Top 44 Music Albums of 2023
by 
DommeDamian 
2023 is now over and the listening journey was vastly vastly different than both 2021 and 2022. During all of 2023, I avoided listening to newly released material (mostly), both because I had my "Scaruffi 8/10-Adjacent"-project and to see if my mindset would alter if I didn't immediately hear something a few days or weeks old. I waited until the year was over, and then I went on RateYourMusic and selected the top albums for each of my favorite genres (principally Indie Folk/Singer-Songwriter, Dream Pop, Punk Rock etc). Therefore, this year has a much higher rating on average, because I didn't have to go through albums within genres I have experienced to not be a fan of (even though not all 2023 records I heard was golden by any means). But if you look at the number of albums I have heard - right now, precisely 300 albums - it's still relatively low compared to 2022's 1050 records and even 2021's 544. Although, I have managed to beat 2020's 175 which is good.
Anyway here's my favorites, the first completion in late february 2024.
- Chart updated: 03/01/2026 17:15
- (Created: 06/21/2023 16:18).
- Chart size: 44 albums.
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90/100
Spoiler: this is in my top 100 albums of all time now, so when that list is done, it'll have a description/comment on there. [First added to this chart: 04/15/2024]
Spoiler: this is in my top 100 albums of all time now, so when that list is done, it'll have a description/comment on there. [First added to this chart: 04/15/2024]
85/100
This description is a mess, just like me whenever my head spins around the effortlessness of Blomi.
If Tim Buckley was the cryptic hippie, Susanne Sundfør is the spiritual psychologist. Her 2023 album takes you on a deep dive within and also outward, with her analyzing core feelings but also learning her own tropes in wisdom, maturity among else. These tropes have come even more to life in audio aka music. This album that barks on absolute intellectualism, is where digital electronic pieces not only meet properly with nature-tendencies, but become one. Never before has an album erased that thick line. From Leikara Ljoo's amazing structure of field recordings (actual musical field recordings) of sensual humming to choir and hand-clapping (perhaps sambo mixed with gospel) to a sudden outro of Celtic. Every segment transcends the other, I cannot believe what I am hearing. To Sannu Yarru Li's third stream avant clothing: one of my eyes are going through a normal day at a bright spring day drinking tea at home, while other one is at a foreign carnival. To the way the last tone of Náttsongr turns into a drone that drains all shades of grey away from my consciousness...then accompanied by fireplace field recording before going full-circle of the philosophy-aspect with body, mind and heart having "yes" as the word.
After the genuinely entrancing electro-acoustic opener, Susanne writes the most whimsical ballad of the decade with Ashera's Song (with levitating sparkly bleeps in the background that signify the point of gravity), uprooted more in neo-classical impressionism than a pop song but with a rich vocal display that makes any pop singer look pale. That elegance also reeks of maturity, as these pieces never give a trace of bad faith, whilst never being self-indulgent. In other words, Sundfør does not display whine or obnoxious depression, but has crafted, squeezed and orchestrated the observant side of somberness to its most crisp and least devastating.
She's not afraid to dip her hands in Adult Contemporary and Soundtrack/Video-game balladry on Alyosha. I just love these songs written for specific figures and you feel the same love for someone you don't know, that the artist do. The brightest song, and just as painstakingly whimsical as Ashera's Song, it speaks to me in such a love-thy-soulful-neighbor way. If there's any I guess answers in the journey of this album, the "It's you" part is it, and is the catchiest moment here. And still, Sundfør chooses to throw a segment of mosquito-sounds in the end, just to make sure it isn't toooo pleasing or theater-kidsy. Náttsongr might be more conventional of a new agey singer-songwriter ballad, but with no less effect, it's still an excellent joint. Vocal jazz and chamberly slowcore embrace in the title track, and Sundfør's elegance is angelic, melancholic, old-fashioned and finnessing. "Nobody told you" might also be a high point in the category of catchiness. It elevates with both a flute and a STUNNING piano outro. Not to mention Runä's effortless way of bridging Brill Building and Art Pop into a progressive tune, full of flowery and liquid depth, especially in the guitar waving with Susanne singing "But everything aligns with a mysterious purpose" and later harmonizing lalala. Those elements summarizes the purpose the album Blomi; a purpose that is far from obvious, but very real and carries true musical elements of passion, personality, creativity and what else you can find whenever you press play again. [First added to this chart: 02/26/2024]
This description is a mess, just like me whenever my head spins around the effortlessness of Blomi.
If Tim Buckley was the cryptic hippie, Susanne Sundfør is the spiritual psychologist. Her 2023 album takes you on a deep dive within and also outward, with her analyzing core feelings but also learning her own tropes in wisdom, maturity among else. These tropes have come even more to life in audio aka music. This album that barks on absolute intellectualism, is where digital electronic pieces not only meet properly with nature-tendencies, but become one. Never before has an album erased that thick line. From Leikara Ljoo's amazing structure of field recordings (actual musical field recordings) of sensual humming to choir and hand-clapping (perhaps sambo mixed with gospel) to a sudden outro of Celtic. Every segment transcends the other, I cannot believe what I am hearing. To Sannu Yarru Li's third stream avant clothing: one of my eyes are going through a normal day at a bright spring day drinking tea at home, while other one is at a foreign carnival. To the way the last tone of Náttsongr turns into a drone that drains all shades of grey away from my consciousness...then accompanied by fireplace field recording before going full-circle of the philosophy-aspect with body, mind and heart having "yes" as the word.
After the genuinely entrancing electro-acoustic opener, Susanne writes the most whimsical ballad of the decade with Ashera's Song (with levitating sparkly bleeps in the background that signify the point of gravity), uprooted more in neo-classical impressionism than a pop song but with a rich vocal display that makes any pop singer look pale. That elegance also reeks of maturity, as these pieces never give a trace of bad faith, whilst never being self-indulgent. In other words, Sundfør does not display whine or obnoxious depression, but has crafted, squeezed and orchestrated the observant side of somberness to its most crisp and least devastating.
She's not afraid to dip her hands in Adult Contemporary and Soundtrack/Video-game balladry on Alyosha. I just love these songs written for specific figures and you feel the same love for someone you don't know, that the artist do. The brightest song, and just as painstakingly whimsical as Ashera's Song, it speaks to me in such a love-thy-soulful-neighbor way. If there's any I guess answers in the journey of this album, the "It's you" part is it, and is the catchiest moment here. And still, Sundfør chooses to throw a segment of mosquito-sounds in the end, just to make sure it isn't toooo pleasing or theater-kidsy. Náttsongr might be more conventional of a new agey singer-songwriter ballad, but with no less effect, it's still an excellent joint. Vocal jazz and chamberly slowcore embrace in the title track, and Sundfør's elegance is angelic, melancholic, old-fashioned and finnessing. "Nobody told you" might also be a high point in the category of catchiness. It elevates with both a flute and a STUNNING piano outro. Not to mention Runä's effortless way of bridging Brill Building and Art Pop into a progressive tune, full of flowery and liquid depth, especially in the guitar waving with Susanne singing "But everything aligns with a mysterious purpose" and later harmonizing lalala. Those elements summarizes the purpose the album Blomi; a purpose that is far from obvious, but very real and carries true musical elements of passion, personality, creativity and what else you can find whenever you press play again. [First added to this chart: 02/26/2024]
85/100
Nature is indifferent to humanity, unpredictable and untamed. When we challenge it with pollution and exploitation, it inevitably pushes back. In doing so, it forces us to confront our own actions, our relationship with the world, and how we coexist with everything around us. Deep within, we carry an inner journey—a confrontation with the destabilizing forces of our internal monologue and its ripple effect on our shared reality. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we cannot escape our own nature until we face it, understand it, immerse in its unauthorized territories, and learn to live in imperfect harmony. RWB embarked on this introspective path in a uniquely unconventional way, crafting the only album that blends the fragile beauty of indie folk with the stark brutality of industrial noise. The result is a sonic exploration of wonder and desolation - what we cherish, and what we’d rather forget. The worse the sound equipment, the better the feel. [First added to this chart: 12/27/2024]
Nature is indifferent to humanity, unpredictable and untamed. When we challenge it with pollution and exploitation, it inevitably pushes back. In doing so, it forces us to confront our own actions, our relationship with the world, and how we coexist with everything around us. Deep within, we carry an inner journey—a confrontation with the destabilizing forces of our internal monologue and its ripple effect on our shared reality. Whether we acknowledge it or not, we cannot escape our own nature until we face it, understand it, immerse in its unauthorized territories, and learn to live in imperfect harmony. RWB embarked on this introspective path in a uniquely unconventional way, crafting the only album that blends the fragile beauty of indie folk with the stark brutality of industrial noise. The result is a sonic exploration of wonder and desolation - what we cherish, and what we’d rather forget. The worse the sound equipment, the better the feel. [First added to this chart: 12/27/2024]
85/100
The perfect shoegaze album, point blank. Layered, fully-realized, unfolding, extensively satisfying soundscapes with thematic The Last of Us-esque melodies, deafeningly ethereal guitar waves that are both spacey and airy, and liquid vocals where you don't understand a word. If Knifeplay's Animal Drowning is a sublime student of the genre, Rippedd's Maybe In Another Life is an underground teacher that have reinvented the formula the way many thought they had. I'm mind-boggled at how much on another level this is, how inventive and anti-corporate, despite never trying to stand out, making it also a super humble piece of audio rapture. [First added to this chart: 04/15/2024]
The perfect shoegaze album, point blank. Layered, fully-realized, unfolding, extensively satisfying soundscapes with thematic The Last of Us-esque melodies, deafeningly ethereal guitar waves that are both spacey and airy, and liquid vocals where you don't understand a word. If Knifeplay's Animal Drowning is a sublime student of the genre, Rippedd's Maybe In Another Life is an underground teacher that have reinvented the formula the way many thought they had. I'm mind-boggled at how much on another level this is, how inventive and anti-corporate, despite never trying to stand out, making it also a super humble piece of audio rapture. [First added to this chart: 04/15/2024]
80/100
There is a difference between something being obscure and something not existing. An obscure album lives in the margins of discourse. It has 300 ratings and one confused comment from 2019. It can be discovered, archived, mythologised, rescued. It exists socially, just faintly. A non-existent album has no such luxury. It sits on streaming platforms like an unopened email. No algorithm will ever nudge it toward you. No listicle folds it into a lineage. It does not belong to a scene. Fewer than ten people may have heard it, but even that statistic feels inflated by the act of counting. If everyone who has heard a thing could fit in a kei car, the word “reputation” is illusory. Wavelume 20-21 occupies that quieter space: not underground, not hidden, just socially inert. And yet it is 75 minutes long.
In another era, a seventy-five minute record that felt this provisional might have seemed indulgent. Physical media demanded a certain finality; to press vinyl was to declare something finished. Streaming is more forgiving. You can skip. You can shuffle. You can let a thirteen-minute loop carry you through a grocery run and then abandon it halfway through the liquid tornado 639994746 without guilt. The music does not protest. It will continue looping whether or not you remain.
The music does not behave naïvely. It loops. Most of these thirteen tracks are built from small repeating figures: soft electronic drum patterns nudging against near-ambient textures, dark drones that threaten to swallow their own edges, quasi-melodic phrasings that circle without ever announcing themselves as themes. The effect is minimal but not overstatingly meditative. The music is movement, preventing itself from dissolving into wallpaper.
It is tempting to describe this as unfinished. Many of the tracks operate like deadlock studies rather than statements, writer's block more than the paper. The titles don’t help: AFL179, 1.01, 639994746, 02-2-001, mixed with Monsters Inc-terlude and Robin Hood. These are not names so much as coordinates. They resist identity. They imply that what matters is not what the piece is “about” but how long you are willing to sit with it. AFL179 for instance, runs for 14 minutes, hovering somewhere between ambient house and a kind of skeletal dub, but it does not build. Listening to it once in a supermarket, I had the strange sensation that the roof had lifted clean off the building. The synth tones felt outdoor, as if the air-conditioning ducts had been replaced by sky. When I stepped outside with my groceries, the world seemed to have adjusted itself to the loop rather than the other way around. Nothing had climaxed. Nothing had resolved. The day simply continued, like continuation over culmination.
Even the most “progressive” track, 5-01, which also stretches to 14 minutes (technically only 11) of electronic wandering, meanders through its own circuitry as if uncertain whether it wants to be a song or an exercise. For the final two minutes there is silence. No, not conceptual silence, or Cagean provocation.
The only truly non-electronic centrepiece is Cc Piano 06/12 2021, an eighteen-minute phone recording of a piano performance. It is the most emotionally direct moment on the record and also the least self-conscious, so much so it erases the conscious alongside. Colleagues can be heard in the background, calling out “that's queen”, receiving Martin's reply “you’re my queen”, and sitting beside him near the end chitchatting. It doesn't break the trance, it never was supposed to be anything other than a binocular towards the beloved obstacle. The intimacy is accidental and therefore complete because applause would sterilise it live-wise. One winter morning in Aalborg, buying bread before heading to a studio, this track reduced the fluorescent supermarket lighting to something almost gentle. The conversation bleeding into the piano tricked me into thinking the employee was shouting towards me for a moment.
The album oscillates between that warmth and a darker ambient strain. Videogame-soundtrack parody Efter Skov Tur and Drone-mockery OMNIUS PRESENT cheats on minimalism with dissonance; Monsters Inc-terlude abandons electronics entirely for three minutes of scraping texture that feels closer to gesture than composition. The unifying thread is not a sound palette but a method: find a figure, loop it, vary it slightly, allow it to breathe longer than comfort suggests.
Albums that tell us where to look are glad that a Wavelume 20-21 is non-existent to the world. It seems to assume that if you are listening at all, you are already paying attention, and can share outcome of leaving without ceremony. Perhaps that is why the album’s near non-existence does not trouble me. Not every work needs a discourse. Some records are simply environments that happen to have been uploaded. If only a handful of listeners ever press play, the loops still perform their blurred line of roughness and carelessness. But the roughness is also its oxygen. To polish these pieces into fully articulated compositions might strip them of the very quality that makes them linger, the sense that they are documents of a mind circling an idea rather than monuments to it.
The album ends mid-note, cutting off oxygen. While 5-01 ends in accidental silence and AFL179 could, in theory, continue indefinitely. In a catalogue that barely exists, that feels sufficient.
If there is one album I want you to check out based on this list you're viewing, it is this scatterbrained yet gorgeous colorful collection of compositions: Wavelume 20-21 by M@RT1NTJ [First added to this chart: 07/04/2023]
There is a difference between something being obscure and something not existing. An obscure album lives in the margins of discourse. It has 300 ratings and one confused comment from 2019. It can be discovered, archived, mythologised, rescued. It exists socially, just faintly. A non-existent album has no such luxury. It sits on streaming platforms like an unopened email. No algorithm will ever nudge it toward you. No listicle folds it into a lineage. It does not belong to a scene. Fewer than ten people may have heard it, but even that statistic feels inflated by the act of counting. If everyone who has heard a thing could fit in a kei car, the word “reputation” is illusory. Wavelume 20-21 occupies that quieter space: not underground, not hidden, just socially inert. And yet it is 75 minutes long.
In another era, a seventy-five minute record that felt this provisional might have seemed indulgent. Physical media demanded a certain finality; to press vinyl was to declare something finished. Streaming is more forgiving. You can skip. You can shuffle. You can let a thirteen-minute loop carry you through a grocery run and then abandon it halfway through the liquid tornado 639994746 without guilt. The music does not protest. It will continue looping whether or not you remain.
The music does not behave naïvely. It loops. Most of these thirteen tracks are built from small repeating figures: soft electronic drum patterns nudging against near-ambient textures, dark drones that threaten to swallow their own edges, quasi-melodic phrasings that circle without ever announcing themselves as themes. The effect is minimal but not overstatingly meditative. The music is movement, preventing itself from dissolving into wallpaper.
It is tempting to describe this as unfinished. Many of the tracks operate like deadlock studies rather than statements, writer's block more than the paper. The titles don’t help: AFL179, 1.01, 639994746, 02-2-001, mixed with Monsters Inc-terlude and Robin Hood. These are not names so much as coordinates. They resist identity. They imply that what matters is not what the piece is “about” but how long you are willing to sit with it. AFL179 for instance, runs for 14 minutes, hovering somewhere between ambient house and a kind of skeletal dub, but it does not build. Listening to it once in a supermarket, I had the strange sensation that the roof had lifted clean off the building. The synth tones felt outdoor, as if the air-conditioning ducts had been replaced by sky. When I stepped outside with my groceries, the world seemed to have adjusted itself to the loop rather than the other way around. Nothing had climaxed. Nothing had resolved. The day simply continued, like continuation over culmination.
Even the most “progressive” track, 5-01, which also stretches to 14 minutes (technically only 11) of electronic wandering, meanders through its own circuitry as if uncertain whether it wants to be a song or an exercise. For the final two minutes there is silence. No, not conceptual silence, or Cagean provocation.
The only truly non-electronic centrepiece is Cc Piano 06/12 2021, an eighteen-minute phone recording of a piano performance. It is the most emotionally direct moment on the record and also the least self-conscious, so much so it erases the conscious alongside. Colleagues can be heard in the background, calling out “that's queen”, receiving Martin's reply “you’re my queen”, and sitting beside him near the end chitchatting. It doesn't break the trance, it never was supposed to be anything other than a binocular towards the beloved obstacle. The intimacy is accidental and therefore complete because applause would sterilise it live-wise. One winter morning in Aalborg, buying bread before heading to a studio, this track reduced the fluorescent supermarket lighting to something almost gentle. The conversation bleeding into the piano tricked me into thinking the employee was shouting towards me for a moment.
The album oscillates between that warmth and a darker ambient strain. Videogame-soundtrack parody Efter Skov Tur and Drone-mockery OMNIUS PRESENT cheats on minimalism with dissonance; Monsters Inc-terlude abandons electronics entirely for three minutes of scraping texture that feels closer to gesture than composition. The unifying thread is not a sound palette but a method: find a figure, loop it, vary it slightly, allow it to breathe longer than comfort suggests.
Albums that tell us where to look are glad that a Wavelume 20-21 is non-existent to the world. It seems to assume that if you are listening at all, you are already paying attention, and can share outcome of leaving without ceremony. Perhaps that is why the album’s near non-existence does not trouble me. Not every work needs a discourse. Some records are simply environments that happen to have been uploaded. If only a handful of listeners ever press play, the loops still perform their blurred line of roughness and carelessness. But the roughness is also its oxygen. To polish these pieces into fully articulated compositions might strip them of the very quality that makes them linger, the sense that they are documents of a mind circling an idea rather than monuments to it.
The album ends mid-note, cutting off oxygen. While 5-01 ends in accidental silence and AFL179 could, in theory, continue indefinitely. In a catalogue that barely exists, that feels sufficient.
If there is one album I want you to check out based on this list you're viewing, it is this scatterbrained yet gorgeous colorful collection of compositions: Wavelume 20-21 by M@RT1NTJ [First added to this chart: 07/04/2023]
80/100
[First added to this chart: 01/12/2024]
Year of Release:
2023
Appears in:
Rank Score:
299
Rank in 2023:
Rank in 2020s:
Overall Rank:
Average Rating:
Comments:
80/100
[First added to this chart: 02/26/2024]
80/100
Not Even Happiness was great, and seems to many to be her best, but this, almost instantly, became one of my favorite albums of the 2020s. Byrne effortlessly balances the angelic with the human, in a way no other singer-songwriter does. She also makes sure to balance viscerality in the poetry while the music being minimal. Fun fact, these songs feel like rarities where the choruses are pretty much as beautifully written as the verses.
If you go into The Greater Wings, wanting some snappy guitar and a great voice giving some nice melodies for you to hum afterwards, your desire will be in critical condition. There is no earthly melody (the closest is the tender guitar line on Lightning Comes Up From The Ground). There is no capturing rhythm. There is no melodrama. There is no manipulation. There is no unnecessary fluff. Besides the new-agey synth ticks on Summer Glass, there are no earthly similarity. Everything is free-flowing yet controlled, exceptionally organic, it's a glorious reminder that nature is beyond the it-factor of what is man-made. As Byrne reflects "Death to the old ways / But who am I without them?", one way to show how much Eric still means. If that isn't vivid then try "That night at the old hotel / I'd been learning you by heart [...] I found it there in the room with you / Whatever eternity is [...] The sky is moonless / And the sea surrounds me / What does it matter, the story? / If your absence remains". Rarely have I heard a recent record that grieves this divinely.
And even more rare do I talk this much about lyrics, but she is a true songwriter. Byrne also talks about what of changes for the slightly worse ("In the onrush of a past lifе / Missing nights of feeling intricate / I miss getting the momеnt right"), small memorable times that caved the insignificant times ("We draw the lines of protection / When our palms meet at every edge / You lit my joint with the end of your cigarette / Spun the pavement spirit, harnessed into flesh") coupled with bedsheets of her philosophy ("The curves of the mountains / Rest in me, I find / There are times I'm in touch with who I truly want to be") alongside even the belle of saying goodbye ("Death is the diamond / Watched you riding horses across the plains").
Although this record is about loss and a goodbye letter to him, Byrne manages to create a watercolored piece of music that sounds like a fragmentary stairway to our own losses. These songs design "greater wings" for our loved ones to fly wherever they are on the other side. Byrne's sphenoid bone-caressingly soft voice makes sure to always keep them in style, and her poetry gives them form. Whether it's "You're always in the band / Forever underground / Name my grief to let it sing / To carry you up on the greater wings" from the opening title track, or "Beside you, I drank from the pitcher of life / Whisper as not to wake the land" from Portrait of A Clear Day.
Though it's not revolutionary, it is excellently outstanding in doing quasi-breathtaking less-is-more folk compositions where the melody being secondary feels purposeful, and the atmosphere, though not unique, is painstakingly thick. And meditative in ways that momentarily brightens my psyche, when she conveys "I felt the ringing of the world, floating surrender". [First added to this chart: 02/26/2024]
Not Even Happiness was great, and seems to many to be her best, but this, almost instantly, became one of my favorite albums of the 2020s. Byrne effortlessly balances the angelic with the human, in a way no other singer-songwriter does. She also makes sure to balance viscerality in the poetry while the music being minimal. Fun fact, these songs feel like rarities where the choruses are pretty much as beautifully written as the verses.
If you go into The Greater Wings, wanting some snappy guitar and a great voice giving some nice melodies for you to hum afterwards, your desire will be in critical condition. There is no earthly melody (the closest is the tender guitar line on Lightning Comes Up From The Ground). There is no capturing rhythm. There is no melodrama. There is no manipulation. There is no unnecessary fluff. Besides the new-agey synth ticks on Summer Glass, there are no earthly similarity. Everything is free-flowing yet controlled, exceptionally organic, it's a glorious reminder that nature is beyond the it-factor of what is man-made. As Byrne reflects "Death to the old ways / But who am I without them?", one way to show how much Eric still means. If that isn't vivid then try "That night at the old hotel / I'd been learning you by heart [...] I found it there in the room with you / Whatever eternity is [...] The sky is moonless / And the sea surrounds me / What does it matter, the story? / If your absence remains". Rarely have I heard a recent record that grieves this divinely.
And even more rare do I talk this much about lyrics, but she is a true songwriter. Byrne also talks about what of changes for the slightly worse ("In the onrush of a past lifе / Missing nights of feeling intricate / I miss getting the momеnt right"), small memorable times that caved the insignificant times ("We draw the lines of protection / When our palms meet at every edge / You lit my joint with the end of your cigarette / Spun the pavement spirit, harnessed into flesh") coupled with bedsheets of her philosophy ("The curves of the mountains / Rest in me, I find / There are times I'm in touch with who I truly want to be") alongside even the belle of saying goodbye ("Death is the diamond / Watched you riding horses across the plains").
Although this record is about loss and a goodbye letter to him, Byrne manages to create a watercolored piece of music that sounds like a fragmentary stairway to our own losses. These songs design "greater wings" for our loved ones to fly wherever they are on the other side. Byrne's sphenoid bone-caressingly soft voice makes sure to always keep them in style, and her poetry gives them form. Whether it's "You're always in the band / Forever underground / Name my grief to let it sing / To carry you up on the greater wings" from the opening title track, or "Beside you, I drank from the pitcher of life / Whisper as not to wake the land" from Portrait of A Clear Day.
Though it's not revolutionary, it is excellently outstanding in doing quasi-breathtaking less-is-more folk compositions where the melody being secondary feels purposeful, and the atmosphere, though not unique, is painstakingly thick. And meditative in ways that momentarily brightens my psyche, when she conveys "I felt the ringing of the world, floating surrender". [First added to this chart: 02/26/2024]
80/100
[First added to this chart: 10/20/2023]
80/100
[First added to this chart: 01/12/2024]
Total albums: 44. Page 1 of 5
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Top 44 Music Albums of 2023 composition
| Artist | Albums | % | |
|---|---|---|---|
|
|
|||
| 이민휘 [Minhwi Lee] | 1 | 2% | |
| Red-Winged Blackbird | 1 | 2% | |
| Rancid | 1 | 2% | |
| Midwife & Vyva Melinkolya | 1 | 2% | |
| Stella Kola | 1 | 2% | |
| Rippedd | 1 | 2% | |
| George Clanton | 1 | 2% | |
| Show all | |||
| Country | Albums | % | |
|---|---|---|---|
|
|
|||
 |
20 | 45% | |
 |
4 | 9% | |
 |
3 | 7% | |
| |
2 | 5% | |
 |
2 | 5% | |
 |
1 | 2% | |
 |
1 | 2% | |
| Show all | |||
Top 44 Music Albums of 2023 chart changes
| Biggest climbers |
|---|
| Up 6 from 11th to 5thWavelume 20-21 by M@RT1NTJ |
| Biggest fallers |
|---|
| Down 1 from 5th to 6thWeathervanes by Jason Isbell And The 400 Unit |
| Down 1 from 6th to 7thThe Happiest Times I Ever Ignored by Hayden Pedigo |
| Down 1 from 7th to 8thThe Greater Wings by Julie Byrne |
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Other year charts by DommeDamian
DommeDamian has shared 74 more year charts with the community. Browse them all here.| Title | Source | Type | Published | Country |
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| Best Album of 2026 | DommeDamian | 2026 year chart | 2026 | |
| Top 10 Music Albums of 2025 | DommeDamian | 2025 year chart | 2025 | |
| Top 35 Music Albums of 2024 | DommeDamian | 2024 year chart | 2026 | |
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