both Delta blues and Irish literature, ecstatic carnal love and religious feeling are deeply entwined. Orgasm, that "deathless death," is substituted for any other redemption that religion might offer, and Hozier begs for it in a supple and worn voice. There are no clear winners in the song, other than the listener: The singer presses back against the oppression of "absolutes," but it could just be the weight of hedonism that he's feeling, a mistress crueler than any femme fatal. Caldwell
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4. Vic Mensa, "Down on My Luck." A song as seamlessly crafted as "Down on My Luck" risks being overshadowed by its grace notes (or, in this particular case, its clever concept clip). What on the surface sounds like just a punchier, house-adjacent variation of the smooth, 2-step confections of Craig David reveals itself as a slow-burning surrender to the lure of the four-four beat. Mensa, an MC by trade, kicks off his club jam by warbling polyrhythmically around the beat, as though doing whatever he can to avoid landing on it. Ultimately, though, he can't hold out any longer, cashes in his luck, and does: "**** that, get down!" Drop of the year. Henderson
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3. Jessie Ware, "Say You Love Me."
Co-written with Ed Sheeran, "Say You Love Me" gives voice to the agonizing experience of waiting for mutual infatuation to turn into either long-term commitment or devastating heartbreak. Jessie Ware captures those emotional vicissitudes by modulating between understated R&B verses, delicate falsetto runs, and full-throated, synth-blasted choruses, in which she exclaims, "Baby, looks as though we're running out of words to say/And love's floating away." After the bridge, the song kicks into straight-up gospel mode, Ware's voice bolstered by a full choir and propulsive handclaps. It's as though she's throwing all her cards on the table, declaring that if her offer isn't taken up then she'll have a damn fine time showing her lover what there is to miss out on. Galvin
