The New York Times released its “30 Greatest Living American Songwriters” list in April 2026, and I noticed myself disagreeing with some of the choices. Personally, I would have replaced a few artists on the list with some that were on the ballot, but didn’t make the cut.
Additionally, maybe the following songwriters wouldn’t make it on the NYT list, but they deserve way more recognition for their talents than they get outside of their fanbases. I’m putting them on my personal list, anyway. And since this is my article, that’s all that matters right now.
Arlo Parks
Arlo Parks is an English singer-songwriter, but I’d try to put her on the NYT list anyway for her distinctly poetic lyrical voice that’s relatable yet rich. Her imagery is narrowed down so succinctly to portray specific emotions and experiences. But the language is accessible even as the ideas are raw or complicated.
The 2021 song “Too Good” is a great example of this. It starts with “I brought you breakfast, then you stared at your rings,” followed by “The air was fragrant and thick with our silence.”
The first image is concrete and real; we can picture exactly what’s happening. But the next line comes in with a concept we can’t get a solid grip on. Silence is neither fragrant nor thick, but the first line is a simple enough image that the second one easily becomes real as well. Parks is a songwriter who excels at this kind of contrasting imagery, making even her simpler compositions emotionally complex.
John Darnielle
The Mountain Goats is kind of like Wilco for people who exclusively listen to concept albums. Seriously, I’m 99% sure John Darnielle has only written concept albums. That 1% of uncertainty is only because The Mountain Goats have put out more albums than I have free time to listen to. All that aside, Darnielle possesses the unique ability to wield lyrics like both a finesse weapon and a blunt object. Take “Dance Music” from The Sunset Tree, for example.
It begins by setting the scene: “I’m in the living room watching the Watergate hearings / While my stepfather yells at my mother.” Then, the action: “Launches a glass across the room, straight at her head / And I dash upstairs to take cover.”
Now, with the implication that the parents are violently fighting downstairs, Darnielle gives us the quick flash of a fencing foil in one hand (“Lean in close to my little record player on the floor“) before clubbing us over the head with the butt-end of a shotgun in the other (“So this is what the volume knob’s for“).
CupcakKe
It’s my impression that CupcakKe is severely underrated for her songwriting because her persona is kind of silly on purpose. She went viral for her hyper-sexual songs and goofy references, but early fans probably know that she started as a poet.
Despite most of the mainstream attention falling on songs like “CPR” and “Squidward Nose”, CupcakKe has penned several emotionally charged songs about her deeply traumatic childhood. For example, “Ace Hardware” depicts the sexual abuse she endured as a child, written in her typical pull-no-punches style.
She doesn’t shy away from addressing anything there, from homelessness and poverty to abuse and school bullying. The second verse details the sexual abuse perpetrated by her pastor father, as well as her mother’s purposeful ignorance of the situation.
At the end of the verse, her mother finally acknowledges her: “She banging on my door, we gotta go in a rush / Grab my coat now we in the ER, rush / Doctor face so straight it’s the scariest, looked her in the eye and tell her she miscarried it.”
Joanna Newsom
Even if I had infinite lifetimes and mastery of all the world’s languages, I still wouldn’t be able to fully explain why Joanna Newsom’s songwriting affects me so deeply. Every time I try, the only thing that comes out of my mouth is a jumble of noises, followed by various wild gestures and a pleading “ya know?” But no one ever knows.
How can I possibly articulate the chokehold that woman has on me? Tracks that regularly break the 10-minute mark, rich with imagery, poetry, words I’ve never heard in a song before, and probably never will again.
As a teenager, the height of lyrical denseness for me was Panic! at the Disco’s 2005 album. 20 years later, all I can say is, Ryan Ross wishes he could cram as many multi-syllable vocab words into a song as Joanna Newsom does.
Cameron Winter
If you’re one of those people who jumped on the “Geese Is A Psyop” bandwagon because someone apparently doesn’t know what that word means, I’m going to have to ask you to reevaluate your choices. Or just complain somewhere else because I don’t want to hear it.
I don’t care if Geese hired a PR firm to push them on social media, a practice that is not new or revolutionary in any way that matters. Because Geese is good. Cameron Winter is a good songwriter. The whole “We Hate Geese for Using a Marketing Technique That’s Existed for a Decade” argument is not good.
I’ll say this: If you’re going to dislike Geese, do it because the music isn’t your vibe. And then—and this is very important—don’t talk about it anymore. But don’t discredit writing like “‘Hang me from a yo-yo or a rope / And I’ll be hanging by my neck all the same / So too shall I reach Long Island City, one of these days’” just because it’s the “cool thing” to hate Geese right now.
I promise, you’re allowed to like or dislike things without making a big deal about it.
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