In the Name of Love

Garrix's pivot away from the mainstage, and the moment he learned that a song could carry weight without a drop that flattens you. The production is unusually restrained for him — muted piano chords, a hollow low-end pulse, space left deliberately unfilled — and the chorus resolves into a fluttering, breath-like synth hook rather than a wall of sound. Bebe Rexha delivers what is arguably her best recorded vocal: raw at the edges, cracking slightly on the sustained notes, pushing into a rasp that sounds genuinely worn rather than styled. The lyric asks a painfully specific question — whether someone would stay simply because they were asked, in the name of love rather than out of desire — and the tension between that plea and the knowledge that it won't work gives the song its ache. It's a breakup record disguised as an anthem, which is why it translated equally to arena crowds and to headphones on a late bus. Released in 2016 as EDM was retreating from festival maximalism into pop songwriting, it became a template: producer as vehicle, vocalist as author. Best heard alone, at night, when the enormous chorus feels less like a celebration and more like something shouted into empty air.