15 years ago I made my first “yearly playlist.” They might not have been the best, but they were the most memorable tracks from 2010 for me. I named it, with the pretentiousness typical of my younger self, Songs You Never Heard in 2010. No, come on, do you really know the band Half Seas Over, who have one album and 165 monthly listeners (I just checked)?

A year later I repeated the experiment, and a year after that I decided it was time to stop playing hard-to-get and renamed my annual playlists—by then there were three—from the snobbish Songs You Never Heard to the simple and straightforward 2010 in 42 Songs and so on. Though I might have been hasty with “straightforward.” 42? Why exactly 42, not 40, not 50, or “as many as fit”? You might not care, but I’ll tell you anyway.

The very first playlist I made mainly to play in the car. Our car at the time couldn’t play mp3s, so I had to burn music onto CD-Rs. Using that program Nero Burning ROM: can you feel your knees suddenly aching and wanting to say “things were better before”?

One CD for the year’s highlights was too little, but two was just right. They fit exactly 42 tracks. And the next year also exactly 42. It was a coincidence, honestly. And I decided: 42 it is, especially since it’s the answer to the ultimate question about life, the universe, and everything.

Thus a tradition was born (15 years is a respectable length for personal rituals). At the beginning of each year I start two playlists—a draft for the final one, where tracks I definitely want to listen to over and over go, and a shortlist, where the whole stream of random discoveries and fleeting crushes lands. Well, “short”—by the end of the year there are several hundred tracks accumulated.

In January I sit down and listen to both. No more than a minute per track—to understand whether it will stay with me or I just liked it in the moment. No warm-up, no chance to “bloom by the finale.” Either it grabs me immediately, or goodbye. When the shortlist becomes truly short, I already know where the playlist will start and where it will end. All that’s left is to make sure the journey from start to finish feels like a coherent statement, not a dump of good tracks. Dramaturgy, you know.

Actually, it’s simpler than it seems. There’s a set of simple rules. Each track must perform a function: accelerate, hold, release tension, or close a block. Then we work either on development or contrast. And it’s not just “now we’ll have a lively guitar set.” Two tracks with the same tempo can be completely incompatible in energy, and energy must either accumulate or be consciously released. Timbre, arrangement, track structure (we try not to put a long intro after a drop), and so on—everything plays a role. Yes, I’m crazy.

Is the playlist ready? Spoiler: no. We take these 42 tracks and listen, listen, listen on repeat, from start to finish. Does a track fade into the background or become too intrusive? Goodbye. Does a pairing or transition work poorly? Goodbye. Doesn’t matter if it’s Pulp or The Weeknd, everyone is on equal footing. We look for a replacement from the shortlist. Listen again, listen, listen. Yes, I’m like that. This thing cannot be saved.

And now, as I listen to the latest final version for the ninth hour straight, and it hasn’t bored me once, I can confidently say: yes, this is my 2025. Only better, because the year was so-so, but the playlist turned out impeccable. Well, I think so. I’m not deleting the shortlist yet; what if in a couple of weeks I need to replace something? Precedents exist.

And now you and I go on that date from the meme: I play my playlist, and you applaud my exquisite taste. Here’s a link to all platforms at once (I use Spotify, everything is definitely there): tunemymusic.com/share/0NLxeSpmj7

If you like it—great. If not—in a year I’ll make the next one anyway.

#listened