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When he was 16 years old, Daniel Bachman discovered the music of fingerstyle guitarist Jack Rose. "I just kinda followed him around," Bachman told Weekend Edition in 2012, "and he was always really friendly to me." Like the late Rose (who died in 2009), Bachman's compositions have grown beyond the acoustic guitar, heard especially on last year's haunting Axacan.

So consider Lonesome Weary Blues – a seven-song collection of covers that "have brought me a lot of comfort throughout the rolling waves of this pandemic," Bachman says – an easygoing, lived-in return to his roots. One of those covers is "Rappahannock River Rag," a Jack Rose tune that first appeared on Kensington Blues, but Bachman seems to put his own spin on the 7-inch version heard with the old-time group Black Twig Pickers. Bachman retains the chunky chord progression and pass-the-whiskey spirit, but you can feel the strings rattle the wood of his guitar with rowdy reverberation; in the moaning midwinter, it sounds like the rush of spring.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Christmas Eve, 2 a.m. It was my first ever alone – perhaps my last with Tips, now in her sunset, the best pug to have ever set paws on this planet – when I first heard the opening track on Asiahn's The Interlude. The song sounded so good that I had to start it over... four times.

"My World" opens with a threat... or a promise. It's a daring and brave invitation to a real, grown-up love, delivered in a gilded envelope with a wax seal. It's full-bodied scotch – painted toes in a jacuzzi – under an inky sky bleached by comets. Or wherever it is you think your deep thoughts. To discover this top-of-the-year release at the bottom of the half-empty glass that was 2021 was truly my Christmas miracle, one I've been repeating (along with the rest of Asiahn's catalog) ever since.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

After making her debut in 1993 with The Roots and as a guest on De La Soul's Buhloone Mindstate, Teressa Thomspon (aka Shortie No Mass) inexplicably disappeared from the music business. Inspired by a viral explosion of her lone solo single "Like This/U Like My Style," Thompson is back. Produced by Evil Dee of Da Beatminerz, "Sunday in October" is built around a breezy, boom-bap instrumental. A melancholy vocal sample, Rhodes piano, and neck-snapping drum beat set the tone for Thompson to reintroduce herself to the world.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Yo-Yo Ma and Tunde Olaniran are both omnivorous, multi-hyphenate musicians, but you wouldn't necessarily think to place them in the same song. Still, pairing the classical cellist with the Michigan iconoclast makes a fair bit of sense: Neither cares much for genre boundaries, with Ma expanding the definition of what constitutes classical music and Olaniran blending pop, R&B;, hip-hop and dance music with bold statements of affirmation and ambition.

In "Doorway," Olaniran sings about an uncertain future with an emphasis on making the most of the present: "When we're nothing but dust and the sun burns up / Can we really say we did what we could? / I just need to find a way out / And bring up everyone that I love." For his part, Ma gives the song a sense of grandeur and sweep, opening "Doorway" solo before giving way to Olaniran and then popping back in for a solo that only deepens the drama.

Ma's 2021 album Notes for the Future pairs the Grammy-festooned superstar with collaborators from five different continents; in addition to Olaniran, he works with Angelique Kidjo, Jeremy Dutcher, Lila Downs and others who share his desire to stretch artistically. In "Doorway," Ma and Olaniran do just that, thriving somewhere between their respective comfort zones — and making the world feel a little more connected in the process.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Born and raised in Dublin, Kojaque has watched rapid gentrification, government austerity and exploitation of Ireland's tax laws make the city all but uninhabitable for the working class. With a frenzied, droning beat sampled from Girl Band's "Going Norway," the 26-year-old rapper captures the bitterness and frustration of being unable to create a future in the place you grew up. But even as things teeter on the edge of chaos, the song still holds onto something close to hope; when Kojaque declares, "My town's not dead, it's just dormant," there's an understanding that, even amidst the rising rent and corporate interests, the heart of the city is still there. A tribute rather than a eulogy, "Town's Dead" is a celebration of Dublin and all its imperfect splendor.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

The buzz about Hilary Hahn's beauty of tone and beyond-her-years maturity was already swirling when I first saw her perform as an 18-year-old in 1998. Since then, the three-time Grammy-winning violinist has grown into a searching artist with a nose for new music and devotion to the classics. The splendor of her sound has only deepened, and dozens of today's best composers have taken note, writing pieces for Hahn, including this posthumous surprise from the Finnish master Einojuhani Rautavaara. After he died in 2016, a pair of serenades for violin and orchestra were discovered – a commission Hahn had asked for years earlier and thought she'd never see. The second of the two is titled "Serenade for Life." The Radio France Philharmonic provides a subtly colored, gentle rippling pulse over which Hahn's violin sings, as if on a river which grows into white water only to fall off abruptly like a waterfall.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Music is our favorite gauge of the times we're living through, and Hiss Golden Messenger's O Come All Ye Faithful is one heck of a barometer. The album opener, "Hung Fire," paints a picture of a year that was a challenge to get through. Written in the autumn of 2020, the words are hauntingly accurate in December 2021. "It's Christmas, baby, thank God we made it," frontman M.C Taylor sings, his voice harmonizing effortlessly with light piano and soft horns as he delivers lyrics lamenting life in the current climate.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

U.K. rapper Ghetts didn't slip through any cracks at home this year, I can tell you that. The veteran grime artist's latest project, Conflict of Interest, has been nominated for just about every album award in England, and deservedly so. It's a multi-faceted memoir in audio form that nonetheless feels like a theatrical experience. "No Mercy" is the antihero chapter, where Ghetts gets away with the figurative murder of his fellow MCs. I'm not going to necessarily endorse that metaphor for lyrical dexterity, but there's no questioning the East London native's lofty perch in the British grime hierarchy. But if we're being completely honest, it's not the bars that make "No Mercy" so memorable: It's those eerie, minor key "do-do-do's'' in the chorus. And that's fitting, because it's Ghetts' cinematic production choices that make Conflict of Interest such a compelling listen.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Snippets of this new song from Tierra Whack premiered on NPR Music's The Formula series. Host Rodney Carmichael asked, "Is this the first Tierra Whack gospel song?" Answer: Yes, it is, and it's so good. The atmospheric gospel chords create a canvas for Whack's vocals as she repeats "Heaven has all my favorite people," as if it's a mantra. The song, from her third EP of December, R&B;?, also received a music video, shot in a single take as Whack, illuminated by a light within her umbrella, weathers the storm while shrouded in darkness. It's as evocative as the song itself, offering the audience space to find peace in the lyrics, the harmonic chords, or perhaps the visual metaphor of walking in faith.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Popularized by Barbra Streisand as Fanny Brice and more recently explored by Lucy Dacus, the woes of funny women frequently resurface in song. Music requires similar creative talent as comedy, namely the abilities to think on your feet, keep a solid rhythm and carefully curate words to work in your favor. So, if being funny is a positive trait, why has it become a musician's lament? Faye Webster contributes to the funny woman canon with a greater sense of pride. The title track of her 2021 album, I Know I'm Funny haha, incorporates Webster's Americana roots with flares of indie rock, two genres known for their melancholy, to create an ode of sorts. In a one-way conversation with her partner, Webster shares stories about landlords, family and dreams. "She said I'm funny and I thanked her" packs the same bite of her funny-woman predecessors, Webster commits to what she knows to be true: "I know I'm funny, haha." Like a true comedian, Faye Webster uses her humor and ability to laugh at herself to tell intimate stories about her life and loved ones.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Latvia's best known contemporary composer, Pēteris Vasks, likes to set up battles between light and dark forces. And in the beautifully epic Vēstījums, which can be translated as "Tidings," the conflict rises to a ferocious level. Written in 1982, when Latvia was still under Soviet rule, the music is scored for two pianos, strings and percussion, and acts as a kind of warning from the natural world. The music begins in calm repose, then bursts open into an ecstatic sunrise. Dark clouds form and three-quarters in, the piece explodes in pounding piano clusters, clangorous bells and swirling strings that can only be described as the symphonic equivalent to a head rush. The composer commented, "The cosmos rejoices. We, the insane, will be lost but the miracle of the world will remain."

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

"Wish I Loved" is a song for those who have love to give, but lack a worthy recipient. From KIRBY's latest EP, Sis. He Wasn't the One, the song describes different ways partners come through for one another, from listening on a bad day to serving as a designated driver. It's a reminder that real love isn't about fanatical devotion, but about showing up and being present. When KIRBY sings, "I wish I loved somebody that much," it's clear that you can't offer this type of love to just anyone. It must be reciprocated and honored.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

To an exceedingly esoteric portion of Gen Z, few had a better 12 months than Drain Gang ambassador Bladee. The Fool, his fifth studio album, was a saccharine trance-inspired record and silly bright spot in 2021; to me, however, the Swedish rapper performs to his highest capabilities when assisted by other artists. His excellent tape with Mechatok, Good Luck, came out last December, and his song with Varg2™ marks his best performance of the year.

"SHINIE"'s title reflects the music itself: shimmering, reflective, alluring. Bladee's tracks are filled with an ever-present naivety, as if he's materialized in front of you with an effervescent halo like the Ghost of Innocence Past. Through layers of auto-tune, lines like the opener "sunglasses on at night, I can not see competition" carry an unbridled joy. Listening to Bladee is like discovering beams of sound from another planet: fleeting, yet indicative of something beautiful just out of your grasp. By the track's latter half – as Bladee vocalizes "change for me" over layers of twinkling, bouncing synths – you're fully immersed into the world he and Varg2™ have created, one of delicate emotional intimacy.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Whether it concerns her mental health, romantic woes or sexuality, Marie Ulven – the force behind girl in red – is not afraid of being candid. Her first full-length album, this year's if i could make it go quiet, deviates from previous bedroom pop material; a newfound sonic intensity pairs well with the album's vivid, often harsh, thematic content.

girl in red exhibits this pairing best in " Did You Come?," a tune about the jealousy of seeing a lover happy with someone else. It's sexual without being sexy, full of hurt yet upbeat enough that you can still thrash around a bit. To have a song and an entire album fill this strange niche of caustic but exuberant is almost an enigma of sorts, but girl in red executes it perfectly.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

In April, 2020, as the pandemic was ramping up, composer Richard Danielpour was worried about his health. To calm his nerves, he listened to pianist Simone Dinnerstein's Bach recordings. Then an idea sprouted. For Dinnerstein, he'd write a 15-movement cycle of piano pieces (American Mosaic) inspired by the virus and the heroes risking their lives. There are sections titled "Teachers & Students," "Rabbis & Ministers" and this one, dedicated to "Doctors & Interns," which unfolds a calm, long-lined melody, tinged with shadows. Dinnerstein made the album in her living room during lockdown. In Danielpour's liner notes, which are dated January, 2021, he says he hopes the album will bring comfort to those who have suffered and "I pray that we will see the light at the end of this extraordinarily dark tunnel." And one year later, where are we?

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Is it wrong to say that I forgot Christina Aguilera was Latina? Even for those of us that pride ourselves on pop scholarship, Xtina's second album Mi Reflejo was an early-career blip, one widely eclipsed by the staying power of her self-titled debut. As this year found several pop stars returning to their sonic roots (looking at you Camila), Aguilera enlisted heavy-hitters for her own contribution: the Spanish language single "Pa Mis Muchachas." Aided by Becky G, Nicki Nicole and Nathy Peluso, the song is a smooth guaracha ode to the Latina. With a catchy chorus and her signature riffs, Aguilera's vocals work well alongside her team of collaborators.

Still, it's interesting how after years of releasing stadium-filling pop music, she's decided to return to her roots. It makes me wonder about the authenticity of her sudden pivot in aesthetics. Is it because Latin music is in right now? An untapped market to the mainstream pop girl machine? Or, alternatively, does she finally feel comfortable after two decades of hitmaking to return to the sound that has been with her since the start of her career, this time without fear of flopping?

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

For the opening of "Uncle Chris Car," Brooklyn rapper Joell Ortiz drops us head first into a detailed account of his own birth: "Fresh out the womb, scour the room, a new flower just bloomed / My momma tells me, 'You was 'posed to come out me in June."

Upon leaving the hospital, the family loads into his uncle's car, driving home to the projects. From here, Ortiz walks us through a harrowing childhood of poverty and violence. He nails his point home by proclaiming that "If God really wanted me to get far, then why my Uncle Chris car made a left / He should've made a right," showing us how environment and circumstance can dramatically change a person's life trajectory.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying is recommending songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

It's easy to overlook legacy rock stars these days. The current wave of talented millennial and Gen Z songwriters is hard enough to keep up with, and it's not like many guitar heroes make their most memorable work in their 50s. All of which is why you may not have heard the title track to Liz Phair's latest album, Soberish -- but, damn, if this isn't one of the best rock songs of the year. A lopsided guitar hook makes for an instantly recognizable intro (one of the most essential ingredients to a memorable song, imho). Her lyrics tell the story of an awkward romantic encounter with humor, grace and sincerity. And there's this moment during the final refrain when the song's jittery percussion and guitar adds a warm bassline, casting off the anxiety of the previous three minutes and ending the night in a cathartic embrace. It all makes "Soberish" a lock for that inevitable Liz Phair greatest hits compilation.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

According to the Collins Dictionary, dépaysement refers to "the feeling of disorientation that occurs when you find yourself in a country that is not your home." Rapper and producer Lushlife — along with dälek — captures this feeling by constructing waves of surrealistic bars over a dreamy boom-bap beat. A chopped up children's choir sample adds to the song's ethereality, but when free-jazz titans Irreversible Entanglements are added to the mix, "Dépaysement" explodes into a fiery nine-minute avant-garde epic. By tapping into the adventurous spirit of free improvisation, "Dépaysement" ushers us past the limits of our comfort zone, taking us on a journey far beyond convention.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying is recommending songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Like an early holiday gift, every November a bespoke collection of deeply ambient soundscapes arrives via the Cologne, Germany-based label Kompakt. This year's Pop Ambient 2022 offers 15 floating soundscapes spanning over two-and-a-half hours.

Among the standouts is "Weiht" by Morgen Wurde, who is working here with vocalist Maria Estrella. The title could be translated as "Consecrates," and it is a song to get completely lost in. Listen for the subterranean rumblings which anchor the music with a gravitas that feels almost sacred. Estrella's wispy voice swirls around billowing waves of airy electronics and subtle percussive effects; as the music winds down, you can hear what sounds like the gentle plucking of a Japanese shamisen.

So if you're feeling a little anxious these days – and hey, who isn't – mix yourself a holiday cocktail and put this track on repeat.

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying is recommending songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

Moin is a post-punk trio with deep ties to London's electronic music scene — Joe Andrews and Tom Halstead make up Raime with percussionist Valentina Magaletti (Tomaga, Vanishing Twin) — and you can hear that precision infiltrate its debut album, Moot! The exclamation point in the album title is well earned; this is a dagger play of riff wreckage, with bass lines that groove as much as they open portals to other dimensions. The band exists somewhere in the deconstructed '90s punk nexus of Fugazi, Unwound and Shellac, but its high-definition payoff is somehow more psychedelic. For me, Magaletti's drumming is the draw, especially on a track like "Crappy Dreams Count" – the claustrophobic riff repeats and mutates throughout, but the drums shiver and shake with the electricity of a drum machine that's grown limbs.

See more #NowPlaying recommendations from Viking's Choice

As we near the year's end, #NowPlaying recommends songs that slipped through the cracks, but remain in our headphones.

On "Bed-Stuy Is Burning," veteran rapper Skyzoo laments how gentrification has torn apart the community that he once knew. Over a gorgeous, jazz-infused beat, Skyzoo runs down a vivid and loving detailing of life in the Brooklyn neighborhood that birthed him. With its soaring brass section and a slick vocal sample taken from Da Bush Babees' "Remember We," the chorus is heartbreaking as Skyzoo pleads to cities and communities throughout the nation: "Please, Philly, don't let this happen to you / Please, Atlanta, don't let this happen to you / Please, DMV, don't let this happen to you..."