Welcome to the newest edition of The Underdog, Way Too Indie’s monthly exploration of great, under-the-radar releases not receiving that much coverage elsewhere. This month’s selections are all exciting in their own special ways, and if these words aren’t enough to convince you, feel free to check out the clips below each album!

If you’re on Spotify, you can follow along all year as we add to The Underdog’s playlist to constantly be sampling some of 2015’s best indie music.

Ava Luna – Infinite House

“Do you appreciate my company?” This is the first question posed on Infinite House, the third album from Brooklyn five-piece Ava Luna. Over the course of the album, the band’s frayed, spastic fusion of post-punk, R&B, doo wop, and Dirty Projectors-esque experimentation ensures that the answer to this question is a strong, unequivocal “yes.” Its eleven tracks display a tighter, less erratic version of the “nervous soul” Ava Luna advanced on 2012’s Ice Level and 2014’s Electric Balloon without sacrificing the quirks and idiosyncrasies that earned this group their small but intensely devoted fan base. Carlos Hernandez can still wail and yelp like few others, as is clear on “Tenderize” and “Best Hexagon”, but on Infinite House, he spends more time crooning soulfully and delicately, as on “Black Dog” and “Roses and Cherries.” Likewise, Felicia Douglass’ creamy, romantic vocals carry over to “Coat of Shellac” from Electric Balloon highlight “PRPL,” and Becca Kaufman’s words continue to be oddly memorable, anchoring trippy adventure “Steve Polyester” quite nicely. Infinite House may be more streamlined than the two albums preceding it, but it’s still a grand experiment, one that answers another question it poses. “Does that resonate with you?” Hernandez shrieks on “Tenderize,” and once again, the response is an enthusiastic “yes.” (You can read our review of Infinite House here.)

Avid Dancer – 1st Bath

Jacob Summers wants you to dance and to stop playing with his heart. He thinks all your words are gone and wonders why he left you behind. On 1st Bath, his debut as Avid Dancer, he weaves stories of universal familiarity with music that’s just as widely appealing. Standard instrumentation, tempos, time signatures, and melodies comprise this album, but the music interests at a level above this normal line. It’s a collection of pop songs at heart, but more than that, it’s a gathering of poignant memories set to endearing sounds. The intertwined vocal harmonies and springing acoustic guitars of “Whatever’s On Your Mind,” for example, don’t invent any new tricks, instead employing all the old ones to create a genuine piece of music. Elsewhere, the African percussion and milky flow of “I Told You So” entices fragrantly within previously established musical confines. Songwriters’ desires, let alone Summers’, have rarely sounded so reasonable.

American Wrestlers – American Wrestlers

Familiarity can curse or bless a piece of music. For Gary McClure, who records lo-fi psychedelic pop as American Wrestlers, the fact that his songs sound like you’ve heard them before ensures their power. The static hiss of his self-titled debut recalls all manner of other acts, and his voice sounds like someone whose name you can’t remember despite knowing him well. The intimacy of his songs further enables them to strike a chord, and their finer details take second fiddle to a general state of tranquility and delight. “I Can Do No Wrong” wrings resonance out of a deceptively simple arrangement, and “Cheapshot” buries shoegaze classics underwater to surprisingly wonderful effect. Traveling all this well-trodden territory may not bring any explicitly new discoveries to light, but being happy with what you’ve got is easy when it’s presented so dearly.

Boosegumps – : )

Among twee pop’s strongest charms are it’s incredibly brief songs and adorably minimal arrangements. : ), Heeyoon Won’s newest release as Boosegumps, uses these two qualities splendidly. It compresses eight songs into twenty-two minutes without sacrificing wit (a song here is titled “March Sadness”), and its bedroom recording ensures its friendly familiarity. The album sounds like it’s emitting from small speakers in the opposite corner of the same room in which it was recorded, and allows listeners to feel privy to the recording process. This intimacy endows beautifully dim songs such as “Fade Away” and “Art of Losing” with a bright glimmer that guarantees their resonance, and further emphasizes the already peppy tones of “Forever” and “Disappear” with greater sunshine. : )‘s vocals only rarely dictate the mood and direction of its songs, but the smile of the album’s title bestows upon it a welcoming feeling throughout.

Jessie Baylin – Dark Place

It wouldn’t be too gross an exaggeration to claim that Jessie Baylin’s voice distantly echoes the deepest parts of Christine McVie’s vocal register. This compliment is indeed a grand one, and the folk and jazz influences of Baylin’s ghastly, moody, spacious tunes on Dark Place ensure that the impressive Fleetwood Mac comparisons don’t end there. “White Noise,” for instance, might be Rumours‘ “Oh Daddy” if it were conceived with today’s recording technology. Beyond this one reference point, though, Baylin’s third album emulates the most downcast of all 1970s music; specifically, it possesses warm and lush, yet ominous, soundscapes and husky, crestfallen vocals. These qualities might allow it to be mistaken for a lost document of that era, but that’s not to say that Dark Place is only valuable for novelty and nostalgia purposes. The songwriting here is plainly affecting, turning phrases like “You are my light, you are my everything/I die in your arms, yeah, that feels nice” (“Lungs”) into arrows to the heart. Baylin may have needed to travel to a Dark Place to get her message across, but her journey was clearly quite worth it.

Losergroove – Bananacrusis//Euphoriac//Rodent Noise//Fleur

NYC’s Losergroove released four EPs in the summer of 2014, and re-released them all as one remastered collection this month. The diversity of the music contained within this collection isn’t a mistake; it’s a gathering of four distinct releases living under the same roof. Every three songs, a new EP begins. Bananacrusis is arguably the most country-leaning one; Euphoriac seems to revere shoegaze and dream pop idols; Rodent Noise expands Euphoriac‘s reach into the freak-folk realm that acts such as Grizzly Bear have traversed excellently; Fleur finishes the journey with a fuzzier take on Euphoriac‘s goals. The second EP, then can be seen as the album’s cornerstone, but each has its merits, and gathered into one nicely flowing album, they all take on new lives, allowing for wonderful listening as one cohesive whole.

The Muscadettes – Side A

The possibilities of what one can do with a reverb-drenched electric guitar may be endless. Faced with this statement, two options are available: experiment like hell, or stick with what you know. Montreal five-piece The Muscadettes, led by a pair of twin sisters, choose the latter option to great success; operating in the same surf rock vein that’s guaranteed listeners for acts ranging from the Beach Boys to Best Coast to The Drums, they craft innately appealing, insanely catchy songs that require genuine effort to dislike. Without innovating or bearing any sort of pretense, they sonically channel clear blue skies and crisp, crashing waves on Side A‘s five tracks. Centerpiece and single “Pearl and Oyster” serves as the best example of this craft: its opening guitars attack with layers of echo and overdrive without sounding cheesy or overdone, and its vocals sound seductive without appearing insincere. “I’m a ripple on your subconscious,” begins the song’s second verse; after only a short time, so too becomes Side A. (You can read our review of Side A here.)

Pale Blue – The Past We Leave Behind

Mike Simonetti left his role as a top player at record label Italians Do It Better to found both new label 2MR and IDIB-sounding outfit Pale Blue. The Past We Leave Behind thus seems like a very deliberate album title, although musically, it’s incredibly retro-gazing too. As with much of Italians Do It Better’s output, it borrows from the Italo disco trends of kraut-like synth loops and ominous bass lines so popular in the 1970s. “Dusk in Paris” steadies itself on the push and shove of a repetitive, thick, digital undertow, and hosts Lower Dens’ Jana Hunter as a guest vocalist attempting her take on the genre’s frequent female lead vocals. “Distance to the Waves” features a more immediately engaging synthetic pattern that recalls Simonetti’s former labelmates Glass Candy, and “The Eye” sounds like it was accidentally left off one of Atari’s first video game scores. Although Simonetti has left parts of his previous life behind, he’s still fully wrapped in other aspects of music’s past.

Shana Falana – Set Your Lightning Fire Free

A few too many critics have complained that there isn’t anything left with which to experiment in shoegaze, but Shana Falana is proving them wrong. Set Your Lightning Fire Free, her newest album, splices roaring guitar work with drums so reverberant that they might be influenced by African and tribal rhythms. The album shifts the weight of the psychedelic experience to the percussion, a rare technique in a genre so reliant on the guitar to bear its emotional heft. “Anything,” arguably the most distinctly shining song present, pounds away with percussive precision; “Second Skin” breezes by on thunderous drums. But when snares and cymbals aren’t doing the job, Falana’s guitar is growling just as potently; it defines the steady murk of “Go” and the blissful surges of “There’s A Way.” Falana often stages a battle between guitar and drums, and the loud rallying cries of each team imparts a blaring strength to Set Your Lightning Fire Free that makes the album undeniable.

Weed – Running Back

They’re not named after the drug. Rather, this Weed refers to weeding people out of your life, and removing all negative influences from your existence. Given that they write music in a shoegaze vein so frequently trodden these days, it’s great that they put extra effort into excising the haters. Yet they really needn’t do so; there’s a spark and a charm to their approach that distinguishes their songs from the countless other artists citing similar influences. Opening track “Muscles” is aptly named; its guitars cascade with a force and potency not that often felt in this genre, and its vocals sound far weightier than many of its’ competitors words. This strength continues throughout Running Back, an album that suggests that imitation can be just as captivating as innovation, and pulls off the uncommon feat of exciting from within previously established stylistic confines.

Since their 2012 debut, the fascinating but not fully developed Ice Level, Ava Luna have pegged their eclectic, experimental, ineffable sound as “nervous soul.” This moniker proved quite adept in describing 2014’s jagged, frenetic Electric Balloon (one of last year’s best-hidden gems), but on follow-up Infinite House, anxiety makes its presence less known than ever before in Ava Luna’s career. Each of the band’s three vocalists spends less time in the manic, shrill sections of their vocal ranges, areas into which past releases dipped heavily; furthermore, these new songs’ rhythms, melodies, and harmonies tend to cut back on the complexities of previous works’ arrangements without sacrificing them completely. Nevertheless, Ava Luna haven’t ditched every one of their hallmarks: even though Infinite House may be Ava Luna’s most mature album yet, the zany, somewhat inscrutable lyricism that’s defined them to date still appears in spades here.

Where older Ava Luna songs such as “Sears Roebuck M&M’s” or “Calculus” thrill with jagged, agitated rhythms, vocals, and multi-vocalist harmonies, Infinite House‘s tunes tend to resonate via smoother, more linear rhythms and vocals. “Roses and Cherries”, for example, recalls the relatively muted Electric Balloon number “Aqaurium”, albeit with vocalist Carlos Hernandez exhibiting more restraint and control of his shaky, hissing vibrato and fretful expression. A pillowy acoustic guitar riff underpins Hernandez’ newly stable voice; when an electric guitar fill emerges later, it continues the song’s simple flow rather than pushing it in a more spastic direction as might happen on older Ava Luna tracks. Follow-up track “Coat of Shellac” also quite boldly rides a wave of sensual moderation, its spiny guitar parts playing second fiddle to the song’s soul-imbued bass line and not concealing it. Electric Balloon highlight “PRPL” seems in retrospect to have previewed this song, one on which vocalist Felicia Douglass displays what might be her most comfortable performance to date.

In general, Infinite House shows Ava Luna retreating into comfort, a move that might signal death for most bands, but instead ensures a more interestingly subtle third album for this five-piece. For instance, “Steve Polyester” bubbles past the ears without any sort of exaggerated features; the occasional doo-wop harmony or faintly whistling ambient noise, rather than an earth-shattering guitar blast, arhythmic groove, or piercing vocal wail, proves the most startling thing about this track. Final track “Carbon” also breezes by without intrusion while remaining gorgeous; its woozy piano foundation and harnessed vocal take indicate relaxation rather than angst. The title track wins in this category, though, as its low-key rumble feels like a lazy river against the backdrop of even this album’s loosest tunes.

Even when Ava Luna attempt to write in the fractured, pounding states they’re familiar with, they wind up with a distilled, less abrasive sketch of their old selves. “Tenderize” demonstrates that Hernandez hasn’t lost his ability to absolutely holler if he needs to, but far more often finds him resting at the midpoint of his impressive vocal range; furthermore, although its guitars bear that same past tendency to sound like an object slowly falling down a long set of stairs, they also don’t possess nearly as deep a barbed, frayed edge as Ava Luna is known for. “Black Dog” too attempts to reconcile the old Ava Luna with the new one, trading in a soft shroud of crooning and timid finger-picking for a window-shattering, overdrive-blasting guitar attack at its halfway point. As Infinite House songs go, it ranks among the most idiosyncratically Ava Luna songs present, yet it still feels impressively well controlled. “Best Hexagon” follows in sequence on the album, and this song’s steady rhythm, easily traceable harmonies and flow bear merely a sliver of past intricacies while impacting just as strongly.

The track that comes next, “Billz”, represents the most extreme moment on Infinite House, one that most vividly reminds the listener of Ava Luna’s background, explaining its role as the album’s first single. The pummeling roar of its introductory guitar riff gives way to a woozy verse of—you guessed it—nervous soul, which then leads to a melodically and rhythmically elusive chorus. The repetition of this song’s fiery introduction as its post-chorus relieves the tension of the chorus, a trick employed to great success many times in Ava Luna’s previous highlights. Its lyrics are no more decipherable; even reading its lyrics on Infinite House‘s Bandcamp page never fully elucidates the song’s meaning, although guessing it’s a statement about the worthlessness of a college degree in this day and age might not be a bad start.

The lyricism of Infinite House provides the most obvious link between the album and Ava Luna’s previous two collections. If the words on songs such as “Sears Roebuck M&Ms” and “Electric Balloon” felt completely arbitrary and stream-of-consciousness, then the tale of “Steve Polyester” is the dialogue of a comic book acid trip (“Shaped like a cockroach/he smells good”). Even on “Coat of Shellac”, arguably Infinite House‘s most tender moment, the lyricism delves into the abstract: “No not like the TV, whittle it away/sorta novel to stay largest and heavy, mountain full of clay”, hums Felicia Douglass in what’s otherwise an enjoyably standard love song. It’s likely that this approach has grown into an Ava Luna trademark to impart some sort of humor to their work, as evidenced in “Victoria”‘s graduation of the phrase “you’re no good, baby” to “you’re a no good, baby”; both statements alternate with the notion that “you’re everything I want you to be.”

Although Ava Luna’s lyrics remain weird and funny, their music is now the farthest it has felt from these descriptors thus far in their career. That’s not to say a song like “Company” isn’t odd and that its stuttered chorus doesn’t impart a slightly comical tone to its words; rather, Ava Luna employ greater moderation on Infinite House, a technique that portrays the band as newly level-headed without betraying their most exciting aspects. Soulful though they may still be, nervousness has become a thing of their past.

In a year filled with world politics and tragedies, it’s only fitting triumph was a common theme found in music during 2014. For every senseless crime, there was a gratifying album in direct response to it. Those seeking self-love and acceptance found comfort in the arms of Perfume Genius and Jack White. Those looking for poignant social commentary discovered it through the words of Run The Jewels. Moreover, those who yearned for isolation found solace in Angel Olsen’s latest album. In between all of that were three career defining releases from St. Vincent, The War on Drugs, and FKA Twigs. Our list highlights 20 albums that are all pleasing distractions during this time of uncertainty.

Way Too Indie’s Best Albums of 2014

#20 Ty Segall – Manipulator

Manipulator is a wormhole consisting of atoms that are charged from the past and atoms reinterpreted for the present. Manipulator is a murky mix that only a producing maniac like Ty Segall could release. Ty has a deep discography that would take weeks to dissect, yet he is only 26. If Jack White is the hardest working man in rock music, then Ty must be his crazy stepbrother. This isn’t your father’s rock and roll or the 90’s Nirvana off shoot band your brother started in high school. Manipulator is a fast, grimy, blazing sound that embodies everything Ty has been working towards. This album truly sounds like an artist who cannot foresee not putting out his creations. Vacuumed in an airtight room, the album kicks off with the title track. It rides under an overcast and fuzzy sky of its influences where the drums, guitars, and Ty all squeal.

This album is a cornucopia that has been reshaped with sounds spanning different genres. At the same time, Manipulator also feels personal. “The Clock” tackles the burning desire of an artist who sees time as a small window for creativity and output; “The Singer” is a tale of how fans sometimes fail to appreciate the showmanship of art because they always want more. The theatrical highlights include “Tall Man Skinny Lady” and “It’s Over.” Manipulator floats on a hazy comfortable horizon. It delivers some truths and mounts Ty as the brightest student from the rock and roll school of thought. [Sami]

#19 Alex G – DSU

DSU is a strong poetic beauty. Alex G humanizes various tidal waves of emotions in a category that manages to leap outside the boundaries of dream pop and lo-fi. Sharp and short whimsical flavors structure this full-length, as Alex sounds about as wise as your father. It’s refreshing to encounter a project from a youthful songwriter who writes in a succinct and ageless voice. The lyrics are surrounded by familiar sounds that contain their own quirks and riffs. Alex G is a serious songwriter; his sound is vibrant with or without its influencers. DSU feels sensible, but a closer look reveals an adolescent façade. It’s a lush garden of prosperous lyrical landscapes. The dream-chasing “Harvey” is an ornament for anyone working towards something special. Even with a short life span, “Harvey” manages to induct pleasant-sounding grooves and proves to be Alex G at his best.

There are many other standouts. “Promise” is an eclectic mix of funky drowning sounds lost in a dreamland. The dense drums intersect to produce a sweet aural hallucination. Dazzling instrumentals also create a nice contrast to the dim lyrics of “Hollow”, where Alex kicks this track into a smooth four minutes. In just this short time, the ambiance goes from a grunge essence to something trance and then to something tame. “Boy” is a gem. “I am not the boy you knew”, Alex vows in this coming of age song. It’s quaint and ends with a grand piano. From the deeply emotive “Sorry” to the last track “Boy”, much of what Alex G accomplishes creates a desire for his next move. [Sami]

#18 White Lung – Deep Fantasy

There are EPs longer than this album, yet here it is on the list. Deep Fantasy is actually pretty shallow in terms of its lengths; where the depth appears is in the low-pitch, rapid guitars, militant percussion, devilish shrieking, and harrowing lyricism. Guitarist Kenneth William hits virtually every guitar note possible throughout this album, Anne-Marie Vassiliou storms the field with her steadfast drumming, and vocalist Mish Way ignites the fire burning in front of these songs. Her lyrics, which balance the personal and the political, provide the true fuel for the flames: check the eating disorder study “Snake Jaw” and the ailing sexual assault victim anthem “I Believe You” for proof. The latter track is a pretty succinct summary of Deep Fantasy’s unique flicker: listen to the passion with which Way consoles her friend that, despite the constant social and institutional tendency to doubt or dismiss rape claims, she wholly trusts her friend and encourages her to stay strong and fight for justice. The assertiveness of this stance is brashly echoed by her band’s hyperactive, harsh punk and her searing beckon, a combination that pervades this 22-minute Fantasy. [Max]

#17 MØ – No Mythologies to Follow

Possessing pop versatility is a true art that took MØ only one album to achieve. No Mythologies to Follow is a cohesive, ironic blend with a touch of mainstream sensibilities. MØ translates to virgin or maiden in Danish, but this album never alludes to its freshman status. At her very best, MØ’s formula for success is undressed and unedited. Many layers of synths, vibrant bass, thick, clashing drums, and the sweet influences of electronic music fuse neatly. There’s a satisfying mixture of accessible sounds combined with her own independent quirks. “Glass” doesn’t play coy and quickly drops the line, “Oh dear one turn the lights off/So our horny souls can have some private time.” It’s a whirlwind of pleasing tones mixed with tempting drums and disdained lyrics about growing older. Most songs are a heavy packet filled with a very zealous workload. That’s not such a bad thing when she creates tracks like “Maiden” that have waves of surging synths that transport listeners with her delicate and mystical voice. “Pilgrim” features running horns coated against clunky and infectious claps. No Mythologies to Follow is a welcomed aggregation of sounds that positions MØ towards pop star status. [Sami]

#16 TEEN – The Way and Color

“It’s so not personal” is the first phrase heard in TEEN’s “Not for Long”, the second track from their sophomore album The Way and Color. The irony here is that, well, the songs here are pretty damn personal. “Sticky”, for example, contemplates the spectrum of consequences that accompany an abortion; “Breathe Low and Deep” portrays a defeated narrator doing her best to cope. The weight of these stories might explain the major leap in songwriting from TEEN’s past work too. The same band once hauntingly distant from listeners on their debut now engage the ears with excellent vocal harmonies, flowing melodies, ominous psychedelia, and dreamy ambience. Whether via a groovy, uptempo escapade like “Tied Up Tied Down” or a more introspective stance as on “More Than I Ask For”, TEEN’s new compositional advancements consistently result in entrapping, gorgeous, afflicting psych pop. And all of this is obvious even before catching them in concert, a tremendous live show which seems to have gone overlooked by the community at large. At this rate, though, not for long. [Max]

#15 Real Estate – Atlas

There’s nothing idyllic to see here. Atlas is not a roadmap towards sunny waters. This album is a chamber of deep isolation that is thoughtfully constructed. At every corner, it is constantly reaching out for answers, as seen through relatable human emotions. Soft and clean guitars are still present as the band hands out a chronological guide. It’s easy to view this collection of songs as a series of inevitable events. It’s simple and timeless as Real Estate ventures to the past. The guitars and drums are so soft that they feel like a warm blanket of pillows. When they sing about going back to an unrecognizable hometown years later, you feel it. When they sing about a long distance relationship, you understand it. There’s a sad and poignant moment on the record where lead singer Martin Courtney, wonders if his words are resonating with whoever he is speaking to. “And I might as well be talking backwards/Am I making any sense to you?” he says in a melancholy voice supported by charming and sunlit instruments. Often these songs offer glimpse into the heart of someone searching for something tangible. Atlas is all encompassing journey for anyone who has ever faced an existential crisis about love or life. [Sami]

#14 Mitski – Bury Me at Make Out Creek

If this list were based purely on lyrics, Bury Me at Make Out Creek might be #1. Mitski Miyawaki wastes not a single breath, each and every word she utters as haunting and evocative as her newly intense, overwhelming instrumentals. “You’re the breeze in my Austin nights”, “I want a love that falls as fast as a body from the balcony”, “One word from you and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby”, and “I don’t smoke except for when I’m missing you/to remember your mouth, how you tasted true” are only the most startling of the countless melting turns of phrase present here. These words are often accompanied with little more than a static, fragmented wall of guitar fuzz and unsettling drum machines, yet impact with the magnitude of a musical army. On the other hand, Make Out Creek is also full of sparser moments, but these are equally powerful. The almost violent guitar punch defining the latter half of opener “Texas Reznikoff” is just as heartbreaking as the spacious, steely dirge of “I Will.” This latter track may initially seem like the one song here on which Mitski has conquered her loneliness, but it’s actually a summary of what she wishes someone would say to her. If that’s not both tremendously upsetting and eerily beautiful, as is the entirety of Make Out Creek, then nothing is. [Max]

#13 Jack White – Lazaretto

Jack White is an Etch-A-Sketch. Categories, genres, and preconceived notions don’t apply here. His first solo album, Blunderbuss, was an aggregation of fire, electricity, and passion. Naturally, we all expected Lazaretto to be the fast spitting fire ball of energy that Blunderbuss was. When the lead single “Lazaretto” first dropped, the hip hop elements synced perfectly with his electrically charged vocals. Ultimately, Lazaretto set a precedent that no two Jack White projects will ever be the same. The album was inspired by a collection of poems and short stories that were written by Jack when he was a teenager. Those poems and stories served as the source materials for each song. Unbounded by his inspirations, Jack still inhibits his usual buoyancies and daze. The solely instrumental “High Ball Stepper” is an animated and lively track that serenades until the very end. It encompasses different densities and textures as Jack sweeps around different tints and shades. Quaint bluesy qualities are featured on the song “Entitlement”, while “Temporary Ground ” feels very Nashville. Lazaretto is an interesting Jack White album because it feels very bombastic and also tamed. It is consistently inconsistent. It is a melting pot. [Sami]

#12 Caribou – Our Love

In 2010, Caribou’s best song up to that point in his career, “Odessa”, placed him as the fly on the wall of a constantly fighting couple’s bedroom. Although vocalist and songwriter Dan Snaith expressed proper sympathy towards the relationship’s victimized female, he never offered any solutions for her to escape her pitiable state. On Our Love, his first album since then, he still doesn’t seem to have any answers, but he’s now writing from a first person perspective rather than an outsider’s point of view. First track “Can’t Do Without You” bemoans Snaith’s loss of a lover rather than proposing any method to get her back, and it’s not much longer before “All I Ever Need” is simply another list of woes. No complaints, though; if these troubles are leading to songs as cosmic, smooth, and hallucinogenic as these electronic jams, then let’s hope Snaith’s problems dissipate via some external force rather than his own resolution. Our Love is overflowing with gorgeous, colorful synth work that’s as entrancing as it is mobile. The title track is simultaneously warm and danceable, and “Mars” puts some serious swing into its trippy prettiness. The influence of R&B and deep house, novel informers for Caribou, account for Snaith’s newfound ability to merge the psychedelic, the heartfelt, and the body-moving. Check penultimate track “Back Home” as the strongest example of Our Love’s brilliant approach: a slowly bubbling piece of mind-melting R&B that ascends from ghostly vibrations into head-thumping wispiness, it’s the peak of a formula that consistently entrances across Our Love’s ten whole songs. [Max]

#11 Tennis – Ritual in Repeat

Nostalgia can be a knife in the back or a prosperous recalling. Tennis’ Ritual in Repeat is a testament to the latter. This husband and wife duo formulates a more grandiose and powerful record that both emulates the past and presents their own swatches of sounds. Rather than drowning in their influences, Tennis manages to bounce from decade to decade smoothly.
The roller skate jam “I’m Callin” sounds like an early 90s Celine Dion track that got stuck at an 80s dance party. There’s a noticeable dichotomy that latches onto this album. Stripped away and running free is when Alaina Moore’s voice is most exposed and empowering. However, this record also contains tracks that evoke a singalong jam band aura. More specifically, “Needle and The Knife” easily permeates through the track list with its tightly coupled percussion and string instrumentals. Ritual in Repeat marks the creation of their own wanderlust persona. Tennis avoids circles and stigmas by delivering one of the most likable records of the year. [Sami]

#10 Run the Jewels – Run the Jewels 2

“I’m finna bang this bitch the fuck out!” says a nuclear Killer Mike. The next three minutes are the beginning of a fueling atomic bomb. Run the Jewels 2 is an action-packed, pressure-pointing push against the chest, as Killer Mike and El-P instantaneously huff audacious lines. Towering over pompous beats, the duo creates stacks and layers that have contrasting tension. RTJ2 is a bombastic social commentary with strong meaning. The kinetic energy is high as Killer Mike aggressively asks for rival gangs to unite and El-P testifies that the court system is out of order. They take you down deep and brazen tunnels with lyrical traps like “You know your favorite rapper ain’t shit/And me, I might be/The closest representation of God you might see.” RTJ2 is still a captivating, fun time. “Close Your Eyes (And Count To Fuck)” is a nuclear power plant that generates invigorating energy. There’s a sharp chemistry between the duo that doesn’t feel calculated. At times, Killer Miller sets the stage for the main action, and El-P smoothly completes the cause. RTJ2 burns your skin, injects some social topics, and delivers a great time. [Sami]

#9 Makthaverskan – II

These five young Swedes use the English language better than many native speakers do. Where many of today’s best musicians get by on poetic, extravagant lyricism, Makthaverskan instead use the most elementary of words and images to achieve emotional resonance. The cries of “Fuck you! Fuck you!” that pin down “Antabus” could easily originate from the mouth of a histrionic teenager rather than these heavy-hearted 20-something-year-olds, and the piercing despair of “I don’t know where you are tonight, but if you want I’ll take you back” that grounds the chorus of “Something More” could fit inconspicuously on a pop punk record. Rather than obfuscating their pleas with dense wordplay, Makthaverskan can afford to be this upfront since their delivery is so genuine. “It’s not me you’re dreaming of!” might sound whiny and immature in worse hands, but Maja Milner’s urgency and her band’s Goth-drenched, new wave-indebted instrumentals ensure that these words land as potent daggers rather than as ignorable pouting. Makthaverskan’s cocktail of direct, heartfelt singing, dreamy, gorgeous, incisive instrumentation, and straightforward lyricism aren’t new in name, but rarely have they been combined so grippingly. [Max]

#8 Ava Luna – Electric Balloon

Brooklyn’s Ava Luna are the precise sum of a few very well known musical kooks (Deerhoof, Pixies, Dirty Projectors), yet have a fanbase that’s merely the size of their underground friends and soundalikes Krill (who, unrelated, are set to release one of next year’s best albums). Their mastery lies in their ability to spin the idiosyncrasies of their popular influences into a sound that’s uniquely theirs despite its obvious forebears, so why aren’t more people listening? Almost everyone who enjoys the music of their influences is bound to enjoy them, but few have discovered the flavorful gem known to the world as Electric Balloon.

Give it time, though. More listeners are bound to stumble upon this wonderful, jagged, soulful, experimental rock group; it’s inevitable with tunes this distinct and dissimilar. What other band could include a stuttered, manic punk barker like “Daydream” on the same record as the yelpy, teasing funk strut of “Sears Roebuck M&Ms” and make them sound like the same artist’s vision? Better yet, how many groups could place these two songs back to back and make them flow as though nothing about each is different? Maybe the same musicians capable of the stop-and-start fury and quiet of album highlight “Plain Speech” could. Clearly, Electric Balloon is a wacky, diverse collection – the flamenco-like “Aquarium” precedes the earnest, gleaming comedown of “PRPL” – and fans of the unhinged will flock to it in due time. [Max]

#7 Cloud Nothings – Here and Nowhere Else

On Cloud Nothings’ 2012 breakout Attack on Memory, songwriter and vocalist Dylan Baldi was furious about his dejection, resulting in eight harrowing post-punk gems that turned heads and attracted new fans. Two years later, Here and Nowhere Else shows Baldi finding the silver lining in his woes rather than just complaining about them. The album conveys that the new, more mature Baldi acknowledges his troubles, finds solutions to them, and successfully executes these strategies. This evolution results in a somewhat brighter, more developed sound, although the album is still consistently dark and noisy.

The mild reinvention of Cloud Nothings’ sound is evident the moment the album starts. “Now Hear In”, the opening track, begins with a traditional power chord riff that’s only barely overdriven, as compared to the scathing distortion of Attack on Memory tunes such as “Wasted Days” and “Our Plans.” The lyrics that soon follow contain a sliver of optimism previously unheard in Cloud Nothings’ work. “No use remembering how it used to be serene/And I can’t feel your pain and I feel alright ‘bout it,” Baldi muses about a failed past relationship, choosing to move on rather than drown in his self-pity. “You don’t really seem to care, and/I don’t even talk about it” from “No Thoughts” later echoes this sentiment, one which pops up constantly throughout the album.

Of course, we’re talking about Cloud Nothings here; even with a brighter mindset, Baldi knows he’s best capable of expressing emotions through noise, and there’s no absence of it here. His constant tightrope walk between lyrical positivity and angry noise dictates Here and Nowhere Else’s success; check the ascension from faintly sunny, clearly sung garage punk to sweltering noise barrages on tracks like “Psychic Trauma”, “Just See Fear”, and “No Thoughts” as proof. There’s no shortage of explosive, frantic drumming on these songs either, so it’s interesting that final track “I’m Not Part of Me”, which contains only the poppiest elements of this album, tends to be its best regarded. Maybe this acclaim stems from its bold statement of the album’s thesis: “I’m not telling you all I’m going through/I feel fine,” declares Baldi, and his confidence and hopefulness embody his latest masterpiece. [Max]

#6 The War on Drugs – Lost in the Dream

Lost in the Dream is the kind of treasure you hope to find in your grandparent’s attic. Adam Granduciel knows how to craft transatlantic gems. Each song feels like its own climatic mini-series. The craftsmanship that was put into this album was very labor intensive in the way that it feels like hurt, despair, confusion, pressure, love, and triumphance are all pillars that construct this album. In order to write songs like, “Under the Pressure, Granduciel had to experience the loss of both love and his identity. Consequently, Lost in the Dream is the rebirth of a resilient soul. As album opener, “Under the Pressure” is a slow-moving master and a victorious ride. At the end of the track, Granduciel manages to crack that, “Well I’m surviving, under the pressure.” This propels an emotional voyage.

Granduciel recreates his stories for a timeless journey. A picturesque dystopian vibe lends its hands to “Suffering” as he wonders about the destruction of his relationship. “Suffering” is the kind of heartbreaking trip that leads to the creation of conquering jams such as “Under the Pressure.” Its slinky guitars offer a comforting ride. The passionate lyrical content makes it possible for most songs on the album to be about five minutes long. No song on the album exemplifies an aching and healing heart as well as “Eyes To The Wind.” This song represents the part of the movie where the main character finds the strength to start moving on. A zoned out saxophone compliments the triumphant atmosphere. Elsewhere, the title track hits like a ton of bricks lyrically. When Granduciel sings, “Lost in the dream, or just the silence of a moment/It’s always hard to tell, down in the way they cut it open and they sold it/It’s always hard to tell”, it becomes so easy to view life and love as an unwinnable game. However, even Granduciel doesn’t mind losing, because he now acknowledges that loss is just a necessary pre-arranged fragment of his life.

It is fitting that “In Reverse” was the last song written, and is appropriately the last song on the record. It recalls important phrases and sounds from most of its predecessors. “In Reverse” is a self-awakening feat that takes months to discover. Ultimately, many will call on Tom Petty or Bob Dylan as obvious influencers, but Lost in the Dream is the setting stone that the band needed to blow away all that chatter. This album is an epic Americana journey that chronicles a lost soul who completely finds the strength to refocus on his dreams and self again. [Sami]

#5 Perfume Genius – Too Bright

No one uses pain as a muse better than Perfume Genius. He crafts daggers that rupture emotions and send all feelings spiraling. Mike Hadreas also has perfect timing. Better yet, his music has always been culturally relevant. In 2012, Hadreas released the music video for his single “Hood.” That same year, marriage equality gained serious momentum and support. In the video, his eyes were a deep color of melancholy. The camera zooms out and it’s revealed that Hadreas is in the arms of another man. They are domesticated and in love. This relationship is a beautiful figuration of love but Hadreas’ past still haunts him. Regardless of sexuality, this is a strong human emotion. Unfortunately, there were many people who left hateful comments on the video’s YouTube page; however, none of them could take away its importance and significance. In just two years, many states have allowed same-sex couples to marry. This theme of toleration and equality is prevalent in Perfume Genius’ lead single, “Queen.”

“Queen” is a personal statement of endearment that unshackles Hadreas from his critics and his past work. His previous album, Put Your Back N 2 It, was tame and subtle. This new album is instead bold and risky, which is evident in the very first track, “Decline”, where Hadreas sings, “No thanks, I decline.” Specifically, he declines all judgments and notions. Too Bright is a bag of new tricks that contains the murky and dirty “My Body” and the finger-snapping bar blues tune “Fool.” Things get unpolished and industrial on “Grid” as it perfectly personifies any American Horror Story soundtrack. Perfume Genius isn’t afraid of bizarre, gritty, or grimy sounds. He still gets intimate and doesn’t lose his competent lyricism. Tender touches are available on songs like “Don’t Let Them In.” Too Bright shrieks, breaches past uniformity, and reshapes hate into a powerful project. [Sami]

#4 Spoon – They Want My Soul

They’re asking just the right band. Elements of soul have lied at the periphery of Spoon’s music for a while now; whether in the raspy, shaky vocal delivery and tipsy pianos of “All the Pretty Girls Go to the City”, the sensual pleading of “I Turn My Camera On”, or virtually the entirety of Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga, Motown’s sheen distantly informs this veteran band’s music. But now they want Spoon’s soul, after almost two decades in the game, and the band’s response seems to be tucking it away more than even before. Although flickers of soul’s influence still tend to pop up in Spoon’s pianos, They Want My Soul is their most pop and rock-oriented album, although it still bears the marks of their oddball take on straightforward styles.

If any Spoon album were to pleasurably beat listeners to death, it would be this one. Opener “Rent I Pay” picks up where the crushing pounders of previous album Transference, a somewhat but undeservedly maligned part of their catalog, leaves off; rarely have Spoon’s guitar smacked listeners’ faces harder. The hard groove of “Rainy Taxi” and the deep-fried chords of “They Want My Soul” achieve the same effect, engaging the ears with more aggression than we’re used to from this band. Sure, past greats like “Don’t Make Me a Target” and “My Little Japanese Cigarette Case” strike with great weight, but the stomp of lead single “Do You” resembles a low-Richter earthquake by Spoon standards. This lead single’s sun-soaked guitars, skip-hopping pianos, and almost-coughed vocals aren’t necessarily a new approach for these guys; rather, they’re just taken to their maximum here, as on many songs.

Yet despite the abundance of relative skull-crushers here, They Want My Soul is responsible for some of the most eerie, gentle, unrelentingly gorgeous moments of Spoon’s extensive catalog. Final track “New York Kiss” pours a hint of new wave into its nostalgic melancholy, ending the album on a surprisingly sober, aching note. Far earlier in the album, “Inside Out”, arguably the best song Spoon has written in seven years, is the closest listeners will ever come to crying along with the band. An unexpectedly haunting, pristine piece of restrained synthpop (!!!) with maybe the most fragile lyrics in Spoon’s discography, it’s a track that songwriter and frontman Britt Daniel told The Guardian is “the most beautiful thing [Spoon has] done.” Even though Spoon may be protecting their soul for the moment, a track this beautiful attests to the striking humanity they’ve achieved for not nearly the first time in their career. [Max]

#3 FKA twigs- LP1

A strong visceral string pulls at the core of everything that FKA twigs produces. Intriguing textures, contrasts, and vibrancies all result in LP1 being the most resilient visual album of the year. The album package has a certain Mona Lisa-esque puzzling aesthetic that is graphically interesting. The sleeves for the album feature crumbling, melting, distorting versions of the main album art. In totality, the album art, tracks, music videos are a unified front. The album art quantifies a very somber and an almost sorrowful twigs. The center of her face is colored with red, blue and purple. Red is a color that represents a burning passion, desire, sexuality and romance. On the other hand, blue embodies wisdom, loyalty, truth, and confidence. Purple demonstrates luxury, power and mystery. A passionate red, a confident blue and a very mysterious purple all manifest themselves on this album. LP1 is a portrayal of basic human emotions from an artist that is often personified to be extraterrestrial or unearthly.

It can be said that 2014 went through an alternative R&B phrase. However, none stimulated this genre more than twigs’ “Two Weeks.” An alien beat treads lightly as it marries with twigs’ sensual voice. Her voice is as commanding as every word she sings. This is where the red, blue and purple collide. There is explicit desire, shades of an intensely confident blue and a very mysterious purple. This is definitely the kind of song that every artist should hope to write. It’s an audio stunner that exemplifies the best in rhythm and blues. Twigs projects a stealthy and mysterious image; however, the song “Pendulum” is far from otherworldly. It showcases relatable human emotions. “Pendulum” is a soulful song where an eclectic mix of pleasing sounds lies underneath her as she vocalizes. This track demonstrates a different kind of desire than “Two Weeks.” This time it’s less about sexual desire and more about desiring loyalty. Desire is a strong thematic field that keeps this album together.

Various audiovisual instrumentals invite momentum to each song that is often enthralling. “Lights on” is an intense flame where twigs confesses that “when I trust you we can do it with the lights on.” Similarly, “Kicks” is bursting with imagery of twigs slowly releasing herself from the robust, magnetic desire. Her ethereal delivery matches her fragile state of mind. LP1 succeeds because it is a conglomerate of visual and sonic unity. Twigs has earned a 2015 Grammy nomination for Best Recording Package. Her imagery is mesmerizing, colorful and subtle and therefore, it’s a good sign that the Grammys have recognized an artist who has unique layers. [Sami]

#2 Angel Olsen – Burn Your Fire For No Witness

Now signed to a bigger label and empowered with a full band to record with, Angel Olsen’s Burn Your Fire for No Witness takes all manner of creative leaps with her unique fusion of folk, country, and blues rock. The album is distinctly memorable for how many diverse templates it applies over its runtime, and how brilliantly it succeeds in each mode it attempts. Drumless folk hum is as abundant as both roaring, howling rock stompers and twangy, country-lit musings. Even with Olsen’s flexibility boosting her songs’ quality, though, it’s her voice, both lyrically and musically, that shines most strongly throughout the album.

Opener “Unfucktheworld” is an extended false start for Burn Your Fire; its diminutive, bare-bones folk in no way anticipates follow-up “Forgiven/Forgotten”, a window-shattering anthem of loneliness. Elsewhere, “White Fire” delivers a boldly haunting starkness, and “High and Wild” marries cowgirl boots with piano that nearly recalls good ol’ ragtime. The stylistic bending that drives this album keeps it consistently entertaining, and also contrasts the constance of isolation, despair, and anguish as lyrical themes. “Stars” details the complications of escaping an emotionally abusive relationship, and “Enemy” and “Iota” may detail similar failings. “Unfucktheworld” depicts attachment from a distance, where as “High and Wild” explores the same feelings from a much closer perspective. Each of these songs varies in sound, yet thematic consistency ties them together excellently.

Where the intersection of topical uniformity and stylistic deviance truly meets here is the ineffable, primal power of Olsen’s voice. Her singing is always deeply mournful and pained, whether over a music bed as dim as that on “Dance Slow Decades” or one as earnest as “Lights Out.” This latter song is both the album’s midpoint and the true meeting of Olsen’s vocal talent, emotional discovery, and genre tendencies. Its desolate electric guitars gleam slowly and with no distortion, but make up for this lack of drive with plenty of reverb and eventual phaser. Its vocals are likewise as haunting as they are haunted, ranging from a broken vibrato to a tough bellow. Musically, it lies between the extremes of folky softness and bluesy abrasiveness that define the album’s best moments; wordwise, it sees Olsen giving advice to someone who may well be herself. “Some days all you need is one good thought strong in your mind,” Olsen reassures whoever is listening, a moment that’s both this song’s and the whole album’s peak. In other words: keep the fire burning, even if no one’s around to witness it. [Max]

#1 St. Vincent – St. Vincent

Perhaps the best feeling in the world is to observe a talented person finally garnering the widespread recognition she deserves. After seven years of slowly gaining the undying respect of independent music lovers, St. Vincent, real name Annie Clark, showed up on pretty much everyone’s radar in the year 2014. If year-end lists were based purely on the amount of blogging, discussion, and hype behind an act, St. Vincent, her self-titled fourth album, would top each and every one. It just so happens that the constant conversation is justified: all mythology aside, St. Vincent is this year’s most forward-thinking, individual, bizarre, spellbinding album. Rather than merely standing well ahead of the curve as on past releases, Clark is now transmitting from a level on which only the most revered of legends operate.

Clark’s enhanced spark may indeed come from the abundance of time she spent with a living legend. After releasing the David Byrne collaboration Love This Giant in 2012, the two toured together, and it’s clear from both the newly reformed St. Vincent live show and the funk experimentation of this album that his influence seeped directly into her blood. Where would the electrified, digitized stutter of “Rattlesnake” be without albums like Remain in Light? In what world devoid of Byrne’s strangely enticing musical oddities would a song like “Bring Me Your Loves” be feasible? The unspoken advice of a musical god informs St. Vincent, but Clark is talented enough to adapt his methods into a cocktail all her own.

That a new Clark would manifest on this album was immediately apparent when she released first single “Birth in Reverse” in December 2013. A blitz of technical guitar playing and shifty rhythms unlike anything she’d previously done, come February, fans would realize that much of St. Vincent would match the bar set by this first preview. “Digital Witness”, the album’s fulcrum, saunters down the runway on the weirdest synth-guitar interaction this side of Kraftwerk; “Psychopath” shakes and quivers just as oddly. Yet these are quite evidently pop songs despite their weirdness; “Regret” and “Every Tear Disappears” are among the best examples present of Clark’s juggling of straightforward appeal and weird wonder.

At the end of the day, this is a trick that only St. Vincent could pull off, which is why the album is self-titled. Clark has said that the title also stems from this album sounding more like her true self than ever before, which makes sense given that “Prince Johnny” and “Huey Newton” quite clearly recall the grey hues of Strange Mercy. That Clark can still pilfer from her own past a bit while leaping forward so daringly is reassurance to longtime fans that this seven-year ride to ultimate, ubiquitous respect has been unflaggingly worth the wait. [Max]

I have to hand it to music critics, myself included to an extent: this year, we’ve become masters of overhyping albums that really aren’t all that great. A painful reminder of this trend comes around this time of year, since it’s already halfway over: music writers ask, “Where did the time go?” and answer this inquiry with lists of their favorite albums to be released so far during the year. Many readers who are constantly immersed in the music blogosphere learn nothing new from these lists, since the same group of albums is discussed for reasons that describe nothing about their sound. Rather, opinions on albums that are actually pretty weak are shrouded in obtuse references and pretentious ideology, guarding a questionable opinion in words that make it sound reasonable.

Way Too Indie seeks to write about how music viscerally and genuinely affects listeners rather than discussing abstract topics not wholly connected to the sound. For this reason, we’ve also chosen to publish a list of our favorites of the year so far, with the intention of discussing why they sound good, not what makes them philosophical masterpieces. This is an unranked list; it doesn’t seek to create competition for a top spot. Instead, it aims to point out a group of genuinely engaging, moving albums that we think listeners will genuinely enjoy. It also serves to expose readers to music they may not yet be aware of, and to introduce new art to our audience. We’ll be thrilled if you like the albums we’ve gathered here, but we’d also be more than happy to hear dissenting opinions. Please remember while reading this list: music is a purely subjective experience, and the goal of a music writer should merely be to spread the joy of listening, not to dictate what is good and bad taste.

In alphabetical order, here are our favorite albums of the year so far. We hope we can convince you to give these a listen.

Way Too Indie’s Best Albums of 2014 (So Far)

Angel Olsen – Burn Your Fire For No Witness

Angel Olsen caught a small handful of critics’ attention with her early releases of barren, haunting lo-fi folk. On Burn Your Fire for No Witness, elements of this sound still abound, but her new full band setup has allowed her to expand into previously uncovered territory. Burn is punchier, thornier, and often louder than anything in Olsen’s past; these qualities endow its lovelorn lyrics, which are a bit craftier than the words so often employed to describe these emotions, with a viable weapon to strike listeners’ ears and hearts.

The album’s first four minutes showcase Burn‘s two extremes with two different songs. The brief, percussion-less introductory track “Unfucktheworld” is a restricted, major-key, lo-fi folk tune which never once swears. It leads directly into “Forgiven/Forgotten”, in every way the opposite of “Unfucktheworld”: a bombastic percussive stomp is accompanied by equally forceful guitars and aching vocals. The album thereafter occupies either of these two states, treading the folk path on the breathtaking seven-minute “White Fire” and many of the less memorable ending tracks, and remaining electric on highlights such as “Hi-Five” and the album’s midsection.

It’s the midsection that I keep coming back to, actually: the three-punch blow of “High and Wild”, “Lights Out”, and “Stars” is matched by few albums I’ve heard. Angel Olsen’s breathy, almost faceless musing over the first of these tracks’ bouncing pianos and twangy guitars is instantly gripping. As the song progresses, Olsen’s vocals become far more emotive and engaging, and it goes out on a bang of low-pitched guitar lines, pounding percussion, and hyperactive pianos. “Lights Out” calms down thereafter, but is no less chilling: its cathedral-sized, pain-laced electric guitar strums accentuate Olsen’s story. The subtle shift in feel from the verses to the chorus in this song is devastating, and amplifies what might be the album’s most memorable and relatable lyric: “Some days all you need is one good thought strong in your mind.” The guitar-solo-that’s-not-quite-a-solo ending this song slowly introduces the ache embodied by follow-up “Stars”: “I think you like to see me lose my mind/you treat me like a child, I’m angry, blind” is maybe the most devastating couplet on record this year, matched only by the second verse’s “Well you could change my mind with just a smile.” The defeated guitars and PJ Harvey-esque vocal mannerisms opening the song lead to a harrowing but triumphant chorus, and Olsen rarely sounds more in control of her emotions. At the end of it all, it sounds like the Fire is slowly being put out.

Ava Luna – Electric Balloon

“Everybody says we’re talkin’/about the new sweet thang!” Becca Kaufman chirps on “Sears Roebuck M&Ms”, the inexplicably titled second track on Ava Luna’s sophomore effort Electric Balloon. She’s wrong, though: Ava Luna are the new sweet thang, and very few people are talking about them. Their Facebook page has fewer than six thousand likes, a testament to their relatively small audience. If more people heard Electric Balloon, this crowd would probably expand rapidly. With a sound that’s dangerously similar to supremely successful acts like Deerhoof, Dirty Projectors, and even Pixies, Ava Luna skillfully walk the line between blatantly copying their forebears and invigoratingly coalescing their styles into one savory, idiosyncratic blend.

“Daydream” opens Electric Balloon with a punk frenzy and throaty snarl ripped straight from Doolittle‘s recipe book, but sounds fresh and exciting thanks to its off-kilter rhythms and free-spirit female backing vocals. “Sears Roebuck M&Ms” is a funky strut down Deerhoof lane, but its alternating playful and armed vocals are an entirely more entrapping animal. “Crown” slowly expands from a self-described “nervous soul” jam into a bile-laced assortment of Dirty Projectors-like female vocal harmonies and vocalist Carlos Hernandez’ crazed wails of “I need a man!” These are merely the album’s first three tracks: in this short time, they brightly display the tinkering with their ancestors’ sounds that continues throughout Electric Balloon‘s funky, unpredictable, scattershot, addicting forty minutes.

For a one-song sampling of what makes Electric Balloon such an adventure, check “Plain Speech”: a ridiculously funky, arhythmic guitar line leads to vocals so intense you can envision the saliva shooting out from between Hernandez’ teeth, continuing for long enough to make the transition to its fuzzy, soul-indebted chorus 100% unexpected and successful. The song veers back and forth between these extremes at the most surprising times, and in the most unpredictable ways. It’s equal parts beautiful, riling, raucous, and skillful, and attests to the simultaneous oddity and spontaneity that make Electric Balloon such a thrill ride.

Cloud Nothings – Here and Nowhere Else

“I’m losing it, but what do I care?” shouts Cloud Nothings’ vocalist and chief songwriter Dylan Baldi during “Giving Into Seeing”, the fifth track on the band’s fourth and best album Here and Nowhere Else. This line briefly summarizes the entirety of the album’s lyrical themes: in just over half an hour, Baldi makes it clear that he has, for once, succeeded at moving past a shattered relationship. It’s Cloud Nothings’ most optimistic album to date, but it never sacrifices the bleakness and noise of their breakout Attack on Memory.

Here and Nowhere Else delves further into the berserk, noisy catharsis suggested by its predecessor. The percussion on this album is technically godly, the guitar work often abruptly shifts from melodic and gorgeous to extremely abrasive and dissonant, the tempo is rarely stable throughout the course of a song, and the veil of darkness shrouding Attack on Memory has been lightened. Lead single “I’m Not Part of Me” is thrilling in its sunnier take on Attack‘s already thrilling sound; “No Thoughts” is a Nevermind-reminiscent garage rock joy; “Quieter Today” is a masterclass in tempo and dynamic shifts.

Above all, though, these cathartic punk anthems are just catchy. Even “Psychic Trauma”, the album’s noisiest and most jagged tune, is undeniably poppy. “My mind is always wasted listening to you,” Baldi muses during this song’s chorus; luckily for fans, the exact opposite of this statement holds true while hearing Here and Nowhere Else.

How to Dress Well – “What Is This Heart?”

“What Is This Heart?” (yes, the quotation marks are part of the title) was heavily hyped by a small crowd of critics before being shot down by a larger group upon its release. There’s no denying that it lacks consistency — the 80s acoustics of “Repeat Pleasure” doesn’t belong on the same album as the glitchy trip-hop/R&B of “Very Best Friend” — and that it’s got a few unenjoyable tunes, but when this album succeeds, it strikes unforgettably.

Ignore the painful mistake that is “2 Years On”, this album’s opener, and you’re led to “What You Wanted” and “Face Again”, two deeply affecting R&B tunes with darkly crafted edges. Tracks like “A Power” and the almost groovy “Very Best Friend” continue in this path, the best of “WITH?”‘s several directions, excusing the cheesiness of a song like “Precious Love.” It’s “Words I Can’t Remember” that best attests to what this album can achieve when it’s properly focused: its fusion of vocal glitches, smoky synths, and haunting vocals draw out emotions that are bound to captivate listeners. That this album hosts enough tracks with this power excuses the assortment of questionable moments scattered throughout, and demands at least a few listens, if not more.

Hundred Waters – The Moon Rang Like a Bell

The Moon Rang Like a Bell is probably the year’s most subtle album so far. It dabbles in the minimal art-rock territory that the xx opened in 2009, and does so with a breathy, entrapping flair. Primarily vocal-based tracks like “Murmurs” and “Broken Blue” are held together by a relatively bare, but not quite absent, set of pianos, synths, and percussion. Elsewhere, soaring tunes like “Cavity”, “Xtalk”, and “[Animal]” emerge, expertly switching between subdued and more forward states in an artful way.

Even more impressive than how well these tunes are crafted is vocalist and lyricist Nicole Miglis’ use of emotion. These are all songs that are obviously near and dear to her heart, yet she never drowns listeners in pain. Both her voice and her band’s music are structured so that it would be impossible not to innately connect with the feelings presented; in other words, the music and the words get equal weight, yet the volume of these songs never overwhelms. A great example of this is “Down From the Rafters”, a song that adds and subtracts sonic layers often, and does so without muddling the message Miglis is sending. “Every morning’s like a climb from the rafters,” sighs Miglis in one of more than a few moments of heartfelt honesty. This trait is possibly Moon‘s most endearing quality: it’s an album that stares you straight in the face and tells you how it feels, both with words and with sounds. If you don’t hear what Hundred Waters is saying, you might just want to listen more closely — it’s there.

Kelis – Food

It’s impossible to discuss anything Kelis has done since 2003 without some mention of “Milkshake.” It’s a song she still plays live, one that she calls “super fun” and isn’t embarrassed about. It’s a great song, but it’s not at all representative of where she’s at now. Food, her most recent release, is a neo-soul album infused with brass instruments, funk rhythms, and jazz sparks, but it’s no less enjoyable than “Milkshake.” In fact, some of her most tender moments to date are captured here.

Food is Kelis’ first record for an independent label, Ninja Tune; as such, only she and her two collaborators (as compared to the vast array of names who contributed to, say, Flesh Tone) control what’s here. With TV on the Radio’s Dave Sitek and composer/arranger Todd Simon at her side, Kelis commands an army of emotive, unguarded sounds. Smoky soul tunes such as “Breakfast”, “Floyd”, and “Runner” directly impact receptive ears; riskier, less traditional tunes such as “Fish Fry” and “Cobbler” are equally as captivating. Kelis treads quite a few paths on Food, and often with a great deal of success: after she claims “We got this!” on opener “Jerk Ribs”, she spends the rest of the album proving it.

Makthaverskan – II

“Fuck you, fuck you!” To hear a woman whose first language isn’t English bitterly wailing this statement over roaring, windy guitars and cutting percussion is a fantastic way to start an album. II, the second (duh) album from these five Swedes, instantly declares that it doesn’t give a damn about subtlety. No instrument or lyric is ever restricted: over thirty-three minutes, Makthaverskan present an exercise in bluntness.

II is crystal clear in every way imaginable. The arrangements and production are near-perfect, and every instrument receives the proper space. The guitars range from atmospheric to pummeling, yet never lose their new wave speckle; the drums are gripping even at their most blurry; Maja Milner’s vocals cut through any and all instrumentals that her band provides.

Milner’s vocals are the true clincher here. A small sampling of her lyrics gets the point across: “It’s not me you’re dreaming of!” (“Asleep”); “Let me take off/this shirt and we’ll make love” (“Slowly Sinking”); “You outshine them all!” (“Outshine”); “Fuck you for fucking me/when I was seventeen!” (“No Mercy”). That last line is a great representation of what makes II so excellent: despite English being her second language, Milner chooses her simple words precisely, and sings them more clearly than a good number of native speakers. Their fierceness matches the intensity of her band, ensuring that II won’t be forgotten any time soon.

St. Vincent – St. Vincent

St. Vincent, real name Annie Clark, is arguably the most blogged about artist of the year so far, although she’s been doing this for a while. It’s incredible to see how far she’s come since her timid, eerie 2007 debut Marry Me; that album, a doe-eyed collection of oddball love songs, couldn’t have possibly predicted the confidence and otherworldliness of her self-titled fourth effort. It’s an album that received enough attention to earn her a musical guest slot on SNL, and one the likes of which we may never encounter again.

“Rattlesnake” is an excellent choice to begin this journey: its Atari percussion and wobbly, funky synths immediately declare that this is an extraterrestrial album, and it’s feet-shaking guitar riff builds to a star-shooting solo that’s as enthralling as an interplanetary tour. “Birth in Reverse” follows, absolutely exploding into the new world crafted by its predecessor: it’s easily the most technical guitar work she’s ever showcased, and it’s probably the most electrifying song of both her career and the year thus far. Songs like “Digital Witness”, “Bring Me Your Loves” and “Every Tear Disappear” continue this fucked-up funk stutter, each one proudly displaying the stamp of former tourmate David Byrne’s influence while thrilling in a way that only Clark is capable of.

Indeed, St. Vincent is Clark’s most singular album to date. It’s stuffed to the brim with ideas and oddities, all of which succeed mightily in their missions. “Regret” and “Psychopath” show what happens when a weirdo like Clark tries to write straightforward pop songs; “I Prefer Your Love” is one of the most heartbreaking fusions of theatricality and slow-burning tenderness on record.

Of course, though, this album can’t be discussed without mentioning “Huey Newton”, the song that best represents everything that makes Annie Clark so great: a hazy, haunting set of light synths and pulsing bass deftly builds tension, ensuring that the song’s shift into near-metal, horrifyingly heavy guitar-shuffling territory is fully unexpected. These dramatic and sudden transitions are nothing new for Clark, an established guitar master; that she pulls it off the best she ever has on this album only hints at just how stupidly engaging St. Vincent is.

Sylvan Esso – Sylvan Esso

From the ashes of Megafaun rise Sylvan Esso. But you needn’t know that to enjoy this duo’s self-titled debut: their music is catchy enough to need no introduction. The folk- and minimal-influenced electropop they advance is reserved enough to emotionally bind listeners, and poppy enough to jam out to. “Could I Be” is a hypnotic, translucent tune that’s as chill as it is meaty; “Dress” undercuts peppiness with hip-hop groove and flow.

“Coffee” is the one you might’ve heard; it’s a pretty good summary of why Sylvan Esso are so engaging. The vocals on the song are heartfelt and warming, yet are never overwhelming; this description can also be applied to the instrumental part. Together, the two parts intertwine to form a very hooky whole, a goal achieved often on Sylvan Esso. Good luck breaking away from this one.

TEEN – The Way and Color

Earlier in this article, I discussed how St. Vincent’s music sounds like it was delivered here from another planet, a description commonly applied to her sound. TEEN, maybe the only band whose music bears any similarity to the 2014 version of Annie Clark, also sounds like they’re sending their signals from another plane of existence. Perhaps the reason both these acts display this quality is that music runs in their blood; Clark is the niece of guitar-based jazz beasts Tuck & Patti, and TEEN’s three Lieberson sisters (bassist Boshra AlSaadi is the only of TEEN’s four members who isn’t from the family) are the offspring of famed, legendary opera composer Peter Lieberson.

Skillful arrangements and astute melodies flow naturally throughout TEEN’s sophomore effort, The Way and Color. The Lieberson sisters’ genetics endow them with the innate ability to compose surprisingly catchy, perpetually flowering capsules of R&B-influenced psych pop. Chromatic synths mesh with Kristina “Teeny” Lieberson’s (hence the band’s name) incredibly dynamic, all-fitting voice, with AlSaadi’s bass and the remaining sisters’ vocal harmonies adding the necessary final flourishes. The result achieved is equal parts trippy and tuneful, and is pretty difficult to turn a deaf ear to.

Songs like “Rose 4 U” and “Tied Up, Tied Down” are both fun and eccentric, while other songs like “More Than I Ask For” and “All The Same” are a bit more contemplative. “Breathe Low and Deep” is its own universe, its second half of psychedelic synths and masked brass escalating towards a climax that feels infinite. There’s also “Sticky”, a song melodic and blissful enough that it can be easy to miss its intensely personal discussion of abortion and motherhood. Once the words are clear, the song becomes even more colorful; even before that, though, The Way and Color is vivid and unflinching.

tUnE-yArDs – Nikki Nack

Nikki Nack is tUnE-yArDs’ Contra: just as Vampire Weekend’s second album had people wondering if the band had become too eccentric for their own good, Merrill Garbus’ third album under her kooky moniker turned away some fans with its supreme quirkiness. But look at her songwriting name: the way it’s spelled, with those alternating caps, declares its idiosyncrasies immediately. What else would you expect?

Were you looking for another w h o k i l l? No, Nikki Nack isn’t as fiery and confrontational as its predecessor, but expecting another album of that caliber was your first mistake. Instead, Nikki Nack is an indulgent, overwhelming, childish slurry of various berserk elements. Bassist Nate Brenner is no less present here, the percussion is more fittingly awkward than ever, and Garbus’ vocals haven’t lost their “oh my god who sings like THAT?” quality. What’s new and odd to some listeners is the near complete lack of Garbus’ signature ukulele in favor of warbly, borderline cheesy synths.

Really, the album borders on the edge of unbridled corniness throughout its entire run; that it never crosses the line is a huge factor in its success. First single “Water Fountain” is a prime example of how stupid this album can get, but it’s just so catchy. “Sink-O” throws just about everything possible in listeners’ faces, and its often inane lyrics add to the juvenile joy. Yet there’s a pretty hefty one that sneaks in there: “If I went up to your door you wouldn’t let me in/so don’t say you don’t judge by the color of skin.” For all its deliberate immaturity, Nikki Nack really throws some important topics in the mix, as made clear by tunes like “Real Thing”, “Manchild”, and “Wait for a Minute.” Following the advice of the latter song will probably help in enjoying Nikki Nack: wait for a minute, and the initial strangeness of this album will transform into something wholly addicting and undeniable.

The War on Drugs – Lost in the Dream

I started this article with a discussion of the hype machine. Lost in the Dream is an album I had in mind when bringing up that point: critics have adorned this album with particularly strong praise, so much so that, on first listen, I wondered what they were hearing. After the critical storm passed, however, I found my ears more receptive and willing to form an opinion that remained my own, yet aligned closely with the popular notion. I’ll still insist that this album, the third effort from these Americana-indebted Philly natives, isn’t as great as the blogosphere dictates, but it’s still pretty damn good regardless.

Lost in the Dream can be very simply described with a small handful of words: introspective, gorgeous, rustic. Its lyrics stem from the post-tour and post-breakup depression songwriter Adam Granduciel experienced after touring his band’s sophomore effort Slave Ambient; the arrangements are paralyzing and mountainous; the instrumentation’s blend of Americana and folk influences often draws to mind images of sunny, breezy, vast spaces. This approach is always affecting, whether through the sunset beauty of “Disappearing”, the heartwrenching soar of “Under the Pressure”, or the Springsteen-recalling grandeur of “Burning.” Ultimately, though, it’s “Red Eyes” that attests to how far Granduciel has come: a tune that’s likely to appear towards the top of many best-songs-of-the-year-lists late this December, it’s emotional melodies and inward lyricism transform into fireworks right before its shimmering, arresting, guitar-based chorus. This impact is more subtle in other places on Lost in the Dream, but it’s omnipresence ensures that it won’t be missed no matter how quiet it is.

White Hex – Gold Nights

On a hunch, I’d guess that Gold Nights is the least well-known album on this list. Makes sense: this is an album that sounds like it’s watching everyone from an invisible corner, making harsh judgments with a frosty gust. It’s very creepy and unnerving in its simultaneous embrace of Cure-style guitar tones, Ladytron-inspired vocal roboticism, and Chromatics-based synth-guitar interplay and stutter. It struts right in with the icy, callous “Only a Game”, a tune that sounds like it’s emanating from where the highest-ranked wolf in the pack howls. Gold Nights then loses none of its opener’s grating, caustic iciness, ensuring an experience that’s harrowing in a different way than many albums are.

“Paradise”, the album’s strongest tune, follows “Only a Game”, and its differences from the rest of the pack shine a light on what makes this album so good. Most of Gold Nights exists in sub-zero temperatures: it’s an album so cold you can almost feel its bite directly on your skin. “Paradise”, on the other hand, is a skyward, cutting slab of 21st century new wave. The vocals are no less haunting here, but the sheer size of the synths presented make this tune a good notch warmer than the rest. This added feeling becomes especially apparent when this song is compared to later tracks like “Burberry Congo” and “United Colours of KL”, tunes with synth parts so bitter and dark they’re almost goofy. The cold that pervades Gold Nights is its most consistent strength, and it’s interesting that “Paradise” accentuates this quality. Wear a winter jacket for this one.

White Lung – Deep Fantasy

By far the shortest album on this list, Deep Fantasy is irresistible simply because of how quick and intense its ten blasts of raucous, 90s-indebted punk are. At a total of twenty-two minutes, Fantasy doesn’t allow time for its listeners to fantasize at all despite its name: these songs are over almost as soon as they begin. That’s not to say they don’t develop thrillingly over their short runtime, though: tracks like “Face Down”, “Wrong Star”, and “Snake Jaw” owe such a distinct debt to riot grrrl and grunge that each passing section of the song is blood-rushing.

White Lung’s worship of the 1990s can’t quite attest to the breakneck paces of these songs, though: “Lucky One” and “Down It Goes” are so rapid it’s head-spinning. It all sounds like if the more surf-heavy side of classic grunge had sped up their songs so much that they verged on metal territory. In fact, “I Believe You” and “Drown With the Monster” may damn well be better described as metal than as punk. The latter song’s commanding, confrontational guitars match the vitriol of its addiction-analyzing lyrics, and topics as heavy as these are common on Deep Fantasy. That White Lung’s guitars often match in intensity is a victory all around.

Wye Oak – Shriek

Shriek is a grower and not a shower. Actually, it’s a bit of the latter too: the album’s flashy, sauntering synths instantly attract attention even in their first appearances. This characteristic provides a good foundation for getting to know the ten songs occupying Shriek, but an initial batch of listens shows that it isn’t quite enough. Instead, to build on the intentional omission of guitar on this album, Wye Oak provide flowing bass and breathy, introspective vocals courtesy of Jenn Wasner, and these are elements that reveal themselves over time.

Lots and lots of time, that is. Whereas tunes like “The Tower” and “Glory” are immediately hooky and irresistible, much of Shriek‘s remainder feels distant until more listens than you can count on your hands have passed. You might be asking, “Why should I try this album if I need to invest so much to enjoy it?” The answer is actually quite simple: give these songs the attention they demand, and you’ll find yourself entangled in their web of gorgeously dreamy emotions and lush sonic textures. A psych-folk tune like “School of Eyes” becomes a blustery, engaging heart-warmer after feeling cold and untouchable; a meditation like “I Know the Law” transforms from an uninterestingly timid passage to an entrapping contemplation. And when these tunes don’t quite feel like enough, it’s easy to turn straight to the intensely catchy, funky “Glory”, the song that most strongly attests to how powerful Wye Oak can sound when they achieve the best possible combination of vocals, synth, and bass.

For someone who’s career is all about listening, Carlos Hernandez, de facto leader of Ava Luna, sure likes to watch. He’s a bit voyeuristic in his role for Ava Luna’s “Ice Level” video, stating that his character “watches from a dark, geometrical vantage point.” More revealing is when he’s observing to learn rather than, well, to be creepy. In an interview with A Music Blog, Yea?, Hernandez confessed that, rather than jamming with his idol Ornette Coleman, he’d rather record Coleman’s performance and “just act the observer, watch for twitches and tics.” Listening to the idiosyncrasies of Ava Luna’s captivating sophomore album Electric Balloon, it’s surprising that Hernandez hasn’t already done exactly that. Each of the album’s eleven songs flaunts the band’s unique jitters and quirks, placing Ava Luna’s very own twitches and tics front and center. Although the dynamics and mood of the music fluctuate somewhat throughout the album, each track sounds uniquely like an Ava Luna song.

Of course, a unique sound isn’t a direct pathway to success. Take, as an example, the rap-rave style of Die Antwoord, a sound that’s unmatched by any other musical act, yet, frankly, sounds quite terrible. Ava Luna have no such problem: the “nervous soul” style, to steal a Bandcamp tag they invented and assigned to themselves, advanced on Electric Balloon is exciting, unpredictable, and wholly theirs. Nevertheless, superficial comparisons to other acts can be made — vocalist Becca Kaufman can sit on the border between cute and eerie just like Deerhoof’s Satomi Matsuzaki can, Carlos Hernandez has a snarl not far removed from Black Francis or tourmates and good friends Krill, and the male-female vocal interplay, odd meter, and technical complexity reminisce of Dirty Projectors, by far Ava Luna’s most frequent comparison. Yet after only a couple of listens, the gates guarding Electric Balloon‘s individuality are shattered, and Ava Luna’s anxious, oddball sound becomes entirely theirs.

One of Ava Luna’s tendencies that attributes to their already-signature sound is their ability to make various tempos, volumes, and emotions sound like no one else has ever touched upon them, all in the course of one album. On Electric Balloon, the flamenco-inspired, shuffling acoustic ballad “Aquarium” sounds just as Ava Luna-esque as does Becca Kaufman’s wild yelping on the mid-paced funk groove of “Sears Roebuck M&Ms” and the uneasy title track. Likewise, the slow-burning, oddly pretty “PRPL” never sounds like the work of a different group than that behind the angsty, boiling soul tension of “Crown.” Ava Luna’s “nervous soul” comes in a few shapes and sizes, yet never fails to strike and enchant.

Even with the diversity of sonic approaches taken on Electric Balloon, certain facets of Ava Luna’s writing consistently manifest in their music. Carlos Hernandez’ ability to swing from a soulful coo to a manic snarl in what feels like only a second drives a good number of these songs, and his laborious arrangements form the backbone of this album. The vocal turns on “Daydream” and “Crown” are particularly impressive, despite neither song sounding even remotely similar to the other. “Plain Speech” displays the extremes in Hernandez’ voice many times in its four-and-a-half minutes, but more exciting are the two tempo changes Hernandez incorporates. The dramatic shift from a sound that really epitomizes “nervous soul” to slowed indie rock greatness (and then back again) surprises each time.

The chorus of “Plain Speech” is equally important for reiterating Becca Kaufman’s significance in Ava Luna’s various sounds. Although she takes the position of background vocalist on this song, as she does on “Hold U”, “Judy”, and “Genesee”, her voice might actually be more intriguing than Hernandez’ off-the-walls vocal chaos. Kaufman quite literally whoops her way through “Sears Roebuck M&Ms” and squeals her way through “Electric Balloon”, two of the most invigorating tracks present. As a background vocalist, she reinforces Hernandez’ shaky, uncertain voice with a solidity that magnifies its emotive effects. Her hollers of “Judy, I don’t have the stomach for you!” under Hernandez’ own shouting of these lyrics delivers the message even more firmly than if Hernandez were left to his own devices.

Electric Balloon sounds more like the work of the whole band rather than just Hernandez, a problem that their debut Ice Level presented. Despite being quite a riot itself, the latter album felt restricted by Hernandez’ control; Electric Balloon flows more freely, its boundaries practically nonexistent thanks to the other members’ contributions. Although Ice Level highlights such as “Wrenning Day” and “Sequential Holdings” predicted the explosive nature of Electric Balloon without fully embracing them, tracks like “No F” and “A Year of Mirth” never quite took off as they might be expected to. Electric Balloon suffers from no such malady, as even its slightly tepid finale, “Ab Ovo”, leaps forward in its final ninety seconds. Here, Ava Luna have incorporated the ideas and skills of many people rather than just one into their sound; the result is something less trapped and more explorative.

Electric Balloon isn’t perfect, but it’s a big step forward for these five weirdos. The multi-faceted style they’ve developed is purely enjoyable, and it never tires. It’s the kind of album that tries many different outfits on out of genuine interest instead of pretentious vacillations, and provides a listening experience worth repeating time and time again. Maybe this is because it offers more questions than it does answers, which is totally fine when the music sounds this good. Perhaps the best question regarding Ava Luna now isn’t one generated directly by the album, but by the listener in response to the album: if Ava Luna is capable of something this towering and singular, who’s to say they can’t outdo themselves in the future?