Whether you’re grilling in the park, driving with the windows down, or slurping up a rooftop margarita, you need the right song to carry you through this sweaty summer. It could be a brain-damage banger from a godawful television show, or an under-the-radar club favorite that’ll have everyone pulling out Shazam at the party; it could be a laid-back new indie rock ballad or a chart-topper from last winter with surprising staying power. Below are Pitchfork’s contenders for song of the summer 2023, from the obvious picks to staff favorites and in-the-know outliers.
Also check out our accompanying songs of the summer episode of The Pitchfork Review podcast, where Features Editors Ryan Dombal and Jill Mapes break down the most replayable, effervescent, and annoying songs vying for our attention this season alongside Senior Writer Alphonse Pierre.
The Bonafide Contenders
As you read this, “Kill Bill,” from SZA’s stone-cold classic SOS, has dropped out of the Top 10 for the first time in months; anecdotally, the “Kill Bill” flute no longer haunts me when I open TikTok (we really must stop soundtracking OOTD videos with songs about home invasion). But there’s timing and then there’s timelessness, and SZA is playing with the latter: Tarantino films, psychedelia, the murder ballad tradition, a bridge where she belts her freaking face off. For me, it’s all this action that makes “Kill Bill” endlessly repeatable even seven months after its release—a clever arc of revenge and heartbreak told in two and a half minutes that feels like a movie. Which, of course, it is. –Jill Mapes
On “Padam Padam,” Kylie Minogue sings a tale as old as time: meeting a man at a club and knowing you’re going home with him. If you were out during Pride Month, you’ve surely already heard Minogue’s onomatopoeic heartbeat pumping all over town; the beat reeks of poppers, Speedos, and sweat. It’s also full of weird little choices—that pitched-down, murmured “padam padam” at the beginning, the garish synths that pulse like strobe lights, the serpentine melody. “I’ll be in your head all weekend,” Minogue sings. You’ve gotta believe her. –Peyton Toups
Every season of Love Island (UK) seemingly features a scene where the girlies gather in the villa to commiserate over the guy who’s been playing them both. They’ve succumbed to his sweet nothings, yet they can’t help but wonder, like PinkPantheress: “Is there any room for me?” The British singer-songwriter turned rejection into a sparkly glitter bomb of an anthem with the original “Boy’s a Liar” and then recruited the frost queen herself for the summer-ready remix; Ice Spice is expectedly cavalier but just as delicate with her feelings. She’s not as numb as she might seem—just hurt. It’s the type of slick summer gem that gives you the license to obsess about someone while dismissing them at the same time. –Clover Hope
“Un verano sin Bad Bunny?” reads the incredulous dad-joke promotional copy on one streaming service. After his Un Verano Sin Ti dominated not only its title season but pretty much the whole of 2022, the Puerto Rican rap superstar is well-placed to reign over the hot months for another year. Off-cycle single “Where She Goes” strikes an on-trend blend of Jersey club and dembow, plus mischievous one-night-stand lyrics that, despite the song’s English title, are entirely in Spanish (save for one gleeful anatomical reference). But not even a video featuring Frank Ocean, Lil Uzi Vert, and hints of a rumored romance with a Kardashian-Jenner scion has yet pushed the song above No. 8 on the Hot 100. And hearing Bad Bunny arrive at a sound after Drake doesn’t leave you with the highest hopes for his current summer fling. Let’s see how it holds up in the dog days of August. –Marc Hogan
Good rap duos usually play up contrasts: the preacher and the clown, the pimp and the poet, that sort of thing. Kendrick and his cousin Baby Keem can both be intense on their songs together, which often have an air of gladiatorial combat. But "The Hillbillies" isn’t like that. Kendrick doesn’t rap like he’s escaping Hell with one demon’s hand still clutching his ankle, and Keem doesn’t sound like he’s training to go up against Ivan Drago. They’re cheesing. They’re eating caviar and comparing themselves to Messi and Neymar. They’re maybe-quoting Drake. Everyone deserves a summer vacation, even the rap savior and his chosen progeny. –Jayson Greene
Peso Pluma’s trumpet of a voice, shaggy mullet, and overall murine demeanor aren’t exactly the qualities of a heartthrob. And yet, seemingly out of nowhere, the 24-year-old corridos tumbados singer has become the reigning monarch of regional Mexican music. His talent extends far beyond a blanket marketing category, though. On his remix of Guadalajara rapper Yng Lvcas’ “La Bebe,” Pluma presses pause on narco deference and general flexing and indulges his loverboy impulses, stealing the spotlight from his host. Plinking synth pads and a steady kick drum are the foundation for this slow-whine serenade, as the artists trade verses about a night of smoking and drinking with a baddie. It’s almost too simple, but a perreo-lite summer anthem never hurt anybody. –Isabelia Herrera
The House Favorites
Cheating is wrong, except when it’s “Counterfeit,” Amaarae’s coy and totally audacious flip of the cavernous, clanking Neptunes beat behind Clipse’s “Wamp Wamp (What It Do).” What it’s doing is showing out for lady hustlers as Amaarae coos her way through a whirl of suggestive vocalizations: There’s a little “Rich Girl” Gwen Stefani in the “na-na-na-na,” a little “Lady Marmalade” in the “itchi gitchi,” a little Ms. Jade to the “ching ching.” “Wamp Wamp” quoted Snow White—that’s a cocaine joke—but Amaarae is here to meet a princess. “Me and my bitch got matching titties,” she brags, “She got Fountain Baby tatted ’cause she fucking with me.” But even that’s cheating, because she’s still married to the money. Put on “Counterfeit” and you can get away with anything. –Anna Gaca
On “Fader,” Roísín Murphy forgoes blissed-out disco bangers for a warm, laid-back slice of pop infused with soul balladry and hip-house sparkle. The centerpiece to the Irish singer-producer’s forthcoming DJ Koze-produced album Hit Parade comes crosshatched with a sample from Sharon Jones and the Dap-Kings’ “Window Shopping,” with Jones’ pitch-shifted voice serving as a buoyant companion to Murphy’s. The result is a starry-eyed fresco, equally fit for sweaty dancefloors and languid park hangs. “Take your hands off, hater, off my baby’s fader,” Murphy sings on the lovesick chorus, “Whеn it comes to this song, you can’t play it too long.” Her melodic magic makes that edict ring true. –Eric Torres
When you name your song after an entire style of music, it better be a damn good representative. Thankfully, “Amapiano,” titled after the South African dance subgenre marked by shuffling rhythms and undulating bass, delivers the goods. Asake has quickly become one of Nigeria’s most exciting stars over the last couple of years, combining elements of amapiano and Afrobeats to come up with a sound that’s as sticky as an ice pop puddle and all his own. So while this song includes some hallmarks of its namesake style, it’s also peppered with ear-catching musical choices—a bluesy organ lick here, a lonely sax riff there—that keep the sound barreling forward; if Missy Elliott ever wanted to grace an amapiano track, this would be a great choice. Alongside rapper Olamide, Asake flows over the beat’s syncopated pulse as if he were skipping atop a roiling sea, his chest-puff bravado egged on by constant backup chants that make “Amapiano” feel as welcoming, and communal, as a block party. –Ryan Dombal
Club rap is more than just pulsating drums and bed squeaks; it’s a contagious, out-of-body experience that can make even the worst dancer want to hit their shit in the middle of the pit. Everywhere you look, major rap and pop stars are trying to mine that energy, but “2Humpy Anthem” is the real thing. The song will transport you to a lawless, warm-weather backyard party moments before the cops come to shut it down; the five-man Philly group—2Rare, Bril, Raud, Jmoney, and Brock—feel like they’re on a sugar high as they shout dancefloor commands over a beat that takes off like an F1 car. Repurposing the lyrics of “It Takes Two” makes so much sense: Like the kind of MCs we usually associate with early ’80s hip-hop, 2Humpy are here to make sure that the party does not stop. –Alphonse Pierre
Victoria Monét’s “Smoke” lends a sense of cinematic luxury to an everyday activity: friends (or lovers) splitting a pack of pre-rolls on the car dashboard. Monét’s voice is bouncy and sultry, flowing over syrupy bass and horns as she gets the cipher moving. “To the left or the right, long as it rotate/It’s a bisexual blunt, it can go both ways,” she says with a wink. It’s the kind of sly, affable energy that powers any good summer hotbox, one that guest Lucky Daye matches. Weed-smoking anthems are a dime a dozen in music these days, but “Smoke” finds fun in the full-bodied lust of a backseat hoopty burn session. –Dylan Green
Sandwiched between alt-rock licks and shoegaze fuzz on Wednesday’s massive new album Rat Saw God is “Chosen to Deserve,” a country confessional that pierces the heart. Aware that her romantic fling is becoming the real deal, Karly Hartzman spills to her partner about all her most embarrassing choices: She’s the type of girl who sneaks into the neighborhood pool, has sex in the back of an SUV, and pees on the street. Swapping memories like these is a tried and true part of late summer nights, when the humidity makes everyone too lazy to drive home; “Chosen to Deserve” is the quintessential soundtrack for when even the grimy stuff—the sweat slicking your body, the mosquito bites dotting your leg like an anklet—is part of the romance. –Nina Corcoran
The Leftfield Bangers
“Hot Take,” from London producer Mia Koden’s two-track solo debut, is for going out wearing a belt-sized mini skirt and strutting on concrete as if Leiomy were judging you with binoculars. A vocal loop oozing with ’tude meets a damp, dubby riddim and breakneck BPM, and before you know it, you’re landing nasty dips on a sticky dancefloor. Midway through, Koden shifts the pace, doing donuts around its ragga pulse before burning rubber. Destined to convert clubs into saunas, “Hot Take” should’ve come with a warning: Caution, stretch before listening. –Tatiana Lee Rodriguez
What is summer without a good ol’ rooftop party, the type that invites stern calls from your landlord and some worrying new cracks in the ceiling? That’s the spirit of “Set the Roof,” a bouncy team-up from veteran producer Hudson Mohawke and hotshot newcomer Nikki Nair that’s crisp like a White Claw and sizzles like the pavement in July. Ariana Grande co-writer Tayla Parx issues bratty, chipmunked commands over a 2-step beat while wavy, undulating bass gives the track an additional gush of momentum. Play it at your next rager and you’ll burn the house down. –Cat Zhang
Julio Bashmore’s “Bubblin’,” his first release after years of radio silence, picks up where he left off: at the party’s absolute peak. Everything about the tune—a canny fusion of early Daft Punk and golden-era UK garage—feels primed for maximum delirium. There’s the acid-squelch synth line that twists like a corkscrew; the hiccupping vocal chop with the stamina of a jackrabbit; the space-elevator glissando that just keeps ascending. There’s even a cheeky James Brown grunt from Lyn Collins’ iconic “Think (About It),” an old-school grace note to cement the song’s claim to timelessness. But what’s best about “Bubblin’” is that it never feels like it’s trying to beat you over the head with its boisterousness; in the grand tradition of Cajmere’s “Percolator,” it’s a slow, steady drip of euphoria. –Philip Sherburne
Maybe getting high makes you paranoid, and for good reason, especially now that weed is as likely to be peddled by some VC-backed startup as it is by your neighborhood dealer. On “Rapper Weed,” billy woods trains his suspicion on those who approach the plant with a corporate agenda—and even worse, dupe their customers with shitty bud in the process. That doesn’t stop him from cracking jokes: “Weed lube, weed butter/Don’t get ’em confused, whatever you do/I wasn’t rude/But green eggs and ham I had to refuse.” Despite its withering critique, it’s a great song to smoke to, with deep pockets of bass and languid piano from producer Kenny Segal. “72 degrees and sunny,” woods observes in the intro, and that’s the way hearing “Rapper Weed” feels. –Andy Cush
As Nourished by Time, the Baltimore-bred singer and producer Marcus Brown keeps exuberance at arms length, and never more than on this balmy anthem from his debut album, Erotic Probiotic 2, a raw melange of R&B, deep house, new wave, and hip-hop. “I say, I love you, you say, whatever,” goes the chorus, but nothing about this dynamic club jam is ambivalent. Brown has said the class-conscious track describes feeling unable to compete with a girlfriend’s sugar daddy. In spite of this rejection, the song is, as Brown shouts throughout it, a “connector.” –Jenn Pelly
The Inescapable Hits We’d Nonetheless Like to Escape
To properly assess “Last Night,” the first No. 1 hit by Morgan Wallen, let’s teleport several years into the future and imagine how we might look back at its 13-week reign over the charts. Maybe we will see this as a turning point for country-pop, the moment when the genre hit mass popularity with a minimalist, hip-hop influenced sound rather than the arena-rock theatrics that characterized its previous decade. Maybe then we’ll be able to reassess the 30-year-old Tennessean’s career, distanced from the controversies and overlong albums and abrupt show cancellations, and we’ll have no choice but to respect his consistency in dominating the masses’ collective attention. Or maybe we will hear that seamlessly looping acoustic guitar lick and feel haunted by a strange moment in American history when everybody was apparently depressed enough to let this man’s melancholy beer hangover dominate our airwaves, unchallenged and unrepentant. –Sam Sodomsky
Miley Cyrus’ self-empowerment anthem “Flowers” shot its way to one billion Spotify streams in 112 days, and even now it’s still blaring in Nordstrom fitting rooms. Why this Miley song in particular is so popular seems baffling: “I can love me better than you can” is more convincing on paper than it is over subdued disco-lite production. When she croons to her ex that she can talk to herself for hours, it sounds like a shrug rather than her usual defiant growl. Just as it feels like the song might take off, it reverts back to its plodding chorus. “Flowers” doesn’t inspire much confidence, but I do expect to hear it a thousand more times before this summer is over. –Jaeden Pinder
Pop songs written specifically for film and television shows are often deployed as meta-critiques, intended to expose the vapidity and ethical compromise that supposedly accompanies the making of Top 40 bubblegum. Paradoxically, the most recent examples of this—A Star Is Born’s “Why Did You Do That,” Black Mirror’s “On a Roll”—have ended up reinforcing what can be great about pop: the hooks, the camp, the smooth brains.
“World Class Sinner/I’m a Freak” is one of the main plot drivers in HBO’s music-industry disaster series The Idol. It’s a moody portrait of anonymous BDSM sex with (hopefully) willfully stupid lyrics: “You’re dumb but you’re cute, that’s a good enough ratio,” Jocelyn, played and sung by Lily-Rose Depp, rasps—an allusion to the uninspired but lucrative career trajectory the label vultures have in mind for her. The song articulates the point of The Idol better than the actual show: Jocelyn knows it’s insipid and performs it anyway. We know it, too, and yet that Spotify button is on smash, 10.9 million streams and counting, as we collectively belt "“I’m just a FREAK, yeahhh” until Tedros pukes his final puke at the biggest cocaine party of them all. –Julianne Escobedo Shepherd
