Art via Evan Solano
Music never sleeps and neither does Leonel.
Music is, first and foremost, a communal experience. Its ritual dimension, its bodily roots, and its social function have always been to generate transformative experiences, both aesthetically and emotionally, in entire groups of human beings; to share understandings, discover new possibilities, and unleash passions. All of this can only be fully realized in a live performance, ‘cause music, when it truly fulfills its purpose, doesn’t happen in solitude–it happens when a song ceases to be an object and becomes an event.
I say this from a very specific place: I’ve been a musician for over 20 years, playing everything from rock and reggae to salsa, regional Mexican music, and Latin jazz as a bassist and percussionist, and if playing live teaches you anything, it’s that songs aren’t finished when they’re released. Then, they’re just prototypes for something greater. The studio can be an extraordinary laboratory; the stage, on the other hand, completes the ecosystem. That’s where it’s revealed which parts of a musical piece were just decoration and which were its backbone. It’s on stage where an artist’s musical vision is truly completed.
That’s why I find it so hard to accept the way both critics and fan communities usually appreciate, evaluate, and rank music. I like the studio; I’ve loved albums that can only exist there: meticulous works, almost clinically polished, perfectly curated, impossible to reproduce on a stage without losing their magic. But precisely out of respect for the art, I think it’s a mistake to turn that kind of work into the ultimate, universal norm in which music should be judged. What I call “studio album supremacy” is one of the great vices of the major music communities like RYM, Album of the Year, and honestly, a considerable number of writers that I otherwise respect and admire. Especially when, at this point, it should be common knowledge that there are albums artists, there are singles artists, and artists who shine brightest live.
These are the artists who are often excluded from the big year-end best-of lists; more criminally, entire musical styles are constantly ignored by music communities and press for being outside “the sphere of the studio album.” Think of the various subgenres of jazz, surf, punk, garage, psych and rockabilly acts, electronic and experimental artists whose work is based on collaboration and improvisation, and of course, jam bands, among others. Whether these artists are touring juggernauts, niche scene hustlers or small venue mainstays, they’re the backbone of the concert scene, which is, in many cases, one of the few places where musicians and workers can still make a living. For these musicians, the concert is not “another version” of the work. It is the work. The rest are partial documents.
For these acts, the next best thing is the live album, a product that in the last 30 years has gone from being a viable vehicle for generating interest, or in the very best cases, the ultimate test to seal the legacy of great bands, as was the case with Cheap Trick, Thin Lizzy, and jazz giants like Keith Jarrett, to marginal elements in the musical conversation, archival curiosities or Record Store Day goodies. But that doesn’t mean that the live release format is dead; No matter how much the Internet is generally blamed for the death of the live album, we can also argue that the Internet has saved it by causing a spike in interest for live performances, just in different ways.
In 2025, the discussion can no longer be confined to the classic “live album” format. Today, live performances are documented on video, discovered on YouTube, or published on the Internet Archive.
Live recording has expanded to such an extent that presentation formats like NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts, KEXP’s live sessions, or new players like Audiotree have become platforms for musical discovery for thousands of people, especially among younger generations.
For this reason, I am compelled to create this list of the best live releases of 2025, which also serves as proof of the expanding horizons of the format, in addition to illuminating what the studio-centric format tends to ignore: music based on the exchange of energy, improvisation, collective risk. This is music that does not fit into a fixed structure and lives beyond the filters and effects of a DAW or the channels of a studio console.
The greatest attribute of the Acid Rock movement and the great jam-heavy power trios of the psychedelic era wasn’t the crunchy riffs or the mind-melting solos, but the wonder of hearing three musicians at the peak of their powers explore new universes on each instrument, while combining their sonic energies in an alchemical ebb and flow. This principle applies to this album; Bill Orcutt, who has carved a special place in the experimental circuit with a unique sound that oscillates between noise, blues, and the calculated chaos of totalism, has joined forces with the ever-reliable Steve Shelley and psychedelic veteran Ethan Miller (Comets on Fire, Heron Oblivion) to create one of the most brilliant examples of rock improvisation of this century so far.
No album this year lived up to its lofty name as much as this masterpiece by the criminally underrated Polish band. [angry noises] presents a new way of sounding extremely heavy, almost on par with extreme metal, without the use of guitars and with a baritone saxophone as the main provider of distortion, improvisation, order, and chaos. The ensemble also has the rare distinction of not having any studio albums in its discography, demonstrating that live performance is its purest form of expression. This is evident in pieces that blur the lines between rigid composition and the most spontaneous interplay, resulting in one of the most fascinating musical offerings of the year. Special attention should be paid to the sonic monster that is the saxophone genius Monica Muc.
Of all the great divas of the more adventurous and experimental R&B and soul wave that emerged in the last decade, Kelela was always the most resourceful, the one who best anticipated the sonic and technological progress of the time. But her ethereal and electronic musical style always possessed an old-world soul, an echo that evokes intimate spaces and organic recordings. That is the spirit she channels on In The Blue Light, a work that masterfully translates her music into vocal jazz and late-night soul (and was recorded at the iconic Blue Note Club). Kelela’s unique voice moves smoothly through the acoustic arrangements, offering wonderful renditions of classics like “Blue Light” and “All the Way Down,” as well as powerful covers like “Furry Sings the Blues,” but it is the transition between “Raven” and “Take Me Apart” that stands out as one of the most transcendent musical moments of the year. A treasure captured on record.
This was much more than a concert: it was a collective therapy session for two generations of Latin Americans. 31 Minutos, the incredible Chilean children’s humorous and educational puppet show, shaped millions of young people with its messages of social responsibility, environmental awareness, community support, and anti-discrimination, but it was its musical elements that allowed it to break down political and cultural barriers.
In their Tiny Desk Concert, the army of creators dusted off their old characters and gave us 21 minutes of magic and nostalgia. Pablo Ilabaca’s musical direction is exquisite; Their way he transports the arrangements of the tunes (which were originally made with low-budget electronic elements and “toy” instruments) to the full band, semi-acoustic format, gave them both gravitas and greater sonic expressiveness–especially on highlight “Objeción Denegada” in which the band opens with a nod to the opening theme from Better Call Saul — but it is in the iconic “Mi Muñeca me Habló” with the great Jani Dueñas on vocals, where we can feel the entire continent in a triumphant sing-along that serves as the absolute culmination of a legacy that goes beyond television and music; 31 Minutos is, without a doubt, the most important Latin American cultural product of the 21st century.
Any jazz lover anywhere in the world would find it impossible to ignore an album with this premise: three of the greatest musicians of two (or three) generations come together to simply let the spirit of their own chemistry flow. Isaiah Collier, William Hooker, and William Parker already have a long history of pushing the boundaries of what’s possible in free jazz and fusion, but in this material (composed of various live sets recorded in 2023) they also give enormous space to meditation and, above all, to melody. Collier’s licks, in particular, although at times they indulge in the typical sixteenth note flourishes and pure shredding, always flow along a path built on classic modality, which is especially potent with a rhythm section that keeps stretching the musical space to its limits, giving their interplay a very Coltrane-esque (Alice, not John this time) dimension, with a lot more groove.
Tatsuya Yoshida is easily the greatest global ambassador of Zeuhl Music, that utterly bizarre hybrid of jazz fusion, progressive rock, dissonant avant-garde, and chamber music created by Magma. Yoshida has also become one of the most prolific, brilliant, and unpredictable musicians of the last 30 years in his own right. In 2025, his main ensemble, Koenjihyakkei, released their memorable live performances at Club Goodman on a double album that showcases the full spectrum of the Japanese band’s sonic vision: punk energy, operatic vocals harmonizing with brutal shrieks, unparalleled virtuosity, and so many changes in time-signatures and dynamics that it’s impossible to follow. This glorious journey through the band’s discography, with special emphasis on tracks from “Angherr Shisspa,” reveals the compositional uniqueness of a creator who has made controlled chaos the perfect vehicle for exploration and expression.
Released on the same day as the double album at Club Goodman, Tatsuya Yoshida’s other major live project this year showcases the legendary drummer’s most underrated facet: the plethora of sonic expressions he possesses as an improviser. This time, it’s a meeting of minds with the iconoclastic Mexican saxophonist Martín Escalante, who already has extensive experience with duets (Charlie Mumma, Ono Ryoko, Otomo Yoshihide), but it’s in this recording that a collaboration perfectly aligns with his sensibilities. Armed with only a lightly prepared saxophone, devoid of effects or electronic artifice, Escalante launches himself into a symphony of abrasions, screams, and feverish ramblings, for which Yoshida’s drums (especially tuned very high on this occasion) serve not as a complement, but as a partner in dialogue.
The various incarnations of Osees (under whatever name) have offered us kind of a sonic expedition, starting from their garage rock roots and branching out into psychedelia, neo-psychedelia, noise, and even folk. But their true strength is when they go full jam band. For this Live at the Broad, John Dwyer and company embrace the cosmic and propulsive spirit of Krautrock, complete with special loops, motorik rhythms, and two (!!) drummers swapping grooves like the Rhythm Devils themselves. The concert reveals the different textures the group has tackled and the inclinations of each member over the years, serving as a very pertinent representation of nearly two decades of a band that continues to push forward, doing whatever they feel like along the way.
Simply put, weed420 are the most brilliant young sound collage collective in the world right now. Building on the legacy of the Cramptons, these Venezuelans draw from a treasure trove of sonic elements from Latin American cultures, from salsa dura and reggaeton to insurance commercial jingles and comedy shows from all eras, and upon this foundation they compose musical passages somewhere between noise, post-rock, and pure hypnagogia. For this “first” live performance, they open with a piece that is half DJ mix, half noise jam, before launching into the definitive version of “el chiste mas largo de la historia” a track that, like them, can already be considered a highlight in the music of this decade.
Many times, the pleasure of listening to live records comes from the very idea of experiencing an actual experiment being made, and this one is literal, lab and everything. In Tonarium Live, Polish composer/sound designer Aleksandra Słyż brings up the titular instrument, which comprises two sets of modular synthesizers operated alongside a special mixer, for a riveting exploration of overtones, harmonic clusters, and immersive structures. The two side-long pieces not only uncover the character and possibilities of this contraption, but also the precise expressions and emotional pull of Słyż’ compositional universe.
BRUIT ≤ – Live on KEXP
King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard – Live in Lithuania ‘25
Knifeplay – Live In Seattle
France – Destino Scifosi
Deaf Center – Reverie
Éliane Radigue – Asymptote Versatile (1963-64)
Abul Mogard & Rafael Antón Irisarri – Live at Le Guess Who?
Oren Ambarchi & Eric Thielemans – Kind Regards
Jon Anderson & The Band Geeks – Live – Perpetual Change
Saul Williams, Carlos Niño & Friends – Saul Williams Meets Carlos Niño & Friends at TreePeople
Otomo Yoshihide, Emilie Škrijelj & Tom Malmendier – Weird Morning Meeting
Nakibembe Embaire Group & Naoyuki Uchida 内田直之 – Phantom Keys
ex. happyender girl – 追憶の夏のハッピーエンダーガール – re: summer (never) ends
Water Damage – Live at Le Guess Who
Oklou – NTS Session
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