The best songs we heard in 2014

"Avant Gardener," by Courtney Barnett

"Avant Gardener," a loopy song-story from Courtney Barnett's The Double EP: A Sea of Split Peas, is the most distinctive cut from an already distinguished album. With a wit so dry you could practically snap it in half, Barnett recounts a disastrous lazy Monday that begins in an overgrown garden and ends in an ambulance. ("The paramedic thinks I'm clever 'cause I play guitar. I think she's clever 'cause she stops people dying," sings Barnett, in a characteristically deadpan verse.)

Barnett's Australian drawl is perfectly suited to her punchy lyrical style, and with attention and acclaim for her work already growing, we can cross our fingers for many more of her musical misadventures in the years to come. --Scott Meslow, entertainment editor

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"Flawless (Remix)," by Beyoncé

Beyoncé dropped Beyoncé at the end of 2013, and I've listened to the entire album at least once a week for the last year. "Flawless" has been a staple, but 2014's Nicki Minaj-assisted remix made a great song even better.

The original "Flawless" had undeniable swagger — an infectious confidence that made you feel like Beyoncé herself while strutting down the street, headphones in. Add Nicki Minaj, and that feeling multiplies by 1000 percent. Bey and Nicki prop each other up, with confidence so palpable that they "score before I ever throw the ball."

"Flawless (Remix)"is all about ladies raising other ladies up — owning swagger, sexuality, and self. Only the baddest deserve to revel in the confidence of Queens Nicki and B. --Kerensa Cadenas, writer

"Just Can't Win," by Lee Fields

Emma Jean feels like one of those records you find in a box in your parents' attic that makes you think, "Who cares about the music that comes out today." Except this album was recorded in 2014. Lee Fields is 63 years old and has been playing music since before most of today's stars were born. But people are finally beginning to discover his classic soul sound, which hasn't changed much since he posed in a bell bottom leisure suit on the cover of 1979's Let's Talk it Over.

Emma Jean's first track, "Just Can't Win," is the perfect mix of smooth, bass driven, backbeat soul, complete with a horn section. From the backup singers to the jangle rhythm guitar courtesy his band The Expressions, it's undeniably timeless. But it's Field's weathered, smooth vocal that gives the song weight: "I know you never had money sense / make just enough / to cover rent."

Forty-five years after his first release, with albums across 13 different labels, Fields confidently walks the line between a sincere romantic and a beaten-too-many-times underdog, all at once sympathizing and even reveling in life's disappointments. --Jason Egan, writer

"Seasons (Waiting on You)," by Future Islands

There's something about Future Islands that has to be seen to be believed. While the Baltimore synthpop quartet has been plugging away on the indie circuit for years, it took one theatrical, utterly sincere Letterman performance to deservedly thrust the band into a larger spotlight. Frontman Samuel T. Herring poured his heart (and his bow-legged dance moves) into that chest-thumping performance, introducing the late night audience to "Seasons (Waiting On You)," the band's catchiest, most pop-forward single to date. Audiences were equal parts amazed and confounded.

The ensuing publicity cycle and meme-ification of the performance may have obscured one important fact: "Singles (Waiting On You)" is a powerful song. It completely nails that wistful, liberating feeling that comes when you finally realize you can't change someone who doesn't want to change himself. Herring did his part in selling us the song, but if we were really listening, he shouldn't have had to in the first place. –Samantha Rollins, news editor

"Come Monday Night," by Belle and Sebastian and Catherine Ireton

I haven't seen God Help the Girl, the directorial debut of Belle and Sebastian frontman Stuart Murdoch, which was the subject of mixed reviews when it was released in American theaters this summer. (To give you a taste of the conversation: one was called "In Defense of Twee.") But a friend did pass along "Come Monday Night," a song from the soundtrack that echoes some of Murdoch's best work from the 1990s, before twee became a veritable genre unto itself. The song is wistful and melancholic, but doesn't try too hard to get there — a perfect tribute to the saddest night of the week. –Ryu Spaeth, deputy editor

"Separate Songs," by Restorations

The Philadelphia band Restorations have always flirted with a myriad of influences — emo, Americana, shoegaze, and post-hardcore proclivities, to name a few — making their particular brand of punk rock all the more difficult to describe. But on the excellent LP3, the quintet's aptly titled third full-length album, they go for broke with nine cascading, huge anthems.

The record's most sweeping, inspiring tune is its first single, "Separate Songs;" a tear-down-the-walls anthem about — as singer/guitarist Jon Loudon told NPR when the song premiered — "throwing your computer out the window." The passion in Loudon's raspy vocals — from the song's powerful first verse to the explosive bridge that finds Loudon screaming his heart out — will have you running outside, with your headphones firmly on. –-Matt Cohen, writer

"Hands Up," by Vince Staples

Vince Staples has stealthily had the best year in rap, hands down. He released not one, but two excellent projects bookending the year: the Shyne Coldchain, Vol. 2 mixtape and Hell Can Wait EP. And Staples, who was often painted early in his career as an Odd Future hanger-on, has found his niche heading into next year. He's classic Ice Cube for the modern day, rapping cold, hard, and powerfully about the world around him without falling into "real hip-hop" schmaltz. And the best example of that is "Hands Up," a song that's as intense musically as it is politically. Over an apocalyptic, paranoid beat, the lyrics explicitly reference the deaths of DeAngelo Lopez and Tyler Woods in Staples' home base of Long Beach, CA, but they're impossible to read outside of the context of the police shooting in Ferguson, Missouri. It's powerful, it's raw, and it's undeniably 2014. --Eric Thurm, writer

"Welcome to New York," by Taylor Swift

I used to despise Taylor Swift. Her song lyrics often played into troubling gender stereotypes, and they were all about dating. But with the response — and backlash — to Swift's new album, my opinion about her did a complete 180. She's taking time off from guys! She's a feminist now! She makes funny emoji jokes! She's best friends with Lena Dunham! Before hearing any of 1989, I was sold on the new and improved Swift — and once I heard "Welcome to New York," it changed my outlook on life.

When "Welcome to New York" came out, Swift was roundly criticized for her narrow view of New York City. But as a millennial who moved to New York at roughly the same age as Swift, I sympathized with her wide-eyed description — being surrounded by skyscrapers every day really is a surreal experience for someone from a small town. But what I love most about "Welcome to New York," and its backlash, is that it helped me (and hopefully others) realize that it's okay to be basic. --Meghan DeMaria, staff writer

"Your Love Is Killing Me," by Sharon Van Etten

Brooklyn-based singer/songwriter Sharon Van Etten knows heartbreak, and each of her albums is more confident than the last. This year's Are We There is her best yet, and the standout track "Your Love Is Killing Me" is a crescendo that veers from sadness to defiance.

At first, it sounds like a lo-fi tune, with a chilled out organ and a simple drum beat. She whispers the first verse, but then the chorus kicks in with a mix of searing guitars, post-rock percussion, and violently evocative lyrics. Remarkably, even when she sings "stab my eyes so I can't see you," the song is not a downer. Van Etten pushes beyond her grief, owning her pain, until the repeated chorus is a sarcastic middle finger pointed at the person who wronged her. No other love song this year is this intimate, or this anthemic. --Alan Zilberman, writer

"Burning," by War on Drugs

Selecting an entry for this list would have been much easier had the subject been best album, not best song, of the year. There are a so many standout tracks on the War On Drugs' superb Lost in a Dream that selecting just one to spotlight required leaving the album on repeat for a week, something I would gladly have done even absent this task.

"Burning" won out in the end because, while some of the album's other long tracks devolve into lassitude, there is no fat on this one. It churns from start to finish, crescendoing into a shout-along plateau. And the echoes punctuated by simple, staccato picking are reminiscent of the best New Order songs — bonus points in my book. Put simply, "Burning" is a dance number disguised as artsy indie rock — and I really like dancing. --Jon Terbush, associate editor