2015 is the first year of this decade’s second half. In the world of listicles, this means that we’ve moved past the “best of the decade so far” realm. In the world of music, though, 2015 has already established itself as one of the best years (so far) that music has seen in a pretty long while. In just six months, we’ve seen established artists outdoing themselves, cult artists gaining a more widespread following, and beginners striking gold on their very first try. It’s a difficult task to keep track of the sheer volume of excellent songs, EPs, and LPs that have been released so far this year, but it seems like a necessary task. Organizing this half-year’s favorites might help listeners more easily comb through the wealth of great music set to emerge in the forthcoming second half of 2015. It’ll also allow eager music lovers to discover some new tunes they had previously missed (or dismissed), and scythe through the hype that can sometimes distort the true value of an artist’s work.

It’s important to note, before we begin, that this list is unranked. We don’t seek to claim that one album is objectively better than another; rather, our writers have discussed their personal favorite albums of the year, and come to a consensus on ten collections that we all enjoy. But there are actually more than ten albums listed here: three of our writers have each provided one personal favorite, playfully dubbed a “Passionate Orphan,” that didn’t make our main list. These thirteen LPs aren’t nearly the only great albums released this year, but may this feature act as a springboard in giving you something new to explore, and let us know what you’d add to the list in the comments. Also, listen to these songs on our Spotify Playlist!

In alphabetical order, here are our Favorite Albums of 2015 So Far.

Björk – Vulnicura

[One Little Indian]

It’s tough to listen to Björk’s 2001 album Vespertine in light of its relation to Vulnicura. The former album boils down to a twelve-song exploration of how deeply Björk enjoyed her intimacy with Matthew Barney; the latter album details the dissolution of their ten-plus years together, and its emotional impact on her and their daughter. Björk couldn’t have foreseen in 2001 that, twelve years later, the relationship comprising Vespertine’s cornerstone would dissolve, and Vulnicura sounds like she’s still shocked that it didn’t work out. The sheer lyrical anger of “Black Lake,” which contains words so harsh that it’s been described as a Matthew Barney diss track, finds its singer trying, but failing, to move on; in fact, it spends ten minutes working through Björk’s emotions, making it her longest song to date. Most of Vulnicura is longer than the majority of Björk’s past songs, which makes sense: it takes an incredibly long time to process these kinds of emotions. Luckily for listeners, in doing so, Björk returned to the sonic roots of her 1997 classic Homogenic, and released her best album in far too long. [Max]

Dengue Fever – The Deepest Lake

[Tuk Tuk]

LA-based Cambodian-psychedelic outfit Dengue Fever has been around for over a decade, making music so off the beaten path most people don’t notice that they essentially haven’t changed much since their inception. They’ve definitely evolved their sound album to album, but their latest effort, The Deepest Lake, still upholds their core principles by delivering vibrant, catchy tunes steeped in ambient guitars and Cambodian pop grooves that immediately suck you into a sort of sonic vacuum. They’re like no one else, the key to their unique sound being singer Chhom Nimol, whose voice sounds like that of some kind of sexy alien from another galaxy. She seduces you during ominous, haunting songs like “Taxi Dancer,” “Vacant Lot,” and “Cardboard Castles” as the textured instrumentals circle and undulate. The band rocks, too, like in “Still Waters Run Deep,” a pulsating surf rock romp that rains down brass flourishes like confetti on a doomsday dance party. You must, must, must see this band live; Nimol is ravishing and they’re the kind of band who always seems to be having just as much fun as their audiences, if not more. [Bernard]

Father John Misty – I Love You, Honeybear

[Sub Pop]

In 2012, former Fleet Foxes member Josh Tillman released his debut under the new alias Father John Misty. Fear Fun was released to a cult following, but received a disappointing lack of blog attention. Oh, how the times have changed: come 2015, I Love You, Honeybear and its creator are all the fuss, perhaps inspiring the ire of long-devoted fans. But the surge in fandom is understandable; Josh Tillman’s sophomore album is far more widely appealing than the folk intimacy of Fear Fun. Honeybear’s reverberant, almost cinematic songs broadcast their creator’s nihilism and humor loudly, boasting gorgeous instrumentation alongside some of the funniest lyricism in recent memory. The peak of Tillman’s penchant for combining lush arrangements with cutting comedy is “The Night Josh Tillman Came To Our Apt.,” wherein his clever scalpel dissects our frequent misuse of the word “literally” and then proceeds to tackle cultural appropriation in music. With thoughts this deep, it’s no wonder everyone’s listening. [Max]

Kendrick Lamar – To Pimp a Butterfly

[Interscope/Aftermath/Top Dawg]

Another blog writing about the merits of To Pimp a Butterfly. Are you tired of this yet? Well, you really shouldn’t be. Many have been quick to label Kendrick Lamar’s sophomore album one of the greatest hip-hop albums ever recorded, but deeming it a hip-hop album does its creator a disservice. To Pimp a Butterfly isn’t merely a hip-hop album; it’s a soul album, a funk album, a jazz album, a protest album, a political manifesto, a necessary document in an era when the media somehow finds ways to defend a young white male murdering nine black churchgoers in a state where the confederate flag still flies at full mast. Even if it’s incredibly dense and culturally vital lyricism is ignored, its musical accomplishments merit intense analysis and praise. But you can find in-depth treatises of this album in virtually any publication that writes about modern music, so let’s just end by noting that this album is being taught in high schools directly alongside Toni Morrison’s novels to expose the nation’s youth to the frustratingly undying presence of white supremacy in our world. Mission accomplished. [Max]

Lower Dens – Escape From Evil

[Ribbon Music]

Paying homage to the past without sounding retro is one of the hardest things to do, but with Lower Dens’ third album, Escape From Evil, they take an overt ‘80s aesthetic and use it to propel their music forward, rather than simply resurrect sounds from a bygone era. The album’s lead single, “To Die in L.A.,” sounds like Flock of Seagulls and a-ha but with a hint of Eastern influence that takes it to another place entirely. They’re not making the old sound new; they’re forcing us to reinterpret old sounds, revealing new colors of ‘80s pop that have seemingly always been there, but haven’t been explored quite like this. Songwriter Jana Hunter sounds as freewheeling and liberated as ever, vacillating between masculine and feminine emotiveness effortlessly. With Escape From Evil, Lower Dens continues the conversation queer pop started in the ‘80s, and it’s albums like this that keep modern music healthy. [Bernard]

Natalie Prass – Natalie Prass

[Spacebomb]

Recorded in 2012 and held for release until this year due to promoting co-producer Matthew E. White’s debut album (both on the same label), Natalie Prass is nine tracks of pure elegance. Prass’ deceptively fragile voice shows complete control over each song’s gorgeous arrangement, maintaining a consistency while gracefully hopping from one musical influence to another. Whether it’s evoking Scott Walker’s ‘60s solo albums on “Christy” or sounding like a Disney princess on album closer “It Is You,” Prass handles every track with a grace that makes one wish she had more music to consume (it’s hard to believe this is only her first album). For those unaware of Prass, a good place to start might be opener “My Baby Don’t Understand Me” or the knockout track “Violently,” where Prass sings about intense heartbreak while the strings and horns surrounding her voice soar. They’re beautiful songs that, like all great art, can transform pain into catharsis. [C.J.]

Sleater-Kinney – No Cities To Love

[Sub Pop]

We’re currently living in an age of nostalgic zombification. Whether it’s classic films getting rebooted, old TV shows coming back for another season (hello Twin Peaks and Full House), beloved video games getting updated for the new generation of consoles, or bands finally making up over whatever had them breaking up, it’s obvious that what’s old is new again. But the key word here is zombification; what we loved may be back, but it’s not the same as it was before. Sleater-Kinney may have taken a break for ten years since their ear-shattering masterpiece The Woods, but listen to No Cities to Love and it’s hard to imagine they haven’t released anything since 2005. In just over 32 minutes, Sleater-Kinney show off everything that makes them great: Janet Weiss’ terrific drumming, Carrie Brownstein & Corin Tucker’s kickass guitar playing (along with Tucker’s thunderous vocals), and one memorable, airtight rock song after another. With No Cities to Love, Sleater-Kinney isn’t rising from the dead; they’re letting us know they’re still alive, kicking, and at the top of their game. [C.J.]

Speedy Ortiz – Foil Deer

[Carpark]

Speedy Ortiz’s third full-length album (and second as a full band) is often significantly less sonically scathing and incisive than the band’s previous two releases, but it’s no less menacing than its predecessors. The explicit venom and vigor of past tracks like “American Horror” and “Tiger Tank” are instead subtly woven into Foil Deer in the form of vocalist, lyricist, guitarist, and songwriter Sadie Dupuis’ remarkably assertive and eloquent words. Here, Dupuis twice threatens listeners with a blade, declares herself the boss, writes her last will and testament, simultaneously derides and envies social drinkers, wanders an eternal circular path, and suggests that young women stand up to the patriarchy. Sure, songs like “My Dead Girl,” “Mister Difficult,” and “Dot X” are newly pillowy as far as Speedy Ortiz tracks go, but like many of Foil Deer’s tracks, their initially soft impacts blossom into unforgettable ear worms in due time. [Max]

Torres – Sprinter

[Partisan]

A white girl from Nashville going by the Portuguese and Spanish last name Torres might seem like she’s hiding behind something, but Mackenzie Scott actually adopted this moniker from her grandfather’s last name. If it still seems like she’s using this nom de plume as a shield, let the bare honesty and direct sonics of Sprinter, her second album, convince you otherwise. This album begins with Scott sympathizing with the family struggles of a character named Heather, only to remind Heather that she still hates her nevertheless. This all happens within the album’s first verse, against only an occasional, dimly muted guitar chug; there is quite literally almost nothing hiding Scott’s sentiments. Towards the end of this opening song, “Strange Hellos,” Scott screams the previously sung choruses so loudly that the word “find” begins to sound like an f-bomb. Later in the album, she steps into “The Harshest Light,” armed with just her voice and a guitar. She comes out the other side a bit more emotionally fulfilled, as will listeners brave enough to endure her raw, uncompromising world. [Max]

Waxahatchee – Ivy Tripp

[Merge]

Singer-songwriter Katie Crutchfield started indie project Waxahatchee about five years ago, and with each new album she’s taken us a bit further on her journey through twenty-something listlessness and confusion. She’s still gingerly feeling her way through the twisted brambles of adulthood on her latest, Ivy Tripp, and it’s still a joy to be her trusty companion as she finds her way. On the standout track “<” she sings the bitter, distressing refrain, “You’re less than me/I am nothing” as drums rattle like an electric shock, tense guitars sustaining bent, dissonant tones. It’s this kind of album that helps to shake away the static of social media and allow you to focus on sorting out your own troubles rather than listening to everyone else’s. Catchy, sparsely arranged songs like “Grey Hair” and “Under a Rock” harken back to a time when straightforward, emotional rock was super cool. [Bernard]

C.J. Prince’s Passionate Orphan

Allie X – CollXtion I

[UMG/Label X]

I’ve always been a fan of pop music, but it’s always been a bit of a task to convince people (not just on this site) to be open to recognizing a great pop album or song instead of fawning over the next quartet of plaid-shirted dudes taking Brooklyn by storm. And while pop tends to be more about what surrounds the music than the music itself, there are plenty of Damn Good pop records that don’t get the love they deserve. Allie X’s CollXtion I is one of those albums. Despite earning endorsements from the likes of Katy Perry and a penchant for making weird GIFs, Allie X just hasn’t made that big of a splash this year. It’s too bad, because right from CollXtion’s first track, “Hello,” it’s obvious that she can put together a truly catchy song. And in a genre where an artist’s best work tends to be a greatest hits compilation, CollXtion I is shockingly consistent, with no bad apple in the bunch. It’s only a small release—7 tracks, with several more “collXtions” planned to come out later—but CollXtion I establishes Allie X as a pop artist to keep a close eye on. And until Carly Rae Jepsen comes along to show everyone how it’s done, this is my favourite pop album of the year.

Max Freedman’s Passionate Orphan

Courtney Barnett – Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit

[Mom+Pop]

Way Too Indie might actually be the only publication that didn’t put this record on their list of best albums so far this year. Courtney Barnett is all the fuss in 2015, and for good reason: her debut full-length, following a double EP released in 2013, delivers clever, incredibly intelligent lyricism without even a hint of pretentiousness. Barnett’s songwriting is magnificently versatile, manifesting variously as screeching punk on “Pedestrian at Best,” reverbed sparsity on “Depreston,” and fiery blues-folk on “Kim’s Caravan” and secret album champion “Small Poppies.” It’s rare that two subsequent songs on this album occupy explicitly similar sonic spheres, yet they flow together wonderfully thanks to their creator’s compelling quirks. Barnett applies unusual vigor and determination to familiar melodies and chord progressions, with her thickly Australian-accented, easily audible musings on topics ranging from long distance relationships to environmental destruction amplifying her music’s effect. “Put me on a pedestal, and I’ll only disappoint you; tell me I’m exceptional, and I promise to exploit you,” she warns on “Pedestrian at Best,” yet praise for her debut justifiably continues to flow in from every corner of the world.

Bernard Boo’s Passionate Orphan

Joey Bada$$ – B4.DA.$$

[Cinematic Music Group]

Hip-hop’s gone through several phases, be it the bling-bling era of the aughts, the West Coast gangsta influx of the early ‘90s or the current, emo-party-boy stage we’re currently in, in which J Cole sings about losing his virginity and jacking off. My favorite style of hip-hop has and always will be hardcore, no-frills NYC rhyming, the stuff that hits you right in the mouth. Brooklyn rapper Joey Bada$$, with his latest, greatest album, B4.DA.$$, keeps that tradition alive with hard-hitting boom-bap beats, real lyricism and an ungodly flow on the verge of setting the world on fire. There are some banger instrumentals on here (“Paper Trail$,” “Christ Conscious”) and some jazzy cuts, too (“Hazeus View,” “Piece of Mind”). Joey’s can be a mic monster or a thinking man’s emcee, but he’s best when he’s both at once, like on “Save the Children” or “Paper Trail$,” a perceptive observation of the deadlier trappings of fame and fortune. Kendrick Lamar may have made the best album of the past 15 years, but don’t dare sleep on B4.DA.$$, a more straightforward, traditional alternative to To Pimp a Butterfly. Joey’s got a dollar and a dream, know what I mean?

Listen to These Albums on Our Spotify Playlist

I’d been fearing for years that, once a film about Brian Wilson was made, it would be one of those painfully formulaic biopics that have become so stale as of late. The Beach Boys frontman deserves a more artful big screen tribute than that; aside from being a veritable musical genius, he’s lived one of the most turbulent, awe-inspiring lives in documented rock and pop history.

Bill Pohlad‘s Love & Mercy, I’m relieved to report, is no soup-to-nuts hagiography, but rather an abstract, moody interpretation of two very important slices of Wilson’s life. Paul Dano plays a young Wilson in the process of writing the songs that would become Pet Sounds. An older, more mentally damaged Brian is played by John Cusack. Paul Giamatti joins Cusack’s half of the film as Dr. Eugene Landy, who in the ’80s exploited Wilson’s wealth and health, overmedicating him while he shacked up in one of Wilson’s mansions. Elizabeth Banks plays Melinda Ledbetter, Wilson’s soul mate who attempts to wrest Brian from Dr. Landy’s poisonous grip.

The film’s fragmented approach allows it to reach a stunning level of intimacy with Brian and his mind. During his visit to San Francisco this past April for the San Francisco International Film Festival, I spoke with Pohlad about the film and his experiences with Wilson, as well as the shining contributions of the rest of his team. Love & Mercy opens wide tomorrow, Friday, June 5th.

What did you like about Oren Moverman’s script that drew you to the project?
To be honest, it happened the other way around. There was a script floating around about Brian called Heroes & Villains that came to us. I read it and didn’t really like it, but I liked the idea of doing a movie about Brian Wilson. I met with Brian and Melinda and got a sense for trying to tell this story in a different way. I was never really interested in doing a biopic. In meeting them, I learned that she actually did meet him without knowing who he was and was kind of attracted to him, even though he was a bit quirky and odd. Then, she learned who he was and that all this weird stuff was going on around him. I thought it was a great way to get into his story. I was intrigued by that chapter of his life and the Pet Sounds period when he was so super-creative. It felt like those two strands would be the way to go to tell a story. We interviewed a bunch of writers, but Oren was a standout. It was one of those things where you immediately connect with somebody. We got along very well. It kind of took off from there.

I remember in high school buying the big Pet Sounds Sessions box set. The green one. I loved it. I listened to it front to back over and over. It had all these different versions of songs and Brian getting annoyed with everyone. [laughs] It was emotional for me to see those studio session recreated.
I did the same thing, buying that box set and being entranced by it and listening to it all the time. It was exciting to think about trying to recreate that. It was a magical time during the shoot, and the whole shoot honestly had a magic to it that doesn’t always happen in film production. We shot that studio section first, and it was great to be able to be in that studio, which is the actual one he recorded most of Pet Sounds in. I wanted it to have this spontaneous feel that I had appreciated in years growing up with Let It Be or Sympathy For the Devil, films like that where you’re able to get an inside look at what it’s like in the studio when guys are creating music like that. We actually hired real musicians, not actors, and gave them sheet music like they would get in a session. Paul would go in after listening to the Pet Sounds sessions over and over to get a sense of how Brian works, and we’d just let him go. We had two 16mm cameras and shot it like a documentary.

At my wedding my wife walked down the aisle to “God Only Knows.” That scene where Paul’s writing that song at the piano killed me; I got very emotional.
Shooting that was emotional, but the whole project was emotional, to be honest. The second thing we shot was the scene when he’s writing “Surf’s Up” at the piano. Paul sat and played “Surf’s Up” for, like, three hours in front of the crew. He was amazing. That was really emotional because I knew what Paul and all of us had invested in this. We were kind of doing this shot-by-shot recreation from a documentary. The “God Only Knows” thing was equally emotional because, yes, I love that song. It’s such a great song. I wanted to capture this progression of moments. When you first see him it’s like he’s just coming up with this song, and then it develops. He gets more sure of it, and by the end he’s playing it for his father. Showing that progression was really special.

Is it tricky selling John Cusack as Brian Wilson since, frankly, he looks nothing like him?
First of all, he does kind of look like him.

You think so? I don’t see it.
He just looks like him from another period. If you look at shots of Brian from the ’80s, he’s this big, bearded behemoth, almost. Then, he’d look like this skinny, emaciated guy. He was working with Landy, and his weight was going up and down. We were really trying to figure out which look we’d go with and who would portray him. I watched the Don Was documentary I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times, which was shot in the early ’90s. There’s a shot early on of him in a leather jacket, and he looks like John. People say they don’t look alike occasionally, but Melinda and Brian say to them, “Yes he does!”

But I didn’t want them to be doing things like using prosthetics to make John look more like Brian or Paul. I also didn’t encourage John and Paul to work together. I wanted them to find their own, organic way into the character. You kind of let them find it. John did it by spending time with Brian and the Smile sessions. Paul did it by spending time with the Pet Sounds sessions and trying to get a sense for Brian back in that time. He said working with Brian wouldn’t have been as productive as John working with Brian.

John got Brian’s walk almost exactly, with his arms turned forward.
I’ve had psychologists and doctors say that the way John walks and the way he holds his hands are all indications of when somebody is over-medicated or getting the wrong medication.

Paul resembles Brian so much.
It’s spooky at times.

What was it like meeting Brian for the first time?
It was amazing. The first thing I’ll admit is that I grew up as a Beatles guy, and I think that’s good, in a way. There were a lot of people who wanted to be involved in the picture because they loved Brian, but it’s almost like they were too close, too big of fans. I’ve gotten more into Brian and his music over the years, and very into it about 15-20 years ago through Pet Sounds. But I think it’s good to have some objectivity. When I met Brian, it was a thrill, but I didn’t fall over. The key thing is to represent the human side of him. The celebrity and musical genius side is important, and we want to get that across, but what I want more than anything is to be able to relate to this guy. If you want to put him up on a pedestal and survey his life, you do that in a biopic. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to relate to this guy. I think the mental health issues he went through carry a more important message than saying how great a guy he is. It’s about how we treat people and how we make assumptions about people who have those challenges.

Giamatti is killer.
It’s tough, because a character like Landy…[pauses]. I couldn’t find anybody who had anything positive to say about him. He’s dead, so we don’t have a lot to go on, but you don’t want to create a one-dimensional character. You want to relate to what drove him to this and brought him to this place. There are a lot of subtleties, and having Paul Giamatti navigate those waters is huge.

One of my favorite moments in the movie is when Elizabeth Banks opens that office door in Paul’s face. She looked like such a warrior.
All of that happened [in real life]. She was in the office with the door locked and he was yelling outside. Honestly, with Brian’s story, there are so many things that happened that you would just never put in a script because they’re unbelievable. [laughs] At the end when Brian walks out in front of Melinda’s car, we struggled with that for a long time. We thought, nobody’s going to believe that! It sounds like a movie thing! It literally happened that way. Brian walked out in front of the car and she almost ran into him. As a filmmaker, it’s hard to pull it off without people thinking it’s a movie convention or something.

Favorite Beach Boys song?
“God Only Knows.” But it’s tough. “Don’t Worry Baby” would be up there.

“Good Vibrations” is my number two.
“Surf’s Up” is really great. I could go on and on.

Talk about your approach to sound. I assume that’s high priority in a film like this.
Oh, totally. Brian has aural hallucinations, not visual. Your default thing in a movie is to put all these weird things on-screen and create a “trip.” But this is what he’s hearing in his head, all these disparate chords and harmonies. They’re a part of his genius, but he can’t turn it off, so it becomes part of his nightmare as well. I wanted to figure out a way to depict that so people understood it. I thought “Revolution Number 9” off the Beatles’ White Album would be a good model. We sat down with Atticus Ross and he got it immediately. Beyond the “mind trips,” the score itself is Brian’s music, just rearranged. We’ve taken the stems from the original recordings, taken one from one song and one from another, and weaved them together. I hope Atticus’ story of what he did on this movie comes out, because it’s extraordinary.

I loved how audacious those hallucinations are. You’ll hear a weird sound mixed very hard to the right, and then a loud chord all the way on the left. Crazy stuff.
Our sound mixer Chris Jenkins’ contributions are as valuable as Atticus’ or mine.

What was the hardest thing for Brian to watch?
Brian’s quite hard to read. He’s very asocial. It’s not his thing. But I wanted to make sure he was onboard and made sure the film [was credible], so we had a table read for him early on, just the script. At times I thought he wasn’t paying attention at all or that he was sleeping. An hour later, he’d come back with these really insightful notes. The guy was listening the whole time! When he saw a rough cut the first time, he watched it alone. I heard he liked it, but I didn’t get to watch it with him until Toronto. He never shared what the hardest thing about it was, but he says reliving that whole process is hard for him.

He’s a curious guy. if you ask him about Landy now, he’d say, “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Landy,” even though he knows everything Landy did to him. He still sees it in a childlike way, a purity that’s just fascinating. But then, for the rough cut, he said we were being too kind to Landy. He thought our portrayal was a little softer than he actually was.

The big ten are here. These ten albums aren’t merely our favorites; they’re veritable modern classics that will go on to shape the course of music as time passes. In fact, some of them have already imparted a huge impact to artists that have achieved success in their wake.

It’s safe to say that the brilliance of these albums over the past five years has influenced the sounds currently being produced, and even albums we’ve already discussed in the previous four lists. These are the kings, queens, and genderless royalty of this decade’s albums to date. And after we list these albums, you can find our contributors’ picks for personal favorites left off the overall list—we call these Passionate Orphans—as well as why we think these albums should’ve made the cut.

Listen to all the albums on this list conveniently on our Spotify playlist, and check out all the other playlists we’ve made to get you caught up on the best this decade has offered us so far.

Best 50 Albums Of The Decade So Far (#10-#1)

Angel Olsen – Burn Your Fire For No Witness

Angel Olsen’s ghostly, haunting, lo-fi folk albums for Bathetic Records indicated that she had even greater things to come. After signing to bigger label Jagjaguwar and entering the studio with storied producer John Congleton and a full band to expand her sonic palette, she released sophomore album Burn Your Fire For No Witness in 2014 to still-growing acclaim. Many listeners will enjoy these songs on an initial listen of this album, and subsequent listens will likely expand on the emotional appeal of these songs. But their deep, undying resonance is achieved unexpectedly, after some time away from the album; these songs play forever in listeners’ heads, their candor and vitality never fading. On Burn Your Fire For No Witness, Olsen achieves the daunting task of turning her personal romantic struggles into unforgettable, uniting art via eleven fascinating, highly re-playable songs.

On a formal level, Burn is riveting due to its diverse influences. “High and Wild” throws piano shuffle and 12-bar blues into a rockabilly shuffle; “Forgiven/Forgotten” screams with grunge power; “Stars” aches with PJ Harvey’s primal, terrifying beckon; “Lights Out” slowly drips with swirling, dizzying echo and reverb. On a sonic level, each of Olsen’s many masks suits her incredibly well, and each of these eleven songs is branded with her unique mark despite their often divergent styles. Few musicians could get away with including the dreary folk sprawl of “White Fire” on the same album as the fully ironic cowgirl spree of “Hi Five,” but on Olsen’s watch, genres don’t mean a thing. Her priority is choosing any vehicle fit to deliver her breakup anthems, and she’s able to employ a wide diversity of approaches thanks to her nifty lyricism. “High and Wild” uses a handful of witty metaphors to describe a lover who’s departed in spirit, but still physically present; “Stars” describes the plight of an emotionally traumatic relationship without ever explicitly stating it; “Unfucktheworld” tries to find solace in solitude. With words and instrumentals this powerful and clever converging, it’s no wonder Burn has so much staying power and longevity. [Max]

Kendrick Lamar – good Kid, m.A.A.d. City

Following up on the success of his iTunes-independent record debut, Section.80, Kendrick Lamar got signed on one of the biggest rap labels in the country, under the tutelage of Dr. Dre. Thanks to Aftermath, Lamar released a concept-album as his second record (and first on a major label), pouring out his thoughts, dreams, and worries about the current state of rap, but mostly nostalgically and therapeutically reminiscing about his lifestyle growing up in Compton, California. Labeled as a short film on the cover, good kid, m.A.A.d City introduces various characters (“Sherane” on the opening track, Lamar’s parents through hilarious and poignant voicemails, and so on) and is incredibly effective in how it shapes an entire world of a disenfranchisement community, abound in poverty, violence, and all kinds of vice. It’s clearly a cathartic exercise for Lamar, who had to dodge vile temptation at every corner in order to become the artist he is. In that way the entire album is greater than the sum of its parts, and its parts are some of the greatest examples of modern hip-hip, so what does that tell you? Personal standouts include, “The Art of Peer Pressure,” “Money Trees,” “good kid,” and “m.A.A.d City,” but the biggest appeal of the album is between the lines; its complex structure that halves tracks to emphasize the duality of Lamar’s struggle, and the snippets and samples of various characters anchoring the narrative and thematic depth of the story. Supported with Lamar’s exceptional delivery and lyrical skill, and mature production values, good Kid, m.A.A.d City will likely remain one of the decade’s greatest examples of contemporary hip-hop. [Nik]

Fiona Apple – The Idler Wheel…

One of the most idiosyncratic, under-appreciated songwriters of our generation, Fiona Apple seems to love to keep us waiting—and waiting—and waiting for her to gift us with new batches of songs, which don’t come out frequently enough. She’s often said that, for her, writing is a necessity, an uncontrollable act that springs up when she’s accrued so much pent-up angst and hate and regret that she has no choice but to sit at the piano and empty out her mind and soul. Her career started nearly twenty years ago, and yet we’ve only been graced with four albums, her latest, The Idler Wheel… releasing in 2012 after a seven-year hiatus. Why does she torture us so?!

The reason her fans so rabidly await her work is that she’s really, really good at what she does. Not just good, but good in a way almost no one else working is. Her vocals are a study in controlled chaos, quivering when she’s sad, lilting when she’s happy, and insanely tense when she’s pissed off. Her lyrics are her main source of strength, streams of consciousness that are poetic and eloquent while also being bizarrely childish and impish as well. (Apple’s stated that she loves combing the dictionary for strange words to use in her songs.)

On The Idler Wheel…, Apple loosens up a bit after her gorgeous, streamlined third LP Extraordinary Machine, creating darker, more tumultuous soundscapes that harken back to the aggression and vinegar that informed her early work. The spectrum of emotion she plays with here is vast, though as per usual, the persistent theme is relationships-gone-south and the resulting ping-pong of feels. There’s some pretty disturbing stuff she deals with here, like in “Werewolf,” in which she talks about coaxing out the monstrous side of a lover who’s otherwise a great guy. On “Anything We Want,” she sings, “My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights/I look like a neon zebra shakin’ rain off her stripes,” a perfect example of her ability to come up with lyrics that could have sprung from the mind of no one else. Even her piano chops, which were excellent even in the ‘90s, have evolved in a strange way. Take The Idler Wheel…’s fourth track, “Jonathan.” The almost discordant piano riff permeating the song is as stripped-down as it gets, a stupid simple sequence of notes and chords that, while easy to play, is ingenious in its conception. When the melody and lyrics come in and somehow blend perfectly with the left-field chord progression, Apple’s gift is on full display. [Bernard]

St. Vincent – St. Vincent

Annie Clark doesn’t seem to be showing any signs of tempering her artistic ambitions as her career as indie pop monarch St. Vincent continues to blossom. Her first two albums, Marry Me and Actor, were excellent collections of well crafted songs that appealed very directly to those with a taste for approachable art pop. Her third LP, Strange Mercy, took a step into noisier territory, draping abrasive electronic crackling and buzzing over her beautiful melodies and lyrics, which dealt with love in a bittersweet, almost mournful way. A goth-domestic theme bumped the ambitiousness of that album even higher. With her fourth, self-titled album, Clark pushes the envelope further than ever before, maintaining her pop appeal just barely. The crunchy, textured instrumentals she concocts with producer extraordinaire John Congleton sound like shattered digital glass over her beautiful, fuzzed-out vocals and technical guitar playing. Very much like Kendrick Lamar, Clarke is a music industry anomaly in that, as her albums get weirder and funkier and further out of line with convention, her sales get better and better. It’s an encouraging sign that the industry’s still got a beating heart underneath all the scrambling and panic over how to monetize this stuff.

Clarke is a goddamn wizard on the guitar, and she shreds harder and faster on this album than ever before. The driving lead single, “Birth in Reverse,” is an onslaught of catchy, nimble guitar riffs that slice through the air like a switch blade. “Digital Witness,” the subsequent single that has one of the coolest music videos ever, is a cautionary tale about the mesmerizing, indoctrinating effects of smart phones, television, and any other screen that fills our heads so completely we’ve got no room for anything else. “I want all of your mind!” she beckons in a voice that recalls the oddball characters Kate Bush plays on her records. On this track she leaves the axe on the stand, revisiting the punchy horn sounds she explored with David Byrne on their joint album, Love This Giant, to head-nodding effect. There seems to be a fascination with synthesizers and glitchy noises seeping into Clarke’s work more and more as she evolves as a musician and writer, and St. Vincent could very well be the peak of this stage in her artistic journey. It’s hard to imagine her work getting more out-of-this-world than this, but then again, St. Vincent never fails to surprise. [Bernard]

Kanye West – My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy

Following Kanye West’s strange, successful auto-tune opus, 808’s and Heartbreak, he returned to his more aggressive, sample-crazy mode with My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, an ambitious, cinematic journey through the shadier side of his celebrity that’s arguably one of the top two albums in his discography. Crafting monstrous, symphonic beats with samples from King Crimson, Bon Iver, Aphex Twin and Smokey Robinson, West reached higher levels of drama and epic-ness than we’d seen from him before. His gift for manipulating samples to his whim, turning them into heightened, mutated versions of their former selves is astonishing, and on this album he excels maybe more than ever.

The album’s gurgling, white-hot centerpiece banger is “Monster,” a study in creep-out braggadocio featuring his ol’ buddy Jay-Z, Rick Ross, Justin Vernon, and Nicki Minaj, who blasts us in the face with some of the best bars of her career, surprisingly out-rapping everyone else on the track, including the almighty HOVA. John Legend and Chris Rock lend a hand in “Blame Game,” a meditation on spousal abuse, unrequited love and heartbreak, while the sonic fireworks show “All of the Lights” features a litany of guests, including Rihanna (in the most prominent singing role), Elton John, Kid Cudi, Fergie, John Legend, Alicia Keys, and more.

Back in 2010, embroiled in a firestorm of controversy that took its toll on his head, West conceived the album while on a head-clearing retreat to Hawaii as a reactionary piece to to the media’s coverage of his infamous outburst at the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards. Disgusted by his public crucifixion, he hit the studio and birthed this ungodly, effed-up collection of tracks that reminded everyone why we’ll probably never be rid of him: he makes undeniably dope-ass beats. Every track on the album works in tandem with the others to create a sonic collage that vividly depicts the mind of a man pushed to the edge, both creatively and psychologically. [Bernard]

Beach House – Teen Dream

Has an album ever sounded so devastating that you actually want to console its creators for the events that inspired it? Many albums might incite this reaction, but Teen Dream is the decade’s boldest, most penetrating example of such a collection. Melancholy, despair, and hopelessness absolutely flood out of this album; in an era full of heartbreaking, gut-wrenching music, Teen Dream may actually be the saddest album of recent times. It’s anything but melodramatic, though; rather than begging for pity and pining for attention, it paints vocalist Victoria Legrand’s ruin as universally relatable. It’s an incredible aid for powering through any emotionally wrangling situation, as the solemn beauty rushing from these songs tells their listeners that we’ll get through this together.

Teen Dream is the first album Beach House recorded for Sub Pop after two albums on smaller, but still quite reputable, label Carpark Records. The greater financial freedom and resources of their new label allowed Beach House to shatter the lo-fi sheen that had previously gathered them a cult following and rebuild themselves with gorgeous, shimmering production that built them into the indie rock staple they are today. The breathtaking slide guitars and torch-song vocals of “Silver Soul” burst forward thanks to the barriers of Beach House’s newly slick recording style; the crystalline, high-stakes piano of penultimate “Real Love” gain substantial power due to the drastically increased fidelity. The more focused, precise production enables “Zebra” to remain Beach House’s most adored song in 2015, but deeper cut “10 Mile Stereo” remains the duo’s home run. If the impassioned exhausted vocal delivery, cautiously enveloping synths, tearfully galloping guitar line, and song-long upward surge doesn’t do the trick, just read this one lyric: “Limbs parallel/we stood so long we fell.” It’s perhaps the album’s most heartbreaking line, but there are myriad contenders for second place. Teen Dream is rife with potent poetry; it’s downright one of the most emotionally wrecking collections of music ever recorded. [Max]

LCD Soundsystem – This Is Happening

In the previous decade, LCD Soundsystem was regarded as the paragon of clever, metropolitan dance-punk, but it wasn’t until 2010 that “dark” and its countless cousin words entered the conversation. This Is Happening, James Murphy and Co.’s final album, puts extra effort into sounding far more brooding than the two albums that preceded it, and it succeeds wildly in this pursuit. The nine songs comprising the album often forgo LCD Soundsystem’s notoriously zany, kraut-like chants (well, except on “Pow Pow” and “Drunk Girls,” the album’s two weakest songs) in favor of moodier anthemics, resulting in desperate dancefloor hits such as “I Can Change” and nightmarish jerks along the lines of “One Touch.” But it’s not all pure bleakness; “All I Want” emerges as one of the album’s most memorable songs thanks to the almost obnoxious wail and slight lag of its screaming lead guitars. That’s not to say this song isn’t bitter; in this instance, Murphy sounds despondent rather than outright scary.

These polar extremes—the desolate state of “All I Want” and the crunching horror of “One Touch”—bookend This Is Happening, supporting it on two sides with supremely strong songs. Opener “Dance Yourself Clean” redefines what it means to jolt listeners out of their seats, and establishes the more incisively ominous tone the album tends to take. Final song “Home” (by extension, also the final song of LCD Soundsystem’s career) reimagines career arc “All My Friends” as a somewhat more lethargic, introspective tear-jerker about leaving the past behind. Each of these approaches is equally affecting, and both ditch the often frantically joyed states of past releases, resulting in a powerful final document from one of the 2000s’ best-respected acts. [Max]

Arcade Fire – The Suburbs

In 2013, many Arcade Fire fans complained about the drastic sonic changes the band undertook with fourth album Reflektor, but this grievance ignores that Arcade Fire have been chameleonic from their conception. The Suburbs, Arcade Fire’s third album, follows the sullen hymns of Neon Bible and the vital, high-stakes Funeral, two albums completely distinct in sound. As with any Arcade Fire album, it diverges from the band’s previous output on the surface, but maintains the universally resonant vocal harmonies and strikingly relatable lyrics of what came before. In fact, The Suburbs, as its super specific title suggests, stands out from Arcade Fire’s thoroughly incredible discography as perhaps their most lyrically impressive, tying the band members’ suburban childhood to the poignant emotions of nostalgia, glee, and despair.

The key to The Suburbs’ appeal is that one need not come from a suburban background to enjoy it. The band has stated that the album neither supports nor denounces the suburbs; what they’ve never said, but what’s quite obvious from listening, is that the suburbs merely frame this album’s universal experiences. “Ready to Start” recalls high school anxiety and romance; the exuberant “Empty Room” relishes letting your guard down and getting in touch with your feelings; woeful “Suburban War” explores the anguish of growing apart from childhood friends; sprightly synthpop (!!!) jam “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” recalls the restlessness of teenage years. Emphasizing the resonance of these widely sympathizable instances are some of the most straightforward instrumentals Arcade Fire has ever committed to record. The ostentatious, bold orchestral rush of Funeral has its time and place, as does the weighty, almost holy Neon Bible, but The Suburbs’ move towards more familiar rock stylings holds the most widely appealing songs of the band’s career. It may have once felt impossible for Arcade Fire to be responsible for songs as straightforwardly everyman-like and stable as “We Used to Wait,” but The Suburbs is rife with such simple and powerful moments. In transforming one lifestyle to a universally human experience, Arcade Fire have gifted listeners with a truly wonderful collection. [Max]

Run the Jewels – Run the Jewels 2

The best rap duo on this planet prove once again why they’re the best with their second studio album, Run The Jewels 2. They’re so good that they don’t even need a real album title, which is of course the greatest thing about Killer Mike and El-P; their simple approach to the art of hip-hop. No fancy dressing, no intellectual pretense, just raw and undiluted rap, two guys spitting about the way they see the world around them. Augmented by El-P’s immense and brooding productions, full of ominous beats and absurdly catchy samples, the duo’s dynamite chemistry takes center stage once again. Take a particular exchange from the pessimistically titled “Close Your Eyes (And Count To Fuck),” when El finishes off his verse with, “No shitting you, little buddy, this fuckin’ island’s a prison/The only solace I have is the act of conjugal visitin” and Mike takes over with “My solitary condition’s preventin’ conjugal visits/Though mainly missin’ my missus, they keepin’ me from my children/Conditions create a villain, the villain is given vision” and on he goes, killing it with alliteration and violent imagery. Think of how 99% of rappers out there have at least one slow love ballad that’s more akin to R&B than rap, and then play Run The Jewels’ version of that, the profanity-laced “Love Again,” brimming with macho confidence and alpha male aggression. Certainly not for the faint of heart, nor the easily offended, RTJ 2 builds on the group’s successful debut album and creates something with irreverent force and biting commentary, every track essential for the overall deconstructive power of the album. The duo paint a harsh, cynical, picture of the America they live in, but if it’s inspiring this kind of artistry, it can’t be all that bad, can it? [Nik]

Kanye West – Yeezus

“Yeezy season approachin’/fuck whatever y’all been hearin’/fuck whatever y’all been wearin’/a monster about to come alive again.”

These are the first lyrics we hear on Yeezus, the sixth and most recent album from one of the most restless, creative, outspoken minds to ever exist within hip-hop’s framework (or the framework of all music ever, really). These first words’ promise is delivered upon: Yeezus is a savage beast, showing Kanye at his most irreverent, angry, and combative. West pulls a complete 180 on this album in every way. Compared to his previous albums, it’s ridiculously short, much less lush and finely detailed, far more abrasive, scathing, and industrial-influenced. This is still the one and only Kanye West though; despite Yeezus hosting some of his most inane lyrics to date (“Eating Asian pussy, all I need was sweet and sour sauce” is actually a line on this album), West’s ego and striking political stances remain clearly and viciously in focus. With Ye’s character shining through these unprecedentedly heavy, pummeling songs, they sound revolutionary, controversial, and incendiary, and have proven to be so within hip-hop music in the not quite two years since the album’s release.

Before Yeezus, Death Grips was the decade’s only act dividing the hip-hop community in a debate about the merit of noise, confrontation, and pure bile in rap music. Since Yeezus, so many rappers have felt the power that melding industrial doom with hip-hop groove can have. Tyler, the Creator’s Cherry Bomb is only the most recent of the new wave of hip-hop albums attempting to recreate the hallowed, terrifying glory that Yeezus delivered upon its arrival. Sure, aggression and political revolution have been vital themes of hip-hop for a long time, but here we have Ye literally screaming in revolt on “New Slaves” both for himself and for the entire black community, and we also bear witness to a track called “I Am a God” on an album whose title is a Jesus pun. The former track is essential: Public Enemy probably feels intense pride in Ye’s takedown of the prison-industrial system on this song, which employs some of the most blaring, ear-shattering percussion that hip-hop has ever heard. Its lyrics loudly rebel against institutional racism, as does “Black Skinhead,” another one of Yeezus’ most blatantly cacophonous songs.

Yeezus is incredibly dissonant and raucous for a hip-hop album, a fitting sound for its often political nature. Hell, even when this album isn’t political, it’s political. “Blood on the Leaves” narrates the hell of divorce proceedings, seemingly not a political topic, except that the song is built from a sample of Nina Simone’s take on anti-lynching classic “Strange Fruit.” “Black bodies/swingin’ in the summer breeze” is woven into the very essence of this track, which brilliantly constructs a club banger from a pre-civil rights movement protest song. Forget convention, forget tradition; this is the point of Yeezus both lyrically and musically, except on final track “Bound 2,” which was probably placed last on the album deliberately. It’s a throwback that unexpectedly recalls debut The College Dropout with its pitch-shifted soul samples and soulful production, yet it still feels padded with the risk and boldness pervading Yeezus. Kanye may be making some of hip-hop’s widest strides forward, but he still hasn’t forgotten where he came from. Hopefully none of Yeezus’ many followers ignore the path Yeezy took to get here. [Max]

See the rest of our Best Albums Of The Decade lists!

View Previous Sections of the List:
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)

It’s safe to assume that thousands, perhaps even tens of thousands, of albums have been released so far this decade. What we’re about to present to you begins the twenty albums we’ve selected from this batch as our favorites of the decade so far. Narrowing down such a vast array of releases is no simple task, but these albums stick out from the pack.

Get ready for some of the best music this decade’s offered us to date. Listen to today’s 10 albums via our Spotify Playlist and check out the previous three while you’re over there.

Best 50 Albums Of The Decade So Far (#20-#11)

St. Vincent – Strange Mercy

After the omnipresent, seemingly eternal buzz surrounding St. Vincent, Annie Clark’s 2014 breakthrough, finally receded, it became clear that Strange Mercy, her previous album, remains her strongest effort, as well as one of the century’s most gratifying works. Easily her most cohesive and best sequenced album, it ditches the ostentatious, ornate orchestration of previous albums Marry Me and Actor in favor of a grey, stark, stripped-back aesthetic. Although it contains a few crafty, frenetic fuzz guitar blazes that recall Actor’s anxious, grungy glory (“Cruel,” “Chloe in the Afternoon,” the verses of “Northern Lights”), the majority of Strange Mercy is unnervingly bare. Clark’s guitar playing retains the bleak anxiety of her past songs while also forming soundscapes that are much more notably lurching and crystalline, yet more subtly groovy than before. “Cheerleader” contrasts desolate, somber verses with the growling, gradual guitar smashes of its whopping chorus; “Dilettante” sees Clark applying only the smallest amount of distortion to her guitars, favoring newer wah and modulating effects; “Neutered Fruit” proceeds with a squelch and a crunch unheard before in Clark’s music. Strange Mercy’s songs rank among her least frenetic, so it’s fitting that her voice sounds both grounded and poignant. It takes control of central slow-burner “Strange Mercy,” controlling the song’s emotions as it transforms from stable into urgent. A similar transition occurs on “Surgeon,” both Clark’s best song to date and one of the most innately thrilling ever recorded. A bridge following the second chorus delivers on the promise of the song’s slowly growing guitar funk, rising half a key to allow Clark to deliver her most dire vocal performance on record. “Best finest surgeon/come cut me open,” Clark pleads, and it’s hard to resist dissecting the detailed body that is Strange Mercy. [Max]

Bat for Lashes – The Haunted Man

Natasha Khan has been making music as Bat For Lashes for about a decade now, and her third solo EP, 2012’s The Haunted Man, is the latest and grandest artistic statement she’s made thus far. Aside from having the most badass album covers of that year, in which she’s standing tall, a helpless man draped across her shoulders, The Haunted Man is Khan’s vastest, most instrumentally adventurous outing yet. From the mystical choral chants of the title track and “Oh Yeah,” to the gentle drones of “Marilyn” and “Lilies,” to the plucky riff on “All Your Gold,” she’s got an orchestra of wild and weird sounds at her back as she lays down her sensuous, breathy vocals.

In “Laura,” the albums most successful single, Khan sings a melody so timeless and classic it’s a wonder that nobody had written it until now (a “holy grail” accomplishment for most songwriters of her ilk). She coos, “Ooh Laura you’re more than a superstar” and you’re immediately wrapped up in her emotion. Living up to its title, The Haunted Man is, in fact, pretty haunting, a collection of well crafted indie pop tracks shrouded in a haze of ominous, hypnotic sounds you might hear in a particularly spooky graveyard during a full moon. With this album Khan proves she has the potential to hang with the songwriting elite; her main sources of inspiration—-Bjork, Kate Bush, PJ Harvey—-should all be very proud mamas. [Bernard]

Killer Mike – R.A.P. Music

Before Run the Jewels took over and won the hearts of hipsters worldwide, El-P and Killer Mike collaborated on dual solo albums released in 2012 under their individual monikers. Killer Mike laid down his hard-hitting flow on El-P’s Cancer 4 Cure, while the NYC producer/rapper whipped up the beats for Mike’s R.A.P. Music. The latter is an old-school record with heavy, neo-boom-bap beats masterminded by Producto that fit snugly with the Atlanta emcee’s no-nonsense, in-yo-muhfuckin-face flow. “Butane” is a perfect example of the odd couple’s strength as a team, a shot-to-the-face of a track that stomps around like a T-rex and is guaranteed to terrorize your neighborhood should you bump it in your car loud enough.

Mike’s emerged as a light human rights activist in recent years, writing an op-ed in Billboard magazine and appearing on CNN in reaction to the Ferguson shootings. R.A.P. Music reflects his impassioned socio-political stances in the form of “Reagan,” a searing indictment of the U.S. government and its costly obsession with foreign oil. The album’s full of ass-kickers, like the unforgettable intro “Big Beast” in which Mike announces with his shotgun baritone and a clenched fist, “Hardore G shit, homie I don’t play around.” No, he doesn’t. No one says it better than Kendrick Lamar: “Critics want to mention that they miss when hip-hop was rappin’/motherfucker, if you did, then Killer Mike would be platinum.” [Bernard]

Janelle Monáe – The ArchAndroid

As far as first impressions go, Janelle Monáe’s The ArchAndroid is about as good as it gets. She was 24 years old and one of the newest signees at Bad Boy when her debut full-length studio album dropped, and she immediately caught the ears and eyes (check out her blistering performance of “Tightrope” on Letterman if you haven’t seen that awesomeness) of music lovers across the world and across genre lines. Soul kids, indie rock kids, hip-hop heads; they all loved Miss Monáe with equal amounts of passion, and the enthusiasm was out of respect for how freakin’ amazing her album was, front to back.

The ArchAndroid is a gigantic, sprawling production that’ll take you on the ride of your life, touching on more emotions and sounds and music genres than you can shake a stick at. Songs like the irresistible “Dance or Die,” the anthemic “Cold War,” and the relentless “Tightrope” are speedy and thrilling and have a scintillating sense of locomotion; more whimsical tracks, like the lilting “Oh, Maker” and “Wondaland,” slow things down and take you to a funky, colorful paradise. It’s hard not to think of the great Lauryn Hill as a direct precursor to Monáe—-they both had terrific debut albums and transcend genres—-but the young “mini mogul” (she’s got a label of her own now, Wondaland Records) looks to have a longevity Hill unfortunately never attained. [Bernard]

tUnE-yArDs – W H O K I L L

A term ascribed to Merrill Garbus’ tUnE-yArDs often is “kooky.” The word fits: the alternating capital letters, lack of immediately obvious meaning, and seemingly unnecessary dash in the middle of her moniker suggest the eccentric, outlandish nature of her music. Certainly, her sound is bizarre, and quite often divisive among listeners, but W H O K I L L unites her oddball tendencies with intensely catchy, fiery songwriting. It’s not just dumb luck that this album catapulted her to the forefront of blogosphere stardom: the LP is a gripping, ear-popping account of independence and protest delivered in one of the most urgent voices in recent memory. Opener “My Country” hints at the topics ahead with its opening mantra: “My country ‘tis of thee/sweet love of liberty/how come I cannot see my future within your arms?”

The booming, unorthodox percussion and peripheral vocal harmony loops also offers foresight into the album’s novel, alarming sonic palette: Garbus often sings, shouts, yelps, hollers, drums, or strums (on an electric ukulele, not a guitar) several different parts into a looping machine and arranges them into cascades of stomping, direct force. The hood politics of “Gangsta” arrive surrounded by wails intertwined in a cat’s cradle of loops; the skitter of “Doorstep” derives solely from Garbus’ playing; “Powa” blesses her ukulele with the emotional depth of a traditional guitar. Even more idiosyncratic is trailblazing favorite “Bizness,” a fierce, riotous anthem for anyone who’s ever suffered for reasons out of their control. If the sonics of W H O K I L L don’t arrest you, let the words do the talking. [Max]

The National – High Violet

If Wilco is the preeminent “Great American Band,” the guys in The National are the slightly younger runners-up. They’ve been making critically acclaimed, notoriously glum music since the turn of the century, churning out great albums like 2005’s  Alligator and 2007’s incredible Boxer, touring the country seemingly non-stop all the while. In 2010, they released High Violet, their fifth studio album which, despite continuing the band’s tradition of writing “sad bastard” music, was a triumph in that it showed an improved, refined version of their patented sound without pandering to fans who constantly begged for them to “cheer up.”

If you ask the band, they’ll tell you there’s always been a sense of humor about their pathos. In a 2010 interview on CBC radio, guitarist Aaron Dessner explained this misconception, using the song “Conversation 16” as a reference point. “When Matt [Berninger, lead singer] says, ‘I was afraid I’d eat your brains,’ there is something dark and weird about that line, but it’s also kind of funny.” The lyrical content on High Violet, written by Berninger, is undeniably dour and sometimes frightening, but musically, the Dessner twins created some uncharacteristically bright and infectious tunes, like the lead single, “Bloodbuzz Ohio,” whose syncopated groove and bright piano accents sound more pop rock than sob rock. Few bands sound as grandiose and exhilarating as The National does when they reach the height of crescendos on epics like “Terrible Love” and “England,” and High Violet’s soaring sonic foundation makes it their most accessible album in their catalogue. [Bernard]

Sharon Van Etten – Are We There?

Those who familiarized themselves with our Best Songs of the Decade So Far feature shouldn’t be too surprised to see Sharon Van Etten popping up here. I take special enjoyment in it myself, since Van Etten’s “Your Love Is Killing Me” (from this same album) was a personal pick. Brooklyn-based Van Etten has been rising in prominence within the indie rock community in New York and the rest of the U.S. for a few years now, but few expected the kind of attention her last album received. Except, of course, those who’ve never doubted the limits she was destined to reach. Are We There ended up on several year-end best lists, and gave the singer-songwriter her first real taste of fame. The first-time access to a big studio helped Van Etten in the only area she needed improving: production. Now, she’s able to pour her heart out about love, loss, and longing in a way that emphasizes her emphatic vocal range while imbuing the entire mood of Are We There in a coating of grandiose melancholia. Besides the song I’ve already discussed last month, the album is filled with Van Etten’s signature heart-on-sleeve approach, accompanied by mournful pianos, guitars, and drums; other stand outs include the lullaby-like “Our Love,” and “You Know Me Well” where she makes the simplest of lyrics, “You know me well/You show me hell when I’m looking/And here you are/Looking,” drip with immense pathos. Then there are tracks like “Break Me;” shining examples of how far Van Etten has gone in terms of having appropriate production that enable her songs to resonate with more gut-punching force. Equally intimate and universal, Are We There is a must for everyone who’s felt the pangs of love, and one of the greatest examples of how loss can be turned into an exceptionally creative outlet. [Nik]

Vampire Weekend – Modern Vampires of the City

I enjoyed Vampire Weekend’s first two LPs thoroughly, and I half expected their third album, Modern Vampires of the City, to be a bit of a letdown, partly because I found their skills as musicians limited, but mostly because I’m a recovering pessimist. I was proven wrong once I gave the album a spin: The indie pop kings from New York City upped every facet of their game, from their playing, to lead singer Ezra Koenig’s singing, to their writing. Exploring themes like faith, mortality, and lost love, the band seems to have grown up considerably in this, the final chapter in a trilogy of great records.

The most notable aspect of Modern Vampires is the earthy, warm quality of the recordings themselves. Utilizing analog equipment whenever possible, the band sidestepped their signature Afro-inspired sound, embracing a more measured, chamber pop style. The heart-meltingly pretty opening track, “Obvious Bicycle,” immediately shows off Koenig’s full range of vocal ability as he gently hums, “You ought to spare yourself the razor/because no one’s going to spare the time for you.” Lyrically, the band’s breached a whole new stratosphere, crafting humble gems like, “I was born to live without you/but I’m never going to understand/hold me in your everlasting arms.” “Hanna Hunt” is one of the best songs they’ve ever written, a quiet interlude charting a lover’s gradual, coast-to-coast dissolution. My pessimism’s been purged; I’ll be anticipating whatever Vampire Weekend offers up with a hopeful smile and bated breath. [Bernard]

Spoon – They Want My Soul

Back when They Want My Soul dropped last August, there was much ado about things that really didn’t matter. Yes, the LP was the band’s first in four years (frontman Britt Daniel had a stint in the Divine Fits in the interim, where he nabbed Alex Fischel as Spoon’s new keyboardist). And yes, there was a fun title track, ripe for interpretation, about all the haters that want Daniel’s soul. But none of that is why we’re talking about this album nearly a year later.

In a year dominated by breakout electronic producers, They Want My Soul serves as one of the strongest reminders that the classic indie rock setup can still produce one hell of a worthwhile listen. It’s got the technical prowess and cohesion you’d expect from an entry on a year-end list (surely producer Dave Fridmann, known for his work with The Flaming Lips, deserves a nod), but more importantly, Spoon doesn’t just find their sound—they have a whole lot of fun with it. Whether it’s that killer bridge taking us up an octave in “Rainy Taxi” or the unhinged distortion in “Knock Knock Knock,” Spoon fills their latest with nuggets of ear candy that make re-listens feel varied and new.

Their optimistic moments have that slight reservation that comes with experience, but there also seems to be a new freedom: the one that comes from letting go of expectations. Screw whatever you thought of the Spoon of yesteryear—they’ve certainly let go of any demons tugging at their soul. As a result, They Want My Soul is both a standout in the band’s 20-year catalog and a well-deserved #12 for us. [Susan]

Beach House – Bloom

Beach House’s career arc from their self-titled debut to third album Teen Dream guided their gradual ascent to legends of dream pop melancholy, heartache, and cosmic resonance. Bloom, the Baltimore duo’s fourth album, is far more optimistic than its predecessors, a shift that few expected. A daring change, in lesser hands it could’ve been a disaster, but Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally can’t help but write tragedy and affliction into even their most beaming songs. Bloom retains the husky, breathy vocals that defined Legrande as the rebirth of Nico to a generation of young music lovers, and recasts Scally’s slide and tremolo-picked guitar beauty as the sound of hope after defeat rather than misery after failure. Where past tracks might wallow in their own deep sadness to unparalleled avail, Bloom tunes including “Wild” and “The Hours” strive upwards from down in their pits. “Wishes” sounds straight up grateful in comparison to the pain of past releases, “New Year” bleeds with resolve, and “Lazuli” shines as brightly as the gem for which it’s named. For all the drastic reductions in woe present, Beach House’s sound differs only somewhat; here, they grow gradually without entirely shedding their skin. Bloom couldn’t be a more appropriate title. [Max]

See the rest of our Best Albums Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

Today we present #30-21 of our Best Albums of 2010-2014 list. This is the middle section of our list: twenty songs precede it, and twenty songs come after it. We think you’ll find these ten to be incredibly strong contributions of the past five years, which really ought to get you extra excited for what’s to come tomorrow and Friday. With music this good, its hard to imagine things get better. But we assure you they do. Let us know if you think we’ve made wise choices thus far, and listen to all of today’s best albums on our accompanying Spotify playlist.

Best 50 Albums Of The Decade So Far (#30-#21)

First Aid Kit – The Lion’s Roar

I like to imagine that if Fleet Foxes had two younger sisters who spent summers in the country with their Auntie Neko Case, they would sound like First Aid Kit. Of course, no such familial ties exist, but musical ties certainly do.

Most obviously: harmony. Johanna and Klara Söderberg spend much of The Lion’s Roar harmonizing wonderfully through verse, chorus and bridge. The bright tonality and rich quality of their vocals are the true backbone of this album. Though any of the ten songs on The Lion’s Roar could back this point up, “To a Poet,” a track punctuated by sporadic and particularly beautiful harmonies, really shows Johanna and Klara’s cohesion as vocalists, while “New Year’s Eve” sees them at their echoing, raging best.

Clearly this album is worth the time of any fan of alternative country, but this beautiful songwriting really needs to be heard by fans of all genres. The lyrics are thoughtful without excess, and they’re refreshingly memorable and clear at a time when fuzzy lo-fi bands let their words sink into the mix. You know, sometimes a good ol’ roar does the trick, too. [Susan]

Sharon Van Etten – Tramp

“There was your breath / on the back of my neck / the only one holding / the only one I had felt in years.” Lyrics like that are emotive and cinematic on their own, but in the hands (or rather, lungs) of Sharon Van Etten, they can move mountains. Tramp, the Brooklyn-based songwriter’s third solo album, is a study in raw artistic expression; Van Etten sounds as if she’s sitting beside us, sharing her darkest secrets about the ravages of love. These are break-up songs, but not girly ones sung by a petty teenage girl with zero life experience (you know who I’m talking about). Van Etten sounds like a woman, writes like a woman and commands respect because she writes with maturity. Every song is a doozy, from the roaring “Serpents,” to the tender “Leonard,” to my personal favorite, the stripped-down “We Are Fine.” Her best outing yet. [Bernard]

The National – Trouble Will Find Me

The National’s rise to indie-rock kingpins did not happen overnight. After five albums and a handful of EPs, the band finally reached a career peak with the release of Trouble Will Find Me.

The band’s sixth full-length was the perfect combination of elements from their previous five records without seeming trite: their usual darkly romantic lyricism (when I walk into a room / I do not light it up), their chamber-pop instrumentation (the strings in “This Is The Last Time”), their unconventional rhythms (the shifting time signature of “I Should Live In Salt”), and their classically inspired complex arrangements courtesy of the Dessner brothers (the intricate melodies of “Sea Of Love”).

While certain aspects of Trouble Will Find Me take after the band’s previous works, the highlight, at least to me, was the unpretentious array of guest instrumentals from Sufjan Stevens and Arcade Fire’s Richard Reed Parry to back-up vocals from Sharon Van Etten and St. Vincent mastermind Annie Clark.

It’s hard to listen to Trouble Will Find Me without thinking, “Yeah, so this is some sort of masterclass in indie music.” [Susan]

Death Grips – The Money Store

Experimental hip-hop trio Death Grips assured us they had disbanded last year. Then, they released a bunch of music and hinted that a tour might be on the way with a cryptic YouTube video of them rehearsing. They’re weirdos. The Sacramento-based outfit are outcasts not just in hip-hop, but in the music industry in general, dropping records whenever they please, and on their own terms. Their sound is notoriously glitchy and chaotic and often impenetrable, but their first studio album, The Money Store, is arguably their catchiest and most approachable work of all. I’d also argue it’s their best. MC Ride’s violent, bellowing delivery and surrealist lyrics mesmerize on standout tracks “Hacker” and “Fuck That,” and the firecracker opener “Get Got” might be the closest thing Death Grips have resembling a radio hit. This is the perfect entryway album for one of the most insane groups to hit the rap scene in years. [Bernard]

Cloud Nothings – Here and Nowhere Else

In 2012, Dylan Baldi pulled a fast one on his fans, renovating Cloud Nothings’ from a lo-fi pop band into a noise punk outfit. That year’s Attack on Memory remains one of the decade’s most brooding garage rock albums; follow-up Here and Nowhere Else casts some sun on that LP’s sound, but this light is filtered through a semi-thick layer of clouds. Its songs are somewhat more upbeat and significantly more optimistic than on Attack on Memory, but it remains a hostile, fiery collection. “Quieter Today” distills Baldi’s punk ferocity with a blanket of melodic hope; “No Thoughts” breeds both contentment and angst with its vibrant yet deranged power chords; “I’m Not Part of Me” recasts ’90s power pop as a blazing, confident rumble. The mixture of bliss and rage Baldi achieves here is in part indebted to his band’s increased technical proficiency, particularly in the percussive section. Drummer Jason Gerycz ranks among the most vicious, brutal drummers playing today, and his manic performances embolden Here and Nowhere Else with the frantic presence contrasting its more vivid chord progressions. A feat in both sound and performance, Here and Nowhere Else distinguishes itself potently among its fellow punk albums of the decade. [Max]

Chromatics – Kill for Love

Like many musical non-aficionados, I was first introduced to the Chromatics through Nicholas Winding Refn’s Drive, which opened my ears to the band’s evocative sound thanks to their song “Tick of the Clock” featured in the film. This song led to me discover their fourth studio album, Kill For Love, long after the band had gone through their own musical evolution, from rock-influenced noisy punk to Italo disco-influenced synthpunk in the early 2000s. Though it takes three men to create the band’s special aural aesthetic—Adam Miller, Johnny Jewel, and Nat Walker—it’s tough to think about anyone or anything else while listening to Ruth Radelet, and feeling her get under your skin with her beguiling amarantine voice. “Into The Black” and “Candy” are perfect examples. But it’s not all Radelet, though. Instrumentals like “There’s A Light Out At The Horizon” showcase the Chromatics’ powerful soundscapes without the support of their main voice. Kill For Love drips with melancholic romance, and sheaths the listener in an everlasting embrace of silky retro sounds. [Nik]

Alt-J – An Awesome Wave

Gwil Sainsbury, Joe Newman, Gus Unger-Hamilton, and Thom Green formed Alt-J in 2007, but didn’t release their debut album until 4 years later. These years gave them the time to hone in their unique sound, one where bass doesn’t factor in too much since they were mostly practicing in student halls and couldn’t make too much noise. Instead, the heavily electro-influenced production values places emphasis on impossibly melodious synth lines, Newman’s peculiar vocals, and a refreshingly unpredictable song structure. Take “Breezeblocks,” for example. Neither its infectious hook or Newman’s falsetto can prepare you for what comes after the two-minute mark, and the “please don’t go, please don’t go, I love you so” chant that injects the track with an incredible kind of energy. With tracks like this, and other stand outs like “Something Good,” “Matilda,” and “Fitzpleasure,” An Awesome Wave washed over indie rock soundwaves in 2011 and heralded Alt-J in an exciting way, representing a shining example of a refreshingly new take on contemporary indie. Accompanying the familiar quarter of keyboard, guitar, drum, and single vocal are samples, electro twitches, and harmonious duets between Newman and Unger-Hamilton, infusing the album with an atmosphere that soothes eardrums with every listen. [Nik]

Purity Ring – Shrines

In a decade when “dark” evolved into an overused, superficial descriptor, Purity Ring may be the outfit best-suited to the word. Corin Roddick’s unnerving, bleak dashes of wide, sprawling synths and Megan James’ anatomical, disturbing lyricism casts absolutely no light on the romances inspiring the songs on their debut Shrines. The album gives a sonic form to the visual of a face-deformed monster rising from a black, nameless murk and following terrified victims around everywhere—but the twist is, this beast seeks love, not the infliction of pain. Sure, Megan James demands that the subject of club-rattling career highlight “Fineshrine” which goes, “cut open my sternum and pull/my little ribs around you,” but this gory image desires as deep an intimacy as humanly possible rather than the sociopathic pouring of blood. Likewise, when James commands that a lover take full control over her body over the trap skitter of “Saltkin,” she seeks a human connection that transcends what our physical existence can provide. She conveys beautiful ideas in deceptively unsettling words, just as Roddick delivers eerily mobile instrumentals with surprisingly intricate arrangements. Although darkness dominates on Shrines, light shines through with consecutive listens, and this constantly growing lens invites listeners back for endless replays. [Max]

M83 – Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming

“I’m slowly drifting to you/The stars and the planets/Are calling me/A billion years away from you…” so go the lyrics to M83’s “My Tears Are Becoming A Sea,” a track no amount of movie trailers can possibly ruin. These words perfectly encapsulate the transporting and cinematic quality of M83’s music, and his 2011 double album, Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming is more of an intergalactic space voyage commandeered by a child’s exuberant energy than just another album. We singled out “Midnight City” in our Top 50 Songs of the Decade So Far feature last month, but once you play both discs it’s almost impossible to separate any part from the whole experience; even the short intermission-style tracks like “Another Wave From You” and “This Bright Flash” feel necessary and add further dimension to a fantastically realized project. Then, of course, tracks like “Reconte-Moi Historie” on the first disc, and “Echoes of Mine” on the second disc, enhance the storytelling and nostalgic aspects with a beautiful balance of subtle vocals and tremendously spirited production. You’d be forgiven if you thought M83 was 10 people after listening to Hurry Up, but it all comes from the imagination and creative talent of Frenchman Anthony Gonzales, inspired by his new home-city of Los Angeles, and realizing his dream of completing a double album that’s not too long and places more emphasis on emotion than narrative. It’s easily the most gloriously sonorous album of the decade so far. [Nik]

Crystal Castles – II

II is truly a strange album. It features—each in a different song—no wave punk, droning metal, explosive industrial, flowery electro-pop, nightmarish rave, slowly expanding IDM, and overwhelming glitch. Cohesion is exactly the opposite of what drives II, yet each of its fourteen songs fits incredibly well under the same roof, resulting in Crystal Castles’ best album, and one of the decade’s most memorable electronic LPs. Surprising in description, the success of its scattered nature makes sense when listening to the album, since each and every song is thoroughly enjoyable despite the lack of common threads among them. Neon light anthem “Empathy,” muddy metal snippet “Birds,” and horror film rave blast “Baptism” sound like the word of three different acts, but since each is a wildly resonant piece of music, Crystal Castles is able to include them, as well as fanged screamer “Doe Deer,” glitch journey “Intimate,” and heartwarming dance tune “Suffocation,” on the same album, one for which solely they are responsible. II restores meaning to the phrase “there’s something for everyone here”: really, anyone who even distantly enjoys electronic music is bound to obsess over something they hear on this album. [Max]

See the rest of our Best Albums Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

We’ve got some modern classics lined up among today’s section of our Best Albums of 2010-2014 list. Get ready to dance, but also prepare to be entranced in early morning stupors of tranquil, gorgeous bliss. We’ll be talking about even more great albums in the days to come, so keep an eye out for most of our ongoing list. Until then, check out these ten solid collections and listen to them all on today’s Spotify playlist.

Best 50 Albums Of The Decade So Far (#40-#31)

Colin Stetson – New History Warfare Vol. 2

Colin Stetson’s New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges is the damnedest thing. Stetson recorded every track in one take, and every sound you hear is made by him and his muse, the saxophone. Thanks to a carefully rigged microphone setup, we hear every click, breath, and note he makes as he plays, sounds which are then manipulated (but not looped) to sound like some sort of alien mating song. It’s percussive, almost electronic-sounding music that’s beyond compare. My Brightest Diamond’s Shara Worden and Laurie Anderson also feature on the album, but Stetson’s the real star of the show. He apparently mastered the art of circular breathing before recording the album, which allows him to create a stream of uninterrupted sound. If you haven’t experienced New History Warfare Vol. 2 yet, I’m envious; it’s one of the coolest, most unique things you can put into your ears (besides, I don’t know, a gold-leaf q-tip, or something). [Bernard]

D’Angelo/The Vanguard – Black Messiah

He kept us waiting (almost 15 goddamn years, actually), but D’Angelo made his triumphant return to the music game in 2014 with Black Messiah, an avant-garde collage of jazz, hip-hop, soul, and funk that is frankly mind-blowing. The funny thing about Black Messiah is, a lot of the time, you can’t hear what the hell the man is saying. His voice is either too nasally or gets so fuzzed out at times that it sounds like he’s talking into a toy megaphone, but that’s okay; once you accept that he’s virtually unintelligible, you notice that the emotion in his voice is actually accentuated by being so obstructed. (Look up the lyrics, and your mind will be blown again.) The instrumentation is a wonderful cacophony of loose jazz grooves and whirring synths that recall a bygone era of progressive R&B and soul, reminding us of how expansive the possibilities are of a genre typically wrongfully regarded as narrow. In short, D’Angelo blew open the doors. [Bernard]

Twin Shadow – Confess

As Twin Shadow, George Lewis Jr. digs into the pop-friendly realm of blistering self-assessment where the only obvious method is to pump out insanely engaging, dance-friendly numbers. Throughout Confess, listeners aren’t sure whether to root for Lewis or hope he’ll just stop investing in unrequited love. Regardless, Confess sees him getting over his humble debut album, Forget, as an electronic star with a predisposition for bad decisions.

Confess has given Lewis a chance to develop songs further than Forget, which was much more synth-heavy, featuring vocals that were slightly warped. The music on Confess adheres to a genre of his own creation, which appears to be a collage of sounds from the ‘80s. “Beg For The Night” ends with a sweet guitar solo accompanied by Lewis’ crooning and sweeping synths.  What I like most about Twin Shadow is that, though he’s not the strongest vocalist, he absolutely devotes himself to his melodies and never falters from being a hopeless romantic in the process. We’re fortunate that he’s complex enough to avoid outright happiness and Confess, as an album showed notable growth that still stands three years on. [Susan]

Real Estate – Days

Real Estate formed as a Strokes cover band, but their music only scarcely hints at this influence. While all the other suburban kids were ripping off Is This It in their parents’ garages, Real Estate discovered reverb, delay, and vocal harmonies. They also stumbled upon a feeling not often present in their peers work: an underbelly of sadness, longing, and nostalgia. Days, their sophomore album, details suburban life via these emotions, recalling love at autumn’s onset on sprightly lead single “It’s Real,” home-bound yearning on woozy hypnotizer “Municipality,” and youthful bliss on sunlit opener “Easy.” The themes presented are bound to resonate among many listeners, but for those more familiar with the frantic city lifestyle, solace is found in the band’s heart-wrenching melodies. Days’ songs unfold at a cozy, intimate pace, granting songs such as “Green Aisles” and “Three Blocks” ample space and time to connect to anyone with an open ear. Forget your background; Days will charm anyone willing to emotionally engage. [Max]

Bon Iver – Bon Iver, Bon Iver

Justin Vernon is a capital “M” musician, and it shows no more clearly than on his 2011 record, Bon Iver, Bon Iver. In many ways, the record follows the well-worn path of lush, instrumental expansion that often accompanies success for solo singer/songwriters. By this point, four years has passed since his debut album, For Emma, Forever Ago, and in the interim, he recorded a live album with his old high school jazz band, collaborated with supergroup Gayngs, formed Volcano Choir, and yes, lent a helping hand to Kayne West.

All of that stretching in various directions shows on this record, from the echoed piano layers of “Hinnom, TX” to the big cymbal crashes and digital guitars on “Perth” and the groove-laden spiral of “Minnesota, WI.”

None of the isolated man with a guitar, backwoods shut-in tone from Emma makes its way through here—the only connective tissue is that voice. Vernon’s voice is one of the most haunting and distinctive to come around in a long time, and he layers harmonies so deep that comparisons to Fleet Foxes or even the Beach Boys don’t seem to do it justice. His voice alone is worth a nod on this list. [Susan]

Disclosure – Settle

While the independent music world battled EDM culture in an increasingly tense fight between the former’s complex structures and the latter’s simplistic, bombastic nature, both sides agreed on the merit of two young brothers from Surrey, England. Disclosure blurred the line between aggressive, superficial dance music and subtle, sensual deep house, recalling the latter genre while appealing to the greater masses. Impossible to dislike, their debut Settle underpins an ensemble cast of guest vocalists with digital hooks and jackhammer grooves. It maintains an active, stimulating energy without compromising songwriting prowess and emotional impact. “You & Me” oozes sex while keeping four on the floor; “White Noise” both asserts power and opens the room to a dance circle. The party continues for an hour, but that’s only because no one wants it to end. [Max]

Grimes – Visions

An electronic musician who cites Enya and Mariah Carey among her primary influences and records dark pop music from her bedroom? Either a nightmare or a dream come true, depending who you ask. If you did take the initiative to ask, it’s likely that most people would describe this situation as a dream, seeing as Grimes has climbed to the forefront of modern electronic music in just over three years. The album responsible for this shift, 2012’s Visions, filters Top 40 pop music through an ominous, robotic lens, contrasting the angelic, whistle-register voice of mastermind Claire Boucher with eerie, nocturnal synthetic pulses. Bubblegum melodies and myriad hooks outline Visions, but the brooding, mechanical murk underlying them saves these songs from their potentially tacky outcome. Without a Terminator-like presence pervading the underside of this album, songs like “Circumambient” and “Symphonia IX (My Wait Is U)” might go to waste as childlike, innocent fairy tales. Instead, we have the apocalyptic banger “Be a Body” and the trailblazing “Oblivion,” thought by many to rank among the greatest electronic songs ever recorded. Fear not pop; embracing it results in albums as distinct and enjoyable as this one. [Max]

The War on Drugs – Lost in the Dream

Lost in the Dream may be the first War on Drugs album to feature this newest incarnation of the band (longtime collaborator, Kurt Vile, is nowhere to be found on this one), but it’s also the purest of the band’s three albums. Singer, guitarist, and leader Adam Granduciel has touched on themes of listlessness in his previous records, but here his lyrics and song structures hit upon something universal, making these tunes grab ahold of you, refusing to let go. Right from the piano and drum machine opening of “Under the Pressure,” every immaculately produced bar and guitar strum feels like a classic, as if that siren’s call to wander and ramble has pushed Granduciel to greater heights.

Each song on Lost in the Dream feels like its own saga—a story just aching to be told, lived, and retold again with a new perspective. Granduciel has not only made the best album of his career, but he’s surpassed Vile in songwriting and skill. It’s a piece of work that will not only stick with you through the week, but into the summer and fall as well. [Susan]

Crystal Castles – III

Crystal Castles may well be this decade’s most prominent example of a non-metal act fully embracing fear. Their songs sound like industrial techno soundtracks to the most visceral of horror films, and III, their final album recorded with vocalist and co-writer Alice Glass, is their bleakest and most abrasive. Its first song is titled “Plague” and stabs the senses with newly sharpened knives, and the rest of the album falls in even deeper suit. Song titles include “Kerosene,” “Violent Youth,” and “Mercenary,” not to mention “Wrath of God.” Musically, III more consistently sounds fanged and slashing than any previous Crystal Castles release; where past albums explored more inviting sonics, this one is all repulsion. Sure, there’s a faint glimmer of hope in the soft vocal lines of “Transgender” and the peripheral flashes of “Sad Eyes,” but the quilt of doom burying this album weighs down with insurmountable force. Even the vaguely optimistic intro of “Wrath of God” gives way to a barrage of angry, intimidating synths and harsh vocals. It makes sense that Alice Glass would leave the band after this album; III narrates the journey down a dead-end road with no way out. [Max]

Destroyer – Kaputt

The story goes like this: a guy who’s been compared to David Bowie, T. Rex, and other glam rock acts for his entire career changes direction completely, recording an album that draws its primary inspiration from smooth jazz and soft rock. This new album is often described, surprisingly, as his most accessible yet. The LP in question here is Dan Bejar’s ninth album as Destroyer, Kaputt, a gorgeous album that constantly borders on cheesy without ever reaching it. In theory, nothing here should work—smooth jazz and soft rock as done by a glam rock worshipper—yet its further influences from new wave, dream pop, and even disco embellish it with an innately affecting shine. Bejar’s voice matches his newly silky sonics; here, he abandons the yelping, unpredictable, extreme vocals of past records for an eternally calm, relaxed demeanor. Rumor has it he recorded some of Kaputt’s vocal takes while lying down on a couch, and the (lack of) effort shows. Bejar is well aware of how disarmingly tranquil this album is; a vinyl-only suite entitled “The Laziest River” describes this album’s aura in just three words. When Bejar sings “I sent a message/in a bottle/to the press” on album highlight “Blue Eyes,” you wonder how it reached them so successfully when there’s no current in this water. [Max]

See the rest of our Best Albums Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

Back in March, we presented our 50 favorite songs released between 2010 and 2014. After the fun of putting together such an all encompassing list, how could we not follow it up with one for our favorite albums of the past few years?

Just as with our songs list, we’ll be presenting it in increments of ten albums, starting with #50-41 today. Some of what’s here may be surprising and certainly there will be something new for even the most dedicated of indie music followers. We wouldn’t want anyone out of the loop. Consider this a social service and be sure to check out our daily Spotify playlists to go along with our countdown.

Best 50 Albums Of The Decade So Far (#50-#41)

Makthaverskan – II

If Makthaverskan are known for anything at this point, it’s for the phrase, “Fuck you!” This may seem like a pretty ordinary phrase at first—what melodramatic TV character hasn’t shouted this and then later apologized for it?—but when a Gothic shoegaze/punk band from Sweden meaningfully applies it in a language that’s not their native tongue, they demand attention. On II, Maja Milner and friends turn this commonplace swear into a lacerating knife, as they do with many English phrases, on “Antabus” and “No Mercy.” In general, they make better use of English than many native speakers, which is ironic given the simplicity of their words. “It’s not me you’re dreaming of!,” “Take off this shirt and we’ll make love,” and “I don’t know where you are tonight, but if you want, I’ll take you back,” rank among the most effective phrases here, yet they’re far from poetic. Instead, Milner’s piercing voice and her band’s gorgeous, yet wintry and confrontational, instrumentation turns her words into weapons. “You outshine them all!” she wails on “Outshine,” and this phrase, although much happier than a “Fuck you!” describes the entirety of II, a diamond in a minefield. [Max]

Waxahatchee – Cerulean Salt

Cerulean Salt begins with a track whose title echoes its creation. “Hollow Bedroom” may describe the location of this album’s genesis, and this inherent intimacy endows Waxahatchee’s sophomore album with a charming haunt. Singer-songwriter Katie Crutchfield recalls past events with a specificity that rivals some of the greatest storytellers; for example, “Brother Bryan” details silver hair, taxi rides, and her sister’s tears impressively vividly, and “Misery Over Dispute” remembers the most difficult moments of a past relationship. Elsewhere, Crutchfield applies her words to explore more generally relatable emotions, ones that tend to be quite devastating: “Blue Pt. II” explores the anxiety of unrequited love, and career highlight “Swan Dive” finds its author in an even more desperate state of need. And if her meticulous lyricism isn’t quite enough to compel listeners, the barren, restricted instrumentation underlying her thoughts is just as affecting. [Max]

Todd Terje – It’s Album Time

Todd Terje as swagged-out jazz pianist on It’s Album Time’s artwork confirms the humor of its title, but its name also fits this LP purely on a sonic level. While some albums are simply collections of songs organized a certain way, Terje’s full-length debut (after seven years of wildly acclaimed singles and compilations) takes full advantage of the album structure, resulting in an adventure rather than a set list. The twelve songs present often segue seamlessly into one another, sounding like the soundtrack to a film about album character Preben rather than a mixtape of unrelated Terje songs. When Preben goes to Acapulco, the joy of a tropical escape dominates the soundscape; when he hits the club, both parts of “Swing Star” document his night on the town. Indeed, It’s Album Time is incredibly club-ready; “Strandbar,” “Oh Joy,” and especially “Delorean Dynamite” and the now omnipresent “Inspector Norse” feel like rescues from an abandoned Saturday Night Live prequel. On the flip side is “Johnny and Mary,” a Robert Palmer cover featuring Roxy Music’s Bryan Ferry on—gasp!—vocals. A starry-eyed comedown amidst this high-energy, multicolored expedition, it’s the album’s most explicitly gorgeous moment. The contrast of its presence illuminates the album’s high-fructose charm, one that’s appealing both as a novelty listen and as a deeply moving composition. [Max]

Frank Ocean – Channel Orange

When the album stream for Channel Orange was posted online, the internet stopped. Everyone seemed to hit play at the exact same time and, about an hour later, Frank Ocean was untouchable. Ocean’s past is a star-studded muck of premature announcements, tension from record labels, and the overwhelming response from his infamous letter, which mentioned a relationship he had with another man when he was younger.

Channel Orange came exactly when Frank Ocean needed an R&B gem that doubled as a personal statement to his newfound fans and haters. The praise that Ocean earns from this record does not stem from details of his personal life but for the universality of his lyrics. He writes about women and men, about happiness and loss, but ultimately his lyrics are concerned with the long-term effects of short, highly influential moments. It’s in Ocean’s nature to be as vibrant as the color orange, to sing about the complexities of love without always involving booty or drunkenness, simply torturing himself by reliving old memories only to repeatedly feel heartbreak or nostalgic happiness. [Susan]

TV on the Radio – Seeds

Legions of indie rock fans have glommed onto TV On the Radio since they hit the scene back in 2002, the Brooklyn-based band’s thrilling, energetic style digging out a niche for them in the industry almost immediately. Their 2014 LP, Seeds, is probably the band’s most subdued album in their discography. “Happy Idiot,” for example, is a light dance track you might hear at a teenage ‘80s night club. While some fans miss the band’s more grandiose and abrasive style of songwriting that fueled their earlier releases, it’s sort of nice to see them give us something new and a little less amplified for a change. They can still rock, though, as is evidenced in the albums later cuts “Lazzeray” and “Winter.” TV On the Radio can always blow back your hair at live shows with their early stuff, but lately they’ve been exploring new colors of their identity as a band, and that’s exciting in its own way. [Bernard]

Dirty Projectors – Swing Lo Magellan

Following up Bitte Orca’s behemoth of odd time signatures, impossibly technical guitar work, and Afro-Carribean influence was probably a daunting task for Dirty Projectors mastermind Dave Longstreth. After releasing one of the century’s best albums to universal acclaim and a rapidly expanding fan base, what might be the next step? 2012’s Swing Lo Magellan presents the answer as a laser-precise offering of twelve songs bearing more familiar time signatures and less enviably flashy riffage. Although vestiges of Longstreth’s sidelined genius remain—see the offbeat percussive shuffle of “About to Die,” “See What She Seeing,” and “The Socialites,” as well as the oddly timed arpeggios of “Just From Chevron” for evidence—this is Longstreth’s simplest presentation yet. “Impregnable Question” is Bitte Orca hymn “Two Doves” on a healthy amount of tranquilizers, “Offspring Are Blank” appropriates Longstreth’s shouting tendencies into a punk-like chorus, and album highlight “Dance for You” sees its writer using his vast talents to create straightforward yearning rather than complex heartache. Swing Lo Magellan is essentially Dirty Projectors’ White Album: following an intricate, genre-defying album, it fashions its creator’s brilliance into accessibility while maintaining his trademarks and talents. [Max]

Tame Impala – Lonerism

The general consensus is that Sgt. Pepper’s is the greatest psychedelic album of all time, if not the greatest album ever recorded across all genres. Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker likely took many of his cues from this and other Beatles albums, and it’s not unreasonable to say that his sophomore album, 2012’s Lonerism, holds a candle to what preceded it 45 years ago. With a voice that recalls John Lennon more precisely than anyone since, Parker crafts psychedelic bliss with an experimental touch. Six-minute voyage “Apocalypse Dreams” halves its time between surreal pop piano bounce and glowing abstract passages; “Mind Mischief” is the sexiest slab of experimental psychedelic music this side of Deee-Lite; “Keep on Lying” hops along on a warbly synthetic squelch mixed in with fragmented field recordings. Parker achieves an impeccable balance of melody and experimentation throughout Lonerism, essentially filtering pop through an investigative lens. Whether the rushing swirl of “Music to Walk Home By” or the anthemic gush of “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards,” the album walks the tightrope between accessibility and innovation without ever falling off, placing it among the greatest psychedelic albums of all time, if not the greatest albums ever recorded across all genres. [Max]

Weezer – Everything Will Be Alright in the End

I lost faith in Weezer a long time ago. They had a string of about four or five passable-to-mediocre albums over the past decade or so, and my once-favorite band became a shell of their former selves. 2014’s Everything Will Be Alright in the End, however, unexpectedly rekindled my love for them and once again all’s well in Weezer-ville. It’s a self-referential album mostly about the band’s fraught relationship with its fans, with songs like “Back to the Shack,” “I’ve Had it Up to Here,” and “Eulogy For a Rock Band” speaking to them (me) directly. “Da Vinci” and “Cleopatra” cover familiar lyrical ground for frontman Rivers Cuomo, talking about girls he thinks are lovely as per usual, but they’re special tracks because they’re the catchiest things he’s written since “Island in the Sun” and “Beverly Hills.” Reinvigorated and ready to rock, Weezer has finally won back our hearts. [Bernard]

Wild Nothing – Nocturne

In a decade when the descriptor “dream pop” has been so overused that it’s become as meaningless as “indie rock,” it’s rare to find an act that fully occupies the term. Enter Wild Nothing, pet project of Jack Tatum, to claim this genre as his craft. Ethereal, lackluster vocals, swirling synthetic soundscapes, and glossy, delay-heavy guitars abound on sophomore effort Nocturne; these traits not only define dream pop to a tee, but in Tatum’s case, endow this commonly misplaced term with new life. Songs like “Paradise” and “Only Heather” not only feel truly as pillowy and comforting as their style’s name might suggest, but additionally boast earworm melodies that bear constant repeating. The sonics on Nocturne are entirely gorgeous and memorable; try escaping the opening guitar line of “The Blue Dress” or the shoegaze sweep of “Midnight Song.” Hell, the album is even named after the night; what better time for dreams to sound so sweet? [Max]

Chairlift – Something

Brooklyn-based synth-pop outfit Chairlift gained popularity when one of their songs, “Bruises,” was featured on an iPod commercial. The band cemented their status as a legitimate act, however, with Something, their 2012 sophomore LP which is full of art pop tunes and some sweet, new wave-inspired electronic arrangements. Frontwoman Caroline Polacheck’s vocals (and occasional spoken word narration) are really cosmic and breezy and silky smooth, and the incredibly quirky music backing her up is just a lot of fun. Tracks like “Frigid Spring” and “Amanaemonesia” have a ton of character and sound like radio hits from mars. Hooky, bright, and delightfully inventive, Something is the perfect album to share with your kid brother or sister who loves shitty pop music; it’ll snap them out of their top-40 daze and usher them into a new world where catchiness and artfulness coexist and make sweet, sweet intergalactic love. [Bernard]

See the rest of our Best Albums Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Albums of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

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.

Music journalists (myself included) could learn a thing or two from The Muscadettes. This Montreal five-piece, led by twin sisters Chantal and Kathleen Ambridge, displays a full understanding of a classic but forgotten philosophy: Keep It Simple, Stupid. Their songs are straightforward and brief, qualities that assure a similar analysis from typically verbose, long-winded, pretentious music critics. Side A, the first of two EPs that The Muscadettes will release this year (hence its title – one can assume the second EP will be titled Side B), is incredibly bright, catchy, and uptempo, ensuring that its appeal is undeniable except to the most difficult of listeners.

The Muscadettes describe themselves as “raised on 60s surf and 90s grunge”, and these influences immediately manifest on Side A. The glorious crashing of warm waves on a humid, skin-scalding summer day instantly comes to mind when hearing the reverb-laden, explosive guitars that open “I’m in Love”, and thereby the whole EP. This song’s title suggests the youthful, buoyant romance its lyrics depict, a subject universal to early Beach Boys tunes in particular. That The Muscadettes so confidently and quickly echo arguably the most influential surf rock group of all time testifies to their hookiness and craft, a trait that continues into second track “Growing Pains.” Traveling even deeper into sunlit bliss is “Like a Wave”, a song that jumps out from the pack due to its slower tempo. This relaxation allows a more mature, romantic, and idealistic aspect of the Ambridge twins’ voices, musicianship, and lyrical themes to come into play. “Everything is clear”, the two harmonize during the song’s chorus. “Don’t wanna live in fear/of what we are feeling here”, they conclude wisely.

“Like a Wave” is quite obviously a metaphorical title, but figurative language only rears its head this blatantly once again on Side A. On key track and second single “Pearl and Oyster”, the album’s most memorable song, metaphors include “I’m a seashell living in your ocean” and “I’m a white pearl trapped inside your oyster.” The imagery works: the track is the album’s most memorable not merely because of its incredibly catchy melody, but also because of these words. That said, its sound does bear the band’s self-described 90s grunge influences more obviously than on most of the EP: its pounding guitars and bashing percussive groove reminisce far more clearly of bands like Jane’s Addiction and The Pixies than they do Dick Dale or, again, The Beach Boys. “Honey Let Go” is the other track here that makes evident The Muscadettes’ debt to the sounds of two decades ago: its guitars rip with even more overdrive and reverb than the rest of these tracks, a technique initially advanced as the 1980s gave way to a decade of Nirvana and a second wave of punk.

Some might complain that the lack of innovation on Side A frustrates or disappoints, but those listeners are missing the point entirely. The Muscadettes let the past inform their approach rather than merely duplicating the sonic template of their favorite acts. They were raised on melodic, catchy, guitar-based pop, and that’s exactly what they deliver on Side A. Let your guard down and go for a swim; The Muscadettes will enchant you from the shore.

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.

The first five minutes of Katie Crutchfield’s third album as Waxahatchee pass without the presence of any percussion at all. An initial reaction to this fact might be to declare Ivy Tripp extreme, but this neglects that Crutchfield’s previous album, 2013’s masterful Cerulean Salt, opened with two drumless minutes. Rather, this observation serves to emphasize that Crutchfield’s newest collection sees her expanding. It contains her two longest songs to date as well as her most uptempo tune yet, and introduces the occasional synth for the first time in her career. More notably, it displays Crutchfield transforming her already robust lyricism from an introverted, self-contained diary of heartache into a more hopeful and confident stance on life and love. In writing this sturdier, more wholesome poetry, Crutchfield has also given her voice a platform to drastically broaden its range from its formerly emotive but restrained state into a much more commanding, emphatic instrument. Indeed, Crutchfield has improved on all of Cerulean Salt‘s very small handful of flaws on Ivy Tripp, resulting in an effortless, vivacious album that still manages to feel as personal as her quieter past efforts.

Ivy Tripp opens with the guitar-and-vocals take “Breathless”, a five-minute song that, despite employing an instrumental setup in which Crutchfield is well versed, feels newly immersive for Waxahatchee, immediately suggesting the strength that Ivy Tripp enjoys over its thirty-eight minutes. “Under a Rock” follows, and wastes no time in showcasing how vastly Crutchfield’s voice has grown. “Maybe/you got/your head/caught in a ditch last night” beckons Crutchfield with a rugged vibrato previously unheard in her music. This song segues seamlessly into “Poison”, an album highlight infused with waves of sailing, shoegaze-like guitar work and tugging vocal self-harmonization. But these songs prove to be mere warm-up laps for “La Loose”, the first Waxahatchee song that might reasonably be described as dance-worthy , or even a summer song. Sure, the most basic of drum machine beats drives it, but the groove laid down here is undeniable, and the peripheral synthetic hum underlying Crutchfield’s potent vocalizations makes this the first time a Waxahatchee song is bound to incite listeners out of their seats rather than sinking them further into stillness.

“Stale By Noon” thereafter provides a necessary comedown from “La Loose”, its early-morning beads of —is that a xylophone?—allowing Crutchfield’s newfound optimism to properly shine through. Sandwiched between this song and similarly tranquil ditty “Blue” is the fuzzed-out stomp of “The Dirt”, one of the sunniest songs Crutchfield’s written to date. After this three-song stretch comes aptly-chosen lead single “Air”, likely the album’s best song and one of the year’s most poignant tunes thus far. Like the rest of Ivy Tripp, this song uses Crutchfield’s greater vocal range, confidence, and vibrato to great success and tells a boldly objective tale of a love lost; where it stands out from the pack, though, is in how deeply its sadness cuts. Its chorus is utterly crushing and heartbreaking, almost on the level of career highlight “Swan Dive”, and its placement on this album provides an incessantly replayable contrast to the otherwise more bullish tone of this album.

The melancholy of “Air” continues into the desolation of “<“, a song whose title derives from its chorus: “You’re less than me/I am nothing.” Back to back, “Air” and “<” represent the most explicitly glum stretch of Ivy Tripp, a fact that becomes immediately obvious when the sprightly “Grey Hair” follows. “Sugar, soda pop/songs play on the radio” may be the most jovial lyric Katie Crutchfield has committed to record, and the surprisingly merry piano line and gleeful vocal take outlining the song indicate that her joy isn’t accidental. “Grey Hair” leads to another shockingly sunny tune, one that recalls Crutchfield’s incredibly intimate debut, the acoustic lo-fi 2012 album American Weekend. This song, “Summer of Love”, may be the album’s weakest, which is acceptable given its resemblance to Waxahatchee’s earliest work. Its smiling acoustic guitar, the only element present other than some ambient haze, doesn’t properly support the hefty weight of her vocals. “Half Moon” appears next, and this song likewise refuses to regain the drums that “Summer of Love” ditched, but its pianos do manage to successfully reinforce Crutchfield’s voice.

Ending Ivy Tripp is “Bonfire”, a song whose lurching, haunting crawl of fuzz-laced guitar drone, looping bass drums, and softly muttered vocals doesn’t impact as immediately as the remainder of the album does. But this initially faint impression may be in part due to this song’s relation to Cerulean Salt; the restraint Crutchfield places on her voice here recalls the heart-on-sleeve familiarity of that album, a trait which is mostly eliminated here. But she hasn’t forgone this approach because it’s an invalid one; rather, that approach earned her the majority of her current fan base. With this context in mind, “Bonfire” grows, over time, into one of Ivy Tripp‘s finest moments, and its placement at the end of the album feels like a nod to listeners who have willingly gone with her new direction.

Not that doing so is in any way difficult. What Crutchfield hasn’t sacrificed in moving forward from her musical past is the specificity and emotional depth of her lyrics, and the jolt of her words feels like icing on the already delectable cake of this album’s sound. Rather than the past themes of complete hopelessness (“Swan Dive”), unsatisfying revenge (“Peace and Quiet”), and love-driven obsession (“Blue Pt. II”), Ivy Tripp details more mature outlooks on Waxahatchee’s oft-explored subjects. “I could stop praying for everybody/I’m just wasting my time/I’ll read your philosophy and get a new lease on life”, she decides on “Stale By Noon”; the confidence and thorough consideration of this statement is echoed in “La Loose”‘s understanding that “I get why you would long for your past.” Even more impressively adult is Crutchfield admitting to herself on “Grey Hair” that a certain lover may not be “the only one”, later following with the admission that her excitement has her “out of breath/I can’t slow down.” Just as her music is quite often newly optimistic, on Ivy Tripp, so too are her words.

From what Crutchfield has told the press, Ivy Tripp‘s shift in a more grown-up direction makes sense. “[Ivy Tripp] was the first record that I made as an adult, on my own,” she told The Le Sigh recently, a change that’s quite evident throughout the album. She also mentioned to The Le Sigh that writing this album took her much longer than her previous work (American Weekend was created, recorded, and mastered within one week): “It’ll take me hours to write like one verse,” she admitted. “I’ll just scrutinize every single word, and then I’ll go back and I’ll edit it, and a song will take me like weeks or months to finish, because I’ll want every single word to be perfect.” The effort shows: Ivy Tripp is not only Waxahatchee’s strongest work to date, but it’s also one of the past few years’ most comforting, affecting, and assertive analyses of love, life, people, and their problems. Growing up may be hard to do, but Ivy Tripp demonstrates how worthwhile the transformation is.

The past couple of Underdog features have begun with some sort of mini-rant about the lack of music that’s typically released from December through February, while also presenting the positive outlook that March tends to be a return to the normal, rapid-fire pace of album releases. This March proved no exception; whereas the past couple of Underdogs each had less than ten albums featured, since there just weren’t enough to find, for this edition, it was tough to narrow the crop down. It’s a complete reversal within The Underdog, one that should compel you to search for music beyond what’ll be written about here. Aside from the releases we’ll focus on this month, March has played host to many excellent off-the-radar releases; however, here are the ten that, to our ears, are the best.

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. 

EULA – Wool Sucking

You probably didn’t know that “wool sucking” is a thing that cats do (Google it), which is exactly the point. EULA turn ordinary things into unsettling images, making some of the most eerie music in recent memory from just guitars, bass, drums, and whatever instruments or computers are responsible for the noise and creaking ambience surrounding their songs. These songs sound like they were recorded in a basement with barely any light, using just the most basic of technology, and this sense of dread pervades these minimal, encapsulating songs. “Like No Other” is a restrained post-punk yelp that reminds listeners why everyone used to love the Yeah Yeah Yeahs; the punchy unease and doom-laced bass of “Aplomb” compares nicely to similar contemporaries The Wytches; “Orderly”, previously released as a 7″, features unsettling percussive stomp, poisoned guitar lines, and hauntingly off-pitch vocal delivery reminiscent of Milk Man-era Deerhoof. Sure, EULA have precedents, but their music is some of the most refreshingly and experimentally demonic post-punk to come around in a while.

Fluoride – Material

If your newly founded record label’s first three releases (which, in this case, were all released on the same day) are each tough to classify by genre, you’re probably doing a good job. Fluoride, the industrial-noise-hardcore-dance-who-knows-what side project of Beach Fossils’ Dustin Payseur, is one of the flagship bands of newly founded Bayonet Records, which Payseur owns and operates with his wife. There’s no one descriptor that can confine Fluoride’s sound, and any that might apply to one song on their debut, Material, isn’t all that likely to apply to another. The blurry, monstrous chug and scathing scream of “Glass Bricks”, for example, stands in remarkable contrast to the thrust and groove of the snowy, static-heavy dance tune “Clay.” Likewise, the pulsing glitches and buried shouting of “Mass Mind” stand starkly opposite the loopy industrialism of “Who Loves Me – Who Loves You.” Although we’re only blessed with 23 minutes of Fluoride’s difficult, intense music at the moment, it’s nice to see a new record label starting so strongly.

Ghost Camp – Tamal

When trying to describe Ghost Camp’s music, look to their self-written Bandcamp biography for help: “witch pop” and “witch punk” rank among their tags. These terms fit pretty well: there’s a moody underbelly to these songs, accounting for the “witch” part of things. The energy, tempo, and intentionally horrendous recording quality of Tamal, this New Brunswick quarter’s debut, falls directly in line with the punk aesthetic; the sunny melodies (which, yes, quite effectively contrast the witching darkness that lies beneath) share similarities with dream pop or surf pop, depending on the moment. It’s hauntingly blurry throughout as well: the individual elements of “Body Language” are tough to discern through its six-string drone, and the rhythm guitar line on “Soft Eyes” bleeds directly into the percussion. But “Soft Eyes” indicates the sharp future Ghost Camp may have ahead of them: the lead guitar melody outlining the chorus remains Tamal‘s most memorable moment. Although all eight of the album’s songs are great, the melody of “Soft Eyes” leaps forward, and its vocals aren’t buried as deeply into the mix. Avoiding clarity may be what makes Tamal a worthwhile listen, but when Ghost Camp embrace it instead, the results are truly spectacular.

Happyness – Weird Little Birthday

Hudson County, NJ record label Bar/None can seem to do no wrong. Best known as the springboard for The Front Bottoms’ now hugely successful career, the label also includes lesser known greats such as DRGN KING, Breakfast in Fur, and, most recently, Happyness. This British trio is the newest signing to the label, and their reverence for the soft, warm warble of early 1990s lo-fi rock compares to fellow England blokes Yuck (for more Yuck comparisons, check out Lost Boy ? below). Their sound is familiar and friendly; despite its rock rhythms and instrumentation, it’s so quietly recorded and full of slow-moving reverb that it feels like it’s being broadcast from underwater. These songs sound like basic tape recordings, and their simultaneous intimacy and oddball charm ensure that they’ll leave lasting impressions on a variety of listeners. Things are never quite right on Weird Little Birthday, their debut; these songs seem very well thought out and complete, yet an element nevertheless feels missing on many songs. Might more volume on “Monkey in the City” be helpful? Is “Anything I Do Is All Right” strangely lacking in percussion? Should there be another vocal overdub on “Naked Patients”? There’s a notable feeling of absence in Happyness’ psychedelic minimalism and love of Pavement-like guitar lines, but you know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Lady Lamb – After

Lady Lamb’s ability to blend many approaches to a melodically distorted take on folk rock across the length of one album might draw comparisons to one of last year’s biggest names: Angel Olsen. In fact, Olsen has already become a standard, if not overused, comparison point for other artists in just over a year, but Lady Lamb’s sturdy, diverse sophomore effort, After, can’t escape the similarities. The parallels arise in part because Olsen was the first artist in recent memory to successfully impart an individual trademark to pounding noise anthems, harrowing Western ballads, and folk intimacy, among other disparate styles, on one album; After demonstrates that Lady Lamb is second-best at this art. Lead single “Billions of Eyes” is a stomping pop treasure; “Sunday Shoes” is a tranquil, heartfelt folk blanket; “Dear Arkansas Daughter” travels between a midtempo whirl of Western and twee to a surfing blast of endorphins; “Batter” employs an almost krautrock-like pathway towards cowgirl assertiveness. Sure, After runs a bit long at 56 minutes, but this much space ensures that most, if not all, listeners will find at least one song that sticks for a while. Whether one seeks folk, country, pop, or even punk, disappointment is lacking on After, a surprisingly overlooked release.

Lost Boy ? – Canned

This band’s name is a question. Or a fragment thereof – no one knows if the lost boy in question is a subject or an object here. What’s more obvious is that Canned, the first Lost Boy ? album for which songwriter Davy Jones recruits a full band, indeed offers plenty to get lost in. Although it’s easy to complain about how similar these songs can sound both to each other and to the work of other musicians, they’re quite charming even before the content of their lyrics becomes apparent. It may take a few listens before the words of these tunes creep forward from the fuzz-driven, lo-fi mess of the instrumentation, but the effort to discern these lyrics is worth it, especially since they often clash hilariously with the music. “USA” is an overblown, grinning power pop tune that details the much more upsetting matter of drinking oneself to death; “Revenge Song” employs ebullient garage stomp to cast sunshine on a shadowy tale of standard childhood bullying; “Fuck This Century” is, lyrically, exactly the slacker mantra it sounds like, yet it’s cast as an upbeat, almost surf-like anthem. Laugh along with Lost Boy ?; once you’re in on the joke, this album will open its doors right up.

Pile – You’re Better Than This

Like friends and fellow Boston DIY music kings/Exploding in Sound labelmates Krill, Pile drill their anxiety, tension, and nerves into listeners’ skulls using merely the standard rock band setup. The two bands are quite often compared, which may prove helpful for Underdog frequenters, since Krill was featured in the last edition; Pile might be what Krill would sound like in an alternate reality where Krill is endowed with two guitars rather than just one. Specifically, both bands’ interplay between quieter, unsettling stretches and railing, searing fragments of dissonant screeching comes off quite strongly on You’re Better Than This, Pile’s latest album, due to their Pile’s dual-guitar interactions. The riffs, arrangements, and song structures are endearingly complex, endowing these ten songs with a dreary, fearsome edge. Whether via statements as bluntly aggressive as “Tin Foil Hat” or as painfully droning as “Waking Up in the Morning”, Pile always feel like their hinges are about to fly off, both musically and emotionally. The build up to such explosions tends to be quite drawn out, keeping the album interesting for most of its run.

Red Giant – Drones EP

Music historians and journalists tend to point to Massive Attack’s Blue Lines as the first trip-hop album, but in the 23 years that have followed its release, the term has expanded to include styles less indebted to jazz, and more wrapped up in an eerie soul leaning. It’s refreshing, then, to hear brand new New Brunswick, NJ duo Red Giant’s classic approach to trip-hop. Their debut, the Drones EP, meshes the bluesy croon of local star Foxanne with ghostly drum machines, incredibly haunting atmospherics (including a faint siren on the aptly-named opener “Twin Peaks”), and the smoky, dim sheen of modal jazz. Producer Derrick Braxton couldn’t have chosen a better vocalist for his fluid, phantom instrumentals than Foxanne; whether her voice is delivering tales of sci-fi apocalypse (Red Giant is named after the category of star; the scientific lyricism is very intentional) or being chopped and modulated into an element of the beat itself, its warm, comfortable hue drips beautifully into Braxton’s liquid jazz backdrop. Foxanne isn’t the only vocalist present, though; rapper Ken Cardo contributes a guest verse to the brief but highly effective single “R.apid E.ye M.ovement”, and R&B warbler Travis James sings quite a bit of the six-minute fear-mongerer “Atmosphere.” Featured artists are a trait of classic trip-hop very often missing in its modern equivalent and tangentially related genres, so it’s refreshing to hear Red Giant calling in friends for help. A notable exception to this trend in trip-hop is Kendrick Lamar’s unforgettable appearance on “Never Catch Me” by Flying Lotus, another producer who, like Braxton, owes a great debt to jazz. That Braxton and Foxanne are equally as potent with far fewer elements give even the most timid listener reason to delve deep into Drones, a debut that forecasts an exciting career.

Warehouse – Tesseract

Like the duo Fluoride mentioned earlier in this edition of the Underdog, Warehouse is another Bayonet Records cornerstone. How Dustin Payseur managed to pick these Atlanta kids out from the crowd isn’t immediately apparent, given the infinite number of other bands seeking record deals; what’s more evident is that Payseur has chosen a great act to sign. The devilish sneer of Elaine Edenfield recalls the earliest no wave iterations of Kim Gordon, and the jagged but subtle post-punk dissonance of her band also recalls Sonic Youth at its prime. Tesseract, their debut album, feels like it’s playing live from your garage, where these five punk aficionados probably recorded it. The cold steeliness of Joy Division provides a template for the simultaneous bounce and horror of Warehouse’s music, which feels modern despite its clear references to past idols. Maybe that’s because, on top of its post-punk template, there are moments dripping with light reverb and jangle courtesy of – you guessed it – Payseur’s own Beach Fossils. There’s a ring and sparkle to Warehouse’s take on early post-punk that ensures their tunes are confused with no one else’s, and it’s a spark that’s unlikely to die anytime soon.

Yowler – The Offer

The word “yowler” may look and sound similar to “howler”, but howling is exactly the opposite of what’s happening on Maryn Jones’ solo debut. Jones, best known as a member of Saintseneca and the frontwoman of All Dogs, retreats within herself on these solemn, intimate, hushed songs, released via top-notch DIY label Double Double Whammy. The faint hum of one guitar, whether the bassy, thickly clean electric harmony of “7 Towers” or the acoustic hymn of “Yowler” (yes, there’s a song named this, too), is often the sole accompaniment to Jones’ rounded, vulnerable singing. There’s an explicit loneliness to these songs, a mood that very easily welcomes dejection and melancholy. That this album sounds like it was recorded on a cassette in Jones’ bedroom as the sun rises after a night of bad sleep only adds to their intimate, heartbroken feel. There’s really not much happening in these songs, yet they say so much; maybe there’s some howling going on here after all.

Lost Boy ? get lost (pun not intended) in the noise pretty easily. Amidst the buzz surrounding bands like DIIV and Titus Andronicus, audiences failed to notice Lost Boy ? playing shows with these acts, ones to which their first album as a band rather than a solo project sometimes holds a candle. Canned, their debut for the wonderful DIY label PaperCup Music, follows last year’s Wasted EP, released on similarly excellent DIY label Exploding in Sound; it’s clear to see, then, that Lost Boy ? have a rich history in the DIY scene, but remain unknown to many a listener due to the blog buzz and internet noise that seems to constantly surround big-time acts they’ve played with. Maybe they’re called Lost Boy ? for a reason, or maybe for two; in addition to letting the clamor of others swallow them whole, Lost Boy ? drown in all manner of fuzz, low fidelity, and noise on Canned.

Not unlike fellow New York DIY stalwarts LVL UP, Lost Boy ? make music that features more than one vocalist, a nostalgia for 1990s punk sounds, an intentional lack of recording fidelity, and a good deal of straightforwardly humorous lyricism. “You were sad/in Hollywood/stuck in the sand” are Canned‘s first three lines, words delivered atop energetic percussion, frenetic guitar work, and several layers of fuzz and static. This all happens within the first ten seconds of the album, a declaration of where the band continues to head across the LP’s remaining 37 minutes. “Chew” and “Bank” are merely two of the many songs here that run with this approach, using upbeat, fuzz-drenched guitar pop to turn sad or hilarious (or sometimes both) lyrics into joyful garage rock celebrations. “Revenge Song” is particularly effective at disguising the gory details of its story in grungy, smiling instrumentation and overtly filtered vocals; it transforms a traumatic story of childhood bullying into an almost jubilant experience between Lost Boy ? and the listener. Of course, this is also partially due to how atypically blunt and comical songwriter Davy Jones’ lyrics come off: both due to his voice and his words, his description of his futile defense attempts (“I called them assholes and they would just laugh/guess I had it coming since I didn’t have a clue”) sounds funny rather than heartbreaking or infuriating.

Hell, even when Jones isn’t the Lost Boy ? member singing, his group’s songs are acutely hysterical. “Fuck This Century” and “Hemorrhage” serve as consecutive examples of this phenomenon: its vocalist is much more monotonous and deep-voiced, but he still manages to bring humor front and center. In the former song, though, the lyrics would be funny even outside Lost Boy ?’s oddly uptempo universe (“Tragic, nonetheless/I touch myself at night” precedes a proclamation of “Fuck this century!” over a ripping tidal wave of power chords), but the latter song makes a more impressive use of its vocalist. Its story isn’t inherently laughable, but the song’s dejected, almost krautrock-like vocal mannerisms’ contrast to the tune’s pop-leaning instrumentation will at least bring a smile to listeners’ faces. It’s reminiscent of earlier Parquet Courts songs, and since that group has received such an immense rush of critical praise in recent times, it can be tough to imagine that Lost Boy ? wouldn’t deserve similar treatment.

Really, the only obstacle standing between Lost Boy ? and wider success is that they’re not nearly the first group to emulate the sounds of 1990s garage punk groups ranging from Nirvana to, more obviously, Pavement. In fact, Lost Boy ? are bound to draw comparisons to Yuck, whose 2011 self-titled debut remains one of the decade’s finest retro-gazing rock records. Lost Boy ? are undeniably more witty and possibly more pop-oriented than the several peers to whom they could be compared, but it may be difficult for them to put up a fight across a full-length. Each of Canned‘s individual songs contains immense appeal, but lined up across the course of an album, it can occasionally be difficult to stay focused. The second half of “Car Wash”, which is almost certainly just the song’s first half played back in reverse, isn’t melodic or structured enough to be gripping; later in the album, “Bank” and “Deep Fried Young” can sometimes blur into each other. In general, despite the eccentricities and special features of each song, it can be troubling to absorb the album in one listen.

One possible solution to this minor problem is for Lost Boy ? to further emphasize their vocals on future records. The excessively watered-down vocals can prevent the album’s lyrics from being properly understood on the first two or three listens; that it takes a bit of time for the remarkable humor and specificity of the words to shine through can lose some listeners pretty quickly. If Lost Boy ? can ensure the impact of their lyrics, which become memorable as soon as they’re discernible, more instantly on their next many albums (they can look to Courtney Barnett for advice on how to achieve this), then they may no longer find themselves Lost, instead cultivating a fan base on par with the many acts whose shadows they’ve been living in for far too long.

“I go to war for my art form.” That piercing statement comes from legendary, retired concert pianist and active music instructor Seymour Bernstein, a man who, with 85 years under his belt, is a fountain of musical knowledge and refined philosophy. He’s a picture of tranquility, a perpetually calm and contented soul casually scattering nuggets of life-altering wisdom on the ground with a smile, we the hungry pigeons huddling at his feet. At the age of 50, Bernstein played what he thought would be his final performance, a small, impromptu show in New York City. Since then, he’s dedicated his life to transmitting his talent and life lessons to his students, a gift extended to us via Seymour: An Introduction, a rich, serene documentary directed by one of Bernstein’s most high-profile pupils, Ethan Hawke.

The Before Midnight actor appears only briefly in the film, explaining to a small, swanky NYC crowd how Bernstein helped him deal with stage fright over the years. Fear, the retired pianist posits, is inextricably linked with art; he quit performing because the terror involved was too much to handle. Struggling with actor’s anxiety, Hawke sought advice from Bernstein, who passed on the knowledge he’d concluded over years of hard reflection: “The struggle is what makes the art form.” In other words, nerves are good: if you have nerves, that’s a sure sign you care about your work. Inspired by the close friendship that developed between them, Hawke convinced Bernstein to perform once again, on film (hence the small, swanky NYC crowd).

The film does end, unsurprisingly, with that momentous performance, but the music is only half the story. Bernstein’s greatest accomplishment is developing an ultimate understanding of the connection between music and life itself. “You can establish so deep an accord between your musical self and your personal self that eventually music and life will interact in a never-ending cycle of fulfillment,” he says in one of the film’s enlightening interviews. And yes, he talks just like that. Because he’s spent his whole life pondering the nature of the art form that so thoroughly molded him, his carefully composed words resonate just as beautifully as his piano playing.

Bernstein found music at a young age, begging his mother to buy him a piano at six years old. By the time he was 15 he was giving other kids lessons, and some years later his concert debut earned him the headline “Seymour Bernstein Triumphs at the Piano” on the New York Times. Fame and success in the public eye was never of interest to him, though. In fact, he considers acclaim and celebrity to have a decidedly damaging effect on all artists. In a dialogue with his mentor, Hawke supports the argument by suggesting Marlon Brando and Jackson Pollock were “notoriously horrible people.” As further substantiation, Bernstein holds up the late Glen Gould, calling him a “neurotic mess” and a “monster” who was so wrapped up in himself that when he played Bach he infused the music with so much of his own style that it became unrecognizable as a work of the iconic German composer.

Eschewing fame and fortune led to Bernstein finding true peace, composing his own music and teaching private piano lessons in his cozy Upper West Side apartment. The film’s most heartening moments see Bernstein carefully honing his students’ skills, being honest and patient with them as he addresses their technical flaws. He’s the polar opposite of J.K. Simmons’ Terrance Fletcher from Whiplash: When a female apprentice repeats a musical phrase, correcting her flaws per Bernstein’s instruction, he’s overjoyed. “A dream,” he gushes, adding jokingly, “you’re not allowed to play better than me.” His students universally attest to Bernstein having changed the way they view not only music, but the world. This is by design: Bernstien insists that the most important thing about being a teacher “is to inspire an emotional response for all aspects of life.”

Fascinating as Bernstein is on his own, Hawke’s presentation is what really makes the film click. Everything looks elegant, from the lighting, to the editing, to the framing, and the sound design is equally immaculate. Though it’s his first time directing a documentary, Hawke seems to have a firm grasp on how to make a movie flow, almost like, well, music. Editor Anna Gustavi handles the climactic scene brilliantly, in which Bernstein performs Schumann’s “Fantasia”. We slip gracefully between seeing him perform the piece, to practicing it days before, to hearing him explain the history of the piece and why he loves it so much, all while the music hovering over the cuts uninterrupted. He narrates as he plays: “Here it comes, one of the biggest climaxes in all of music!” The awe and rapture in his eyes is reflected in ours. This is classy, dynamic filmmaking that reduced me to tears.

What exhibits Hawke’s maturity more than anything is his decision to not make a soup to nuts biography, opting rather to reveal his mentor’s character via small, candid moments of natural behavior. The film opens with Bernstein trying to work out how to get his pinky finger up to a particularly high piano key in time so as not to disrupt the momentum of a particular musical phrase. In maybe a couple of minutes, we understand his love and dedication to music, and the inner peace he’s discovered as a result of his passion. Aside from a recollection involving Bernstein’s harrowing experiences during the Korean War (“I saw body bags,” he tearfully recalls), the film is pretty low-key, its most poignant moments unfolding organically. Through music “we become one with the stars” Bernstein suggests. It’s a beautiful thought that, like Hawke’s film, is as truthful as it is poetic.

In recent years, there’s been a trend of documentary films I like to call “musical discoveries.” My guess is that it started around 2008 with Anvil! The Story of Anvil, a documentary about an unknown Canadian rock band that influenced the likes of Metallica. Since then, other documentaries have come out shining a light on some sort of incredible musician(s) not getting the fame and popularity they deserve. The breakthrough film for this would be Searching for Sugar Man, which won the Oscar for Best Documentary in 2013. One year later, 20 Feet from Stardom, a musical discovery doc more audacious than Sugar Man (this time, the discovery was under our nose the whole time!) took home an Oscar in the same category. Other films, like A Band Called Death, Riot on the Dance Floor, and The Wrecking Crew have all used similar concepts.

That brings me to The Jones Family Will Make a Way, the next documentary to capitalize on this recent movement. This time the act yet to be discovered is The Jones Family Singers, a gospel group from rural Texas. The father, Bishop Fred Jones, is a preacher with a wife and eight children, all of whom have some role in the group. Years earlier, they had a shot at fame after touring across the south at Pentecostal churches, but after a recording contract fell through they gave up any dreams of making it big. Now, Austin music critic Michael Corcoran wants to try and give them the success they deserve. After discovering the group for himself and befriending them, he eventually convinces Jones and his family to perform at the SXSW music festival.

This beginning section of the documentary amounts to the kind of boilerplate material seen in other discovery documentaries. The only major difference comes from watching the Jones family perform together. Their performances in a tiny church blow the roof off every time, with their music a living reminder of how much soul and rock music gets its roots from gospel. Live footage gets sandwiched between the sort of overdone, obvious points hammered home in the earlier-mentioned films: sadness over not getting discovered, some sort of expert (in this case, Corcoran) explaining exactly why these musicians are so great, backstories on the group’s members to show their humble lifestyles, among other basic establishing techniques. Anyone familiar with this kind of story knows it’s only a matter of time before the Jones family gets their shot.

That shot ends up happening almost a year after their SXSW performance, when a producer offers to record an album for them. Once director Alan Berg starts dedicating things to the recording process, his film picks up considerably. Early on, Corcoran talks about how disappointing it is that there are no proper recordings of The Jones Family Singers. Now, with the family getting their shot at making an album, Berg profiles the difficulty in translating their power from the church to the studio. It’s a difficult process, with the producer’s tactics clashing against the way the Jones are used to performing. Those kinds of moments, where Berg speaks more about the challenge of capturing a specific experience, are where the film shines.

But once the album is finished, Berg switches back into making his film about the Jones’ getting their due, a disappointing and conventional choice. There are a few moments where Berg manages to slip in a few interesting bits, like when Corcoran tries giving advice to Bishop Jones about the album release. He asks them if they want to bless some of their albums or do “some kind of water thing” for fans, despite telling them moments earlier to downplay their religion. It’s a moment showing the reality of how artists get pressured to compromise themselves in the hopes of broadening their appeal, but Berg doesn’t seem too interested in exploring that. Instead, he closes the film with the family’s triumphant performance at the Lincoln Center, a happy ending meant to show the Jones’ getting closer to achieving their dreams. The Jones Family Singers certainly deserve all the success they can get; they also deserve a better film.

“In 1999, Tower Records made over one billion dollars. Five years later, they filed for bankruptcy.” That statement opens All Things Must Pass, Colin Hanks’ documentary about the famous chain of record stores that crashed and burned after the end of the 20^th century. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Tower Records could no longer sustain their worldwide operation (hint: rhymes with “schminternet”), and Hanks thankfully doesn’t dwell on stating the obvious impact MP3s had on physical media. Hanks also avoids turning his film into a eulogy for the days when shopping for music was a more communal experience, keeping things relatively straightforward as a rise and fall story about Tower Records. It’s a simple, entertaining documentary, one that prefers to sit back and let its entertaining subjects guide the film.

Starting back in the 1960’s, Hanks lets Tower Records founder Russ Solomon detail the meteoric rise of his company from a tiny record shop in Sacramento to one of the world’s biggest music stores. Hanks frames this section through the eccentric types who ran Tower Records, charting their rise from store clerks in the ’60s to VPs and Managers of a billion-dollar business decades later. Those kinds of success stories are inherently fascinating to learn about, and the close-knit, family-like nature of Tower Records leads to a variety of great anecdotes (one example: the company’s successful expansion into Japan started with a drunken conversation between Solomon and a receiving clerk).

And yet, despite a tumultuous fall from grace, no one interviewed by Hanks seems to hold any animosity over what happened with each other (most hatred seems directed towards the banks, who forced a restructuring and, arguably, kicked the downfall into motion). Everyone at Tower fondly reminisces the fun times they had, but they all have an awareness that it could never have lasted forever. The only misstep from Hanks with this message comes at the very end, as a trip to Japan—where Tower Records still thrives—feels too congratulatory and unnecessary, falling into a nostalgia trap the film avoided up to that point. But just like the title says, everything has to come to an end, and All Things Must Pass benefits largely from its progressive attitude. Hanks doesn’t lament the past; he celebrates it, and All Things Must Pass is all the better for it.

We’ve now reached the peak of this tall mountain. The final 10 songs on our 50 Best Songs of the Decade So Far list is upon us. These songs are all modern classics, and have defined the decade’s music thus far. Years from now, music lovers will think of many songs when they look back upon this era, but these ten are especially likely to come to mind. It’ll be interesting to see if, at the end of the decade, they are still held in such high regard, but for now, these songs have impressed us, as well as hundreds of thousands of other listeners, more than the rest of the music we’ve heard so far this decade.

In addition to our Top 10, we’ve included a section at the bottom we call Passionate Orphans. Songs that are personal favorites and worthy of respect, but that we couldn’t fit and couldn’t leave unmentioned.

Enjoy the list and our accompanying Spotify playlist, including one conveniently containing all 50 songs. Be on the look out for our Best Albums of the Decade So Far list in the coming weeks!

Best 50 Songs Of The Decade So Far
(#10 – #1)

Kanye West – “New Slaves”

Kanye West has been the king of rap for quite some time—almost single handedly reshaping the face of the genre, with both his productions and collaborations. When Yeezus was released upon the world in 2013 it wasn’t tracks like “I Am a God” that surprised the most, it was “Black Skinhead” and “New Slaves,” a pair of superheated songs with aggression so evocative and raw it was a new high, even for Kanye. The stand out, though, is obviously “New Slaves,” a bouncy and lyrically-acrobatic shoulder to the chest that fits perfectly into West’s continual progression at the frontlines of hip hop. Kanye has never been afraid to tone things down, but here the composition is utterly stark, with only a distant thunder of bass, leaving the highly confrontational and politically assertive lyrics to take center stage. The only problem? If West keeps hitting homers like this, he might just deserve that ego. [Gary]

Tame Impala – “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards”

If psychedelic pop perfection were captured in a three-minute bubble, it might sound like this. John Lennon would smile widely if he were around to hear “Feels Like We Only Go Backwards,” or maybe, on the other hand, he would sue for copyright infringement; no one since The Beatles has sounded this much like them. But Kevin Parker isn’t merely copying drug-era Beatles here; rather, he’s taking its best qualities (so, almost all its qualities) and condensing them into a crystalline, gorgeous, infectious pop anthem. “Every part of me says go ahead,” Parker’s falsetto states as it glides over sheets of swirling synths, bubbling psychedelia, and a bass line that never quits. Going ahead is exactly what “Feels” excels in: as this song progresses, it becomes more and more infectious, each subsequent chorus increasing substantially in emotional impact. The key is that the first chorus is already wildly hooky; that the song manages to deliver this statement with more success time and time again is absolutely dizzying. [Max]

M.I.A – “Bad Girls”

No one else has quite brought world music influences to pop prominence like musical wunderkind M.I.A. The multi- talented artist Maya “M.I.A.” Arulpragasam has been a boundary breaking badass for quite some time, skyrocketing to prominence with 2008’s decade-encapsulating track “Paper Planes”—a song everyone knows and hardly anyone knows the lyrics to.

So while she never really went away, M.I.A. came back swinging in 2012 with another genre crushing song. “Bad Girls” is a natural fit in the progressive catalog for the international artist; a song designed perfectly for the time and filling a void that the world hadn’t even known was empty. Not only that, but beneath the glossy, bass packed surface, “Bad Girls” is shockingly empowering, its lyrics loud and clear here, “Live fast, die young, bad girls do it well.” It’s only a matter of time before “Bad Girls” becomes the genre-defining track that it deserves to be. [Gary]

LCD Soundsystem – “Dance Yrself Clean”

How in the world do you compose something so intimate and epic into a 8+ minute track that could never, ever, wear out its welcome? I’ve got no idea, but the recently disbanded LCD Soundsystem sure as hell did. James Murphy and his bandmates kicked off their ultimate album, This Is Happening, with this 8-minute dance-punk cacophonous hybrid that almost sounds like it attempts to exorcise every dancing demon out of the listener’s body. Of course, while Murphy’s vocals and humorous lyrics (“Talking like a jerk/Except you are an actual jerk/And living proof/That sometimes friends are mean”) align perfectly with the production’s primal drum patting, it’s really that moment at 1:40, when the little electronic melody crashes the party in the most beguiling of ways, when “Dance Yrself Clean” triumphantly shimmies its way into the decade’s top-shelf songs. And it goes up (and loud) from there. By the 3 minute mark, the song is unleashed into a dance delirium, and if you’ve done the mistake of increasing the volume on your headphones before, LCD Soundsystem makes you pay for it. In the best way possible. [Nik]

Crystal Castles – “Not in Love (feat. Robert Smith)”

How do you make your song better? Throw Robert Smith on it, of course. Crystal Castles originally covered this Platinum Blondes song on their second self-titled album, with the vocals distorted and warbled to the point of being barely discernible. When they released it as a single, someone had the brilliant idea of letting Robert Smith sing on the track, and the results speak for themselves. Putting Smith on the song is an inspired choice, considering how influential his work has been on bands like Crystal Castles. So naturally his voice fits like a glove, with his mournful vocals elevating the song into another dimension. “Not in Love” goes to show that great songs can sometimes be improved upon in the most surprising of ways. [C.J.]

Beach House – “Myth”

If you were to ask me who the standout musicians of the decade are, so far, my answer would come without so much as a blink of an eye: Beach House. Baltimore duo Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally have been around since the mid aughts, but with Teen Dream in 2010, followed by Bloom in 2012, Beach House redefined the boundaries of dream pop, and reinvigorated my love for the genre. Their first single from Bloom, “Myth,” is as good example as any of the kind of deep, oceanic, emotions the duo successfully reach, in tremendously moving fashion. There’s no other band out there, with the range of Legrand’s voice, and the knack for Scally’s unquenchable melodies, that could make verses like “Found yourself in a new direction/Arrows falling from the sun/Canyon calling would come to greet you/Let you know you’re not the only one” sound like they’re speaking directly to we the listeners. When Legrand sings it, the feeling of loneliness dissipates, because we feel it right down to our marrow. And isn’t that what it’s all about? [Nik]

Grimes – “Oblivion”

Did you know that indie electronic’s club anthem of the decade so far is actually a song about recovering from the trauma of sexual assault? With a groove this thick and steady, “Oblivion” at first masks its important, poignant message. Initial listens of this song entrap willing ears with demonically robotic synths, mechanical percussion, a horrifyingly eerie ambience, and uneasy, fairy-like vocals courtesy of Claire Boucher, the woman behind Grimes. Later listens allow Boucher’s words to crystallize: “Coming up behind you/always coming and you’d never have a clue”, sung hauntingly in the first verse, indicates that “I see you on a dark night”, during the chorus, is directed at a shadowy figure following her home; “When you’re running by yourself/it’s hard to find someone to hold your hand” is likewise completely unromantic, instead detailing the hell of keeping oneself safe from such a figure. The tense situation Boucher describes explodes into catharsis with one minute and forty-five seconds left in the song, when the synths begin to sound like they too are speaking words. If even the instrumentation is trying to say something, there’s no doubting that the message is important. That it’s delivered with arguably the most incessantly replayable synthscape of the decade is just a perk. [Max]

Vampire Weekend – “Hannah Hunt”

The most chilling track on Vampire Weekend’s 2013 album “Modern Vampires of the City,” “Hannah Hunt” is a hushed (until the end) breakup song that stretches from the freezing beaches of the East coast to the shores of Santa Barbara. Ezra Koenig all but whispers the lyrics throughout the sleepy, sparse first two minutes of the track, as if he’s singing with eyes half-closed. Then, the percussion swells and his voice leaps up an octave, shrieking, “if I can’t trust you then damn it, Hannah / there’s no future there’s no answer.” This is Vampire Weekend at their most confident and polished, embracing minimalist presentation and asymmetrical structure while honoring their African music inspirations and keeping up that geographical predilection they just can’t let go of. [Bernard]

Azealia Banks – “212”

Hip-hop has been maligned time after time for containing excessive profanity, so when even the world’s foremost rap critics and listeners were taken aback with the amount of explicit material in “212,” Azealia Banks’ debut single, everyone paid attention. Banks absolutely owns the word “cunt” on this song, whether reclaiming it as a neutral term (“I guess that cunt getting eaten”) or stabbing her opponents with it (“Imma ruin you, cunt”). “Cunt” isn’t the only thing she takes control of, though; she also commands the entirety of Lazy Jay’s “Float My Boat,” a house track created with absolutely no intention for Banks to use it without permission. Hell, Lazy Jay probably had no idea who Banks was when he first heard that a self-described “rude bitch” from Harlem ripped his song, but it all worked out in the end: yep, “212” sounds so great that he got on board, and is now credited on the song. Maybe that’s because Banks not only sings, raps, and screams on “212,” but she does each at the exact moment in the song where it fits best. “This shit been mine!” Banks proclaims during the chorus, but she doesn’t have to say it: this song proves it beyond all doubt. [Max]

FKA twigs – “Two Weeks”

“Two Weeks” was Way Too Indie’s favorite song of 2014, and it remains at the top when we look at the decade in music so far. Really, though, how could it not? This song is nothing short of majestic, an accumulation of everything that trip-hop, R&B, and electronic music have all striven towards this decade. The crystalline synth oscillations and pulsating, deep percussion outline trip-hop’s noblest goals; FKA twigs’ celestial vocal vibratos outdo those of most of her many peers; the song’s overwhelming digital sheen demarcates one of electronic music’s foremost objectives. Then there are the lyrics; in addition to the great sonic template, here we have maybe the strongest example of a woman owning her sexuality and not letting society’s double standard silence her desires. “I can fuck you so much better,” twigs seethes towards an object of desire; “give me two weeks, you won’t recognize her” is an even more sensual threat, one for which twigs reaches towards some of the higher parts of her register. But she saves the highest section for the line “my thighs are apart for when you’re ready to breathe in,” putting everyone on alert, just as a good song should do. We already knew that sex sells, but “Two Weeks” teaches us that owning it is different than buying it. [Max]

Listen to These Songs on Spotify

CJ’s Passionate Orphans (Twins!)

Low – “Nothing But Heart”
Nadia Oh – “Taking Over the Dancefloor”
I couldn’t even begin to count how many songs I tried to fit on this list, so reducing things down to a few passionate picks is even tougher for me. But one song I knew would crush me if it didn’t make it on the list was Low’s “Nothing But Heart.” It’s an eight-minute epic that only has three lines before Alan Sparhawk repeats the line “I’m nothing but heart” a couple dozen times. Sure, it sounds boring, but it’s an achingly beautiful song that builds and builds until it soars. By the end, you’ll want to join in and yell “I’m nothing but heart” along with the band.

Saying that, let me awkwardly segue into my next pick: Nadia Oh’s “Taking Over the Dancefloor.” I don’t have a lot of words left, so let me be blunt: Nadia Oh deserves to be a massive pop star. Her music is like a weird version of pop from an alternate universe, a completely bonkers bastardization of current pop trends that turns into something wholly singular. Just trust me on this one.

Max’s Passionate Orphan

Cloud Nothings – “Wasted Days”
​It’s one thing to recast your lo-fi bedroom pop act as a doom-bearing noise punk project; it’s another to place a nine-minute anthem of angst, dissonance, and dejection as the second of eight tracks on the album marking this unexpected transition. “Wasted Days” actually wastes no time at all; each and every one of this song’s sprawling 494 seconds makes listeners fully inhabit songwriter, guitarist, and vocalist Dylan Baldi’s terror. The cutting chords and slow drum build of its brief intro give way to a lacerating, whipping verse lined with Baldi’s nasal, howling vocals and defeated, exhausted lyrics. “I thought/I would/be more/than this,” goes this song’s straightforwardly anthemic chorus, which Baldi whines its first two times.

This already visceral approach becomes even more gut-wrenching and undeniable during the five-minute noise breakdown separating the second chorus from the third. Just before this final chorus arrives, there’s a bit of a crescendo, over which Baldi transitions from muttering his chorus to absolutely screaming it. In this ultimate moment, Baldi achieves a catharsis unlike any previously heard in noise rock, as will any and all listeners brave and strong enough to endure this incredible song’s hurricane-like nine minutes.

Nik’s Passionate Orphans (Twins!)

Sharon Van Etten – “Your Love Is Killing Me”
Father John Misty – “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings”
Sharon Van Etten has been around smokey underground bars since her album debut in 2009. Slowly but surely, through wondrously introspective and heart-aching songs like “Love More” (from 2010) and “I’m Wrong” (from 2012’s Tramp), she rose through indie folk ranks, and captured hearts with her whispery, sonorous, voice. “Your Love Is Killing Me” from her latest, Are We There, solidifies her status as one of the greatest women armed with a guitar. Naturally it helps that she’s reached a point where she has major studio access because this single is as big room in its absurdly effective chorus, as it is intimate in its quavering, soul-searching, verses. The way she lingers on the repeated “you” in the second verse, before “Stabs my eyes so I can see” ascends to a magnificent melody perfectly tuned to Van Etten’s matchless voice, makes “Your Love Is Killing Me” one of her greatest accomplishments. Here’s a song about painful love that has no substitutes.

Joining Van Etten in my orphanage is Father John Misty’s “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings.” In 2012 J. Tillman released the album Fear Fun under his self-appointed alter ego Father John Misty, after a shroom-stocked road trip. While the whole album is recommended, there’s no song as hypnotic, instantly memorable, and gratifying right down to the core as the psychoactively titled “Hollywood Forever Cemetery Sings.” The lyrics invite you into an enticing world of psychedelic indie rock, and with lines like “‘Cause the marble made my cheeks look pink/But I’m unsure of so many things” we see the effects Tillman’s mushroom trip had on his creativity. From its beginning, he sings “Jesus Christ” like no one else I’ve ever heard, to its end, when he implores someone “to help me dig,” the song is a gloriously abstract journey I love to repeat over and over. Bonus points for casting Aubrey Plaza in the song’s official video; perhaps the greatest music video casting of all time. Yeah, I said it.

See the rest of our Best Songs Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)

We continue our countdown of our 50 Best Songs of the Decade So Far with ten songs that include an omnipresent pop anthem, a confrontational rap banger, a stark piano ballad, and an Italo disco song, a subgenre formerly thought to be dead. These ten songs are also somewhat surprising; some of them don’t feature too often on other publications’ lists of the decade’s best music to date. A few of these would be expected for a good Top 20, but others are refreshingly new to such lists. There will definitely be something, if not many things, for eager listeners to discover in this section.

We’ve got the playlist ready and waiting for your listening pleasure at the bottom, let us know what you think of our list so far and tune in tomorrow for our top ten list.

Best 50 Songs Of The Decade So Far
(#20 – #11)

Arcade Fire – “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)”

Over time, Arcade Fire have transformed from an earnest gang of chamber pop auteurs to a troupe with an unexpectedly varied sound. “Sprawl II (Mountains Beyond Mountains)” finds them mid-transition between their former state of we’re-all-in-this-together anthems to their more recent form of cynical, synth-indebted, all-encompassing sounds. The song marks the first instance in Arcade Fire’s catalog where synths actually carry the weight, a move that might signal death for the band if the emotional pull weren’t maintained. Sprightly pianos, digital flickers and a deep, slowly growling synthetic bass support Regine Chassagne’s angelic, assertive vocals. Her lyrical themes of suburban decay and youthful exuberance match the song’s subtly ominous undercurrent and its gleeful, ecstatic synths, respectively. A brief bridge sees the darker hues briefly overtaking the smiling sounds in the song’s most exciting moment; like Chassagne herself says, “I need the darkness, someone please cut the lights.” [Max]

Rihanna – “We Found Love”

The 2011 monster collaboration between Rihanna and Calvin Harris “We Found Love” is a top-notch club banger, with exhilarating crescendos and breakdowns and awesome electronic “swoosh” noises everyone loves so much. But what makes it special is its sense of high drama, found in RiRi’s perfectly controlled, love-struck vocals and the intensely impassioned lyrics. That no one (of note) had written “we found love in a hopeless place” before this song came out is almost stupid, considering how timeless and simple and evocative a lyric it is. “We Found Love” is rapture in a bottle, one of those songs that’ll give you the sudden urge to move with your partner from the dance floor to somewhere more private. [Bernard]

The War on Drugs – “Red Eyes”

After two albums, The War On Drugs have finally found their stride on Lost In The Dream (2014), the lush and lyrically staggering third album from the tortured artist that is Adam Granduciel. And while the record is rather great through and through, it is the first single, “Red Eyes,” that is the clear stand out—a song so rich and mesmerizing that the rest of the album nearly disappears in its glow. The song, driven by the constant rhythm of the drums, but carried along by the full-bodied piano and the thick fuzz of the guitar, is really a showcase for Granduciel’s voice, which rises from its smooth base to a pained howl in a matter of words and scales an impressive range, striking at some hard truths, “And you don’t go home/but you abuse my faith.” This track is sure to outlast the rest of the decade. [Gary]

Bat for Lashes – “Laura”

Natasha Khan a.k.a. Bat For Lashes, is the genuine deal. She doesn’t comprise her artistic inclinations, and doesn’t rush inspiration. The story behind her last album, and how Radiohead’s Thom Yorke helped, is like an adventurous quest for intuition that loves to escape creative minds, but the story behind “Laura,” her slow and melancholic piano ballad, is much more rock star. “My housemate and I had an extremely debauched house party…The next day, I had the biggest hangover ever, and I had to go and write this song,” Khan told Pitchfork. What makes it even more unbelievable is that Khan and her co-writer Justin Parker nailed it in under two hours and the demo version became the album version. Khan hitting it out of the park at first bat while hungover is like an invitation to search for symmetry between artist and subject, making the song all the more transcendent. Of course, the song wouldn’t be her last album’s leading single if it stood on its own merit, and there’s plenty of it. Khan’s voice, a piano, and a heartfelt ode to the misguided, “Laura” is impossible to forget. [Nik]

M83 – “Midnight City”

If you’re looking for the definitive driving song on our list, you’ve found it. French electronic artist Anthony Gonzalez is the man behind the popular M83 monicker, and for his latest album (brilliantly titled Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming), his main influence was his relocation from France to Los Angeles. But, somehow, when he sings “Waiting in a car/Waiting for the ride in the dark/The night city grows/Look and see her eyes, they glow,” you know that he could only be referring to the infamous city of angels. The song is immediately recognized by the opening riffs (interestingly enough, this is his own heavily distorted voice), and the way M83 manipulates and mixes this riff, at once following and leading every other component of the track, is what makes “Midnight City” an instant modern classic. It harkens back to a bygone era of disco, and ends on a sax solo fitting for the end credits of a late ’80s TV show, but with its beats, and pitch-perfect mix of synth-pop energy and dream-pop captivation, “Midnight City” sounds fresh every time you press repeat. Which is a lot. [Nik]

Waxahatchee – “Swan Dive”

Only three elements comprise “Swan Dive,” a masterwork of desperation, heartache, and isolation courtesy of Katie Crutchfield. Specifically, Crutchfield is such a powerful songwriter that she only needs three tracks (an endlessly pattering bass drum, a crisply threadbare guitar line, and her husky, close-range vocals) to convey the hefty emotions underlying this song. “Won’t you sleep with me, every night for a week? Won’t you just let me pretend, this is the love I need?” Crutchfield asks over her desolate instrumentation, providing just enough of a backbone to create a memorable melody, but also remains thin enough to ensure that her words receive the attention they deserve. Later, the drums go silent, and the backbone becomes even more delicate, directing the focus towards a key line: “I’ll keep having dreams about loveless marriage and regret.” There is no hope on “Swan Dive,” only the fall from grace for which the song is named. At least Crutchfield is giving us incredible music from down in her ditch. [Max]

Gesaffelstein – “Pursuit”

Not a lot of music is as blindly forceful as Gesaffelstein’s propulsive single “Pursuit.” Driven by a slightly over-compressed procession preset, but thrown along by the piercing and undulating tones that bury themselves in your head, the song is a sort of freight train of energy, the rests acting as the sole space to catch a breath. Gesaffelstein (the French born Mike Levy) has worked with Kanye West on some of his fiercer Yeezus tracks, demonstrates what has made him such a powerhouse and go to producer for hyper-aggressive and club-ready songs with “Pursuit.” The song stands apart from the pack with its on-a-dime shifts and the clipped and unnerving use of vocal samples. “Pursuit” is the perfect synthesis of furious EDM, a pulsing discotheque nightmare in the best possible way. [Gary]

Jay-Z & Kanye West – “N****s in Paris”

There are plenty of standouts throughout Watch the Throne, Jay-Z and Kanye West’s collaborative album, but “N****s in Paris” stands out as the clear winner. With Hit-Boy’s instantly memorable synth hook driving the song, Jay-Z and West provide one quotable line after another. It’s full-on, egotistical bragging, and it works. Why? Because both of them earned the rights to brag as much as they want (West just released My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy at the time, and Jay-Z needs no explaining). At first glance, the title Watch the Throne might give off the image of someone trying to be protective. After listening to “N****s in Paris,” the title’s meaning is clear: watch and observe the masters at work. [C.J.]

Chromatics – “Cherry”

Never underestimate the combined powers of an enticing female vocal and low-key electronic melody; the two were created to be together. Case in point: Chromatics. Ruth Radelet sounds like she stepped out of a vintage postcard from the 1970’s, and with her poignant, deeply melancholic, voice manipulated to disperse away like dandelion clocks, “Cherry” captures the heart, swiftly and successfully. Not found on any of the band’s official albums, “Cherry” is one of the band’s three contributions to the second After Dark compilation by their label, Italians Do It Better, and tells the familiar story of Cherry, who “can be very sweet when she needs a friend/But it’s only/A mask she wears so she can pretend.” Adam Miller’s production, with that titillating Italo disco riff filling the void left by Radelet’s redolent voice whenever she isn’t singing, is a striking example of something beautiful and timeless created out of simple compositions. Not to mention how it basks in a kind of retro neon warmth you can practically touch. [Nik]

St. Vincent – “Krokodile”

St. Vincent has come to be known by her feather-light and carbonated indie tracks, a brand that has snagged her a Grammy. But while her sound is rather easy to pick out from the pack, she has been anything but one note. The best example of this arguably being 2012’s Record Store Day single “Krokodile.” The song is a shock to the system, especially for dedicated Annie Clark fans. The track, nearly foaming at the mouth, is an intense and crunchy punk riot, with Clark’s vocals smashed and buried beneath the chugging hurricane of sound. So while St. Vincent has all but created her own genre (one that no doubt carries some eerie undertones), “Krokodile” is a behemoth of a song that proves Clark can rock out with the very best of them. [Gary]

Listen to These Songs on Spotify

See the rest of our Best Songs Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

Today we present what might be the saddest 10-song stretch of our Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far. Sometimes these songs define why they’re sad quite obviously in their words; other times, the subject matter is somewhat vague, but the instrumentation fills in the sadness. However, this portion of our list isn’t all tears and dejection; for almost every sad moment in this segment, there’s a more upbeat tune geared for the dance floor. A manic, politically raging, dark electronic tune, a subtly slinking deep house groove, and an all out disco anthem are just a few of the sounds you’ll find here. With moodiness and rhythm each in tow here, there should be something to satisfy everyone in this section. Read on and enjoy the tunes!

Best 50 Songs Of The Decade So Far
(#30 – #21)

Grizzly Bear – “Yet Again”

Grizzly Bear have constantly stayed on critics’ and listeners’ radar by expanding their initial folk palette into sounds far more expansive and surprising. “Yet Again,” a key track from their most recent album Shields, sees the band expanding their gaze towards a far moodier, more reverberantly amplified approach. Its guitars sound like they’re positively dripping with sadness, and the almost hymnal quality of vocalist Ed Droste’s intimate croon endows the song with a church-like size and power. This style contrasts the dejected, almost campfire feel of past Grizzly Bear greats like “Knife” and “While You Wait for the Others”; “Yet Again” is more uptempo and even incisive than almost anything the band has done before, yet contains equal amounts of emotional weight. And if these words don’t make you a believer, let this freak folk’s duo attempt at noise rock—the song’s outro—convince you. [Max]

Speedy Ortiz – “No Below”

There’s no question that “No Below” is an autobiographical painting. Sadie Dupuis, frontwoman of Boston-based punkers Speedy Ortiz, scales back the dynamics and tempo more commonly associated with her band for Major Arcana’s most personal, heart-on-sleeve tale. High school bullies, broken knees, swimming, possible suicidal thoughts—these are all real things that happened, so they make very appropriate subject matter for a bleaker, more restrained song. “True, I once said/I was better off just being dead/but I didn’t know you yet,” ends this song’s confessional, upfront chorus; it’s a statement that’s as moving as the music itself. Where Speedy Ortiz really drive this song home, though, is in the second chorus, which is a rough repeat of the first, but with more guitar overdubs and truly spine-rattling, achingly resonant vocal harmonies. The splintered guitar noise that follows both caps the emotional stress of this chorus perfectly and serves splendidly as a predecessor to one of the most memorable final lines in recent memory: “I didn’t know you/when you were a kid/but swimming with you, it sure feels like I did.” Thanks to Dupuis, it feels like we knew this person too. [Max]

The National – “Bloodbuzz Ohio”

The National have become weather-battered staples of the indie world, and deservedly so. The quintet’s fifth studio album, High Violet, was the pitch perfect example of a band not afraid to grow, but not shy of their roots, which resulted in one of the best albums of 2010. And “Bloodbuzz Ohio” is the best song on a great album. It’s a pulsing whirlwind of an epic, propelled by pounding drum work and thick piano, but more than anything a showcase for front man Matt Berninger’s impossibly smooth baritone and the lyrics he coos, “I was carried to Ohio in a swarm of bees.” Lifted by tones and horns that spike at the opportune moments, “Bloodbuzz” is a master class in indie rock, a high water mark that might take a while to beat. [Gary]

Robyn & Royksopp – “Do It Again”

When artists release different versions of the same track, they’re unintentionally inviting confusion. What saves Royksopp’s “Do It Again,” however, are Robyn’s warm and innately tantalizing vocal talents which dominate both versions I know. In early 2014, the Norwegian electro masters combined powers with Swedish pop phenom Robyn, for a collaborative Scandinavian headbanger and instant club staple. When Royksopp’s final studio album, “The Inevitable End,” was released later that same year, this same song got a makeover more suited for listening pleasure than fist pumping in the club, which is now known as the “RYXP” version. This longer, subdued, variant is more my wheelhouse, but just take one example of Robyn’s delivery, like when she purrs “and then it arrives/the moment before/the anticipation/you know it’s like mm-mm-mm,” and you’ve nailed the song’s massive appeal, no matter the version. By celebrating people’s impulsive desires for emotional ecstasy, regardless of how much pain may await us in the long-term, the song gives everyone a reason to dance, and even makes good use of the overused “one more time” club gimmick by weaving it into its message. [Nik]

Zola Jesus – “Run Me Out”

It was hard to pick a favourite song from Zola Jesus’ Stridulum EP, but my personal favourite has always been “Run Me Out.” It’s a massive, anthemic song that highlights Zola Jesus’ strengths: her sparseness, her strong emotional power, and especially her voice. Starting out as a minimal, cavernous sounding track, Zola Jesus keeps repeating the words “Run me out” as more percussion and synths kick in to bring everything to a cathartic finish. This is an unabashedly “big” song, and it’s hard to finish listening without wanting to hit repeat and hear Zola Jesus’ soaring vocals all over again. [C.J.]

Yelle – “Safari Disco Club”

With EDM rising over the years, pop music has taken on a bit of a more aggressive tone, so it’s a relief to listen to a band like Yelle. Led by Julie Budet (who also refers to herself as Yelle, causing some confusion as to whether Yelle is a band or an artist), they make insanely precise and detailed pop music that knows how to be fun. It’s overtly catchy, inviting and downright easy to let loose to. “Safari Disco Club” is another excellent song from Yelle, a propulsive track on a mission to make you dance. And once the song takes Budet’s vocals in the second chorus, chops them up and makes them the backing for a closing dance break (one thing Yelle are insanely good at: dance breaks), just try and stop yourself from moving. [C.J.]

The Knife – “Full of Fire”

At over 9 minutes long, “Full of Fire” is a full on aural assault, a non-stop barrage of experimental sounds that comes perilously close to the avant-garde. And yet, as one layer of sound after another gets added on to the song’s relentless beat, every piece ends up fitting perfectly with the sonic overload. “Full of Fire” is a bit of a departure for The Knife compared to their earlier work, but it’s also a song that can only be associated with them, largely due to Karin Dreijer Andersson’s otherworldly vocals. And while listening to the synths, strings, drums, static, distortion, comments on gender identity and feminism (among many other topics) and everything else stuffed into this single piece of insanity, all working together like a giant machine made up of millions of moving parts, the long hiatus between Silent Shout and Shaking the Habitual suddenly makes sense. A song as dense and epic as this one feels like it took all seven years to make. [C.J.]

Caribou – “Odessa”

Watch the video for “Odessa” on YouTube and scroll through the comments. Indulge in the myriad misheard lyrics posted for the chorus (“Chicken steak, chicken steak, who knows what she’s gonna make”) and have a laugh. Then acknowledge that Dan Snaith, as Caribou, has buried a fly-on-the-wall tale of a failing (and possibly abusive) relationship under one of the most impressively minimal house beats you’ve ever heard. Snaith doesn’t need flashy, expensive, aggressive synths to create the excellence of “Odessa”; merely a percussive track and some digital flourishes form this song’s tiny but propelling backbone. Very few elements establish this song’s glitchy, somewhat psychedelic groove, one that overpowers the lyrics. Intense listening will reveal the unfortunate tale that Snaith is writing here, but it’s just as easy to get lost in the music, a balance that remains a Caribou specialty to this day. [Max]

Blouse – “Into Black”

Deeply affecting, imbibed in mystery, and like a ghost of its own reflection, “Into Black” tiptoes into the ear buds with such efficient stealth that every sense feels stimulated. Like my fellow WTI colleague C.J., my every point of reference is anchored by cinema, and this song is a very visual one. What this little-known band from Portland manages to do is immediately paint a landscape in front of my mind’s eyes that would be a fitting setting for a David Lynch and Nicholas Winding Refn co-production. The song’s darkly romantic vibe accompanies its tinge of disturbance in the cosmos with melodic perfection, Charlie Hilton’s spectral singing coiling around the listener as if to say: “you’re naked without me.” “What do the Gods know/They’ll never see the stars look as small as this/And you’re a strike of lightning/Making up a sky for the Gods to kiss with,” coos Hilton, over Patrick Adams’ nostalgic electric guitar. It’s the kind of lyrical poetry that makes so many mainstream artists pale in comparison. Just listen to how Hilton emphasizes the “light” in “lightning,” and tell me it doesn’t epitomize the sense of longing with impeccable symbiosis of sound and voice. [Nik]

Girls – “Vomit”

Commercial pop music is sometimes attacked for how simple its lyrics are, but on “Vomit,” a distinctly anti-pop song, Christopher Owens, Jr. transforms some of his most basic poetry into one of his most powerful songs. In switching between the dejected, utterly hopeless dirge of its verses and the gospel-laced ecstasy of its chorus, Owens’ straightforward poem gains several levels of potency, aided by a fiery, lacerating guitar solo between its second and third verses. The song’s second chorus gives way to even more gospel influence, leading into an entirely different section recalling the spryness of 60s surf rock as equally as it does the reverberant, enthusiastic soul of an act like Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. Across six and a half minutes, “Vomit” takes an impressive number of shapes, all the while never losing sight of its message: I love you, and I will do anything for you. Simple, but painfully relatable. [Max]

Listen to These Songs on Spotify

See the rest of our Best Songs Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

Our countdown of our favorite songs of this decade’s first five years continues today with contributions from a band of three trendy sisters, an aggressively political hip-hop duo, and a member of the queer rap community, among others. The diversity of these ten songs alone (and, of course, the entire list) attests to the breadth of excellent songs released in this time span. Topics as classic as unrequited love and inconsolable heartbreak are explored abundantly in this group of songs, but we also hear more modern themes such as homophobia and being proud of, and confident in, one’s sexuality. In 2000-2009, society might have stricken down these ideas and sounds as too far ahead of their time, but in this decade, they’re among the cream of the crop.

Best 50 Songs Of The Decade So Far
(#40 – #31)

HAIM – “The Wire”

With its jaunty staccato grove, stomping chorus and ‘70s radio rock vibe, HAIM’s “The Wire” is one of those rare pop songs where every section is catchy as hell, not just the chorus, á la Rihanna’s “Umbrella” and Miley Cyrus’ “Wrecking Ball.” If you’ve ever tried to write a song, you know how hard it is to write a catchy hook, let alone make every second of the song irresistible, which is what HAIM’s done here, amazingly. The instrumentals and break-up lyrics are straightforward because the three sisters from California know the song’s melodies deserve their own pedestal without much fuss going on underneath. As always, the vocals are supple and effortless, with just the right amount of attitude sprinkled on when appropriate. [Bernard]

Le1f – “Wut”

Homophobia has been a large issue with rap music, one that’s taking the tiniest baby steps towards progress (remember: Frank Ocean’s coming out was seen as a milestone, and that was less than three years ago). And while some are delicately approaching the acceptance of homosexuality in rap culture and music, Le1f is taking a sledgehammer to it. An openly gay rapper, Le1f has no worries about being himself, and “Wut” is one hell of a bold declaration. Sexual orientation has no baring on the fact that “Wut” is an amazing rap song. With production by 5kinAndBone5, Le1f throws down a jaw-dropping flow (that second verse!) over a horn sample that puts Macklemore & Ryan Lewis’ “Thrift Shop” to shame. Combine it with an awesomely in your face music video, and this is insanely good music from a truly progressive artist. [C.J.]

John Grant – “I Want to Go to Marz”

The fact of the matter is that The Czars never got the attention they deserved. Formed in Denver, CO by John Grant and Chris Pearson, The Czars released six albums and an EP over the course of nine years, only to have all of the members besides Grant exit. For a time this left the depressed and alienated Grant contemplating giving up music. But thankfully for us, he didn’t, and instead he released one of the most incredibly genuine and satisfying solo albums (Queen Of Denmark) of the first half of the decade, and on it, one of the finest songs in recent memory, “I Want To Go To Marz.”

The 2010 song is a triumphant example of a 1970s throw back. The circling piano melody, the sometimes-unnerving synth, and the hauntingly and seemingly random lyrics make this song impossible to forget. Grant’s smooth voice on “Marz” (and elsewhere) lulls you into a catatonic state, makes you dizzy with heartbreaking metaphors of escape, longing, and a maybe, just maybe, a hint of hope. [Gary]

Makthaverskan – “Asleep”

On “Asleep,” Makthaverskan’s sadness is almost tangible. The cold, enveloping reverb of those opening drums; the wet, aching, minor-key guitar chords; the melancholy, tearful bass line; the pessimistic, heart-wrenching synths; Maja Milner’s desolate, wistful vocals. Appearing in this order, the song’s relatively small amount of elements combine into a Gothic, new wave-indebted torch song of despair and heartbreak. Particularly notable are Milner’s vocals and lyrics. A non-native English speaker whose lyrics are more direct than most American songwriters, her voice’s ability to switch from a soft, faint croon to a piercing, pained shriek in a second’s notice is impeccable. She sounds particularly incisive over the double-time drums of the song’s bridge: “You’re dreaming!” she chimes, although this is merely a sliver of the song’s mantra, “It’s not me you’re dreaming of!” But with songs this immediate, how could it not be? [Max]

The Irrepressibles – “In This Shirt”

The Irrepressibles are a band that’s all about emotions. Created and led by Jamie McDermott (who now calls himself Jamie Irrepressible), the band makes songs that fit the name perfectly; songs about emotions that can’t be contained. “In This Shirt” is a simple break-up song about someone wearing their ex-lover’s shirt for comfort, and yet the song is tragically operatic. That’s because the band understands how those kinds of feelings can overwhelm an individual, and make the smallest action feel like it has the weight of the world. It’s one of The Irrepressibles’ best songs because of how it feels sprawling yet intensely personal at the same time. Also worth mentioning: Roy Raz’s brilliant and unforgettable music video for the song. [C.J.]

Jessie Ware – “Wildest Moments”

For everyone who agrees that Adele has a great voice but find something off in the way she uses it, meet Jessie Ware. The 30-year-old British singer-songwriter has two albums under her belt already in this decade, and her debut Devotion soars mostly because of its first single and, to this day, Ware’s most readily recognized song: “Wildest Moments.” The song allows Ware’s earthy, melancholic, and semi-mystical intonations to gently persuade the listener towards its instantly epochal yet timeless chorus. The emotional seesaw from the highs of life when “we could be the greatest, we could be the greatest” to when “we could be the worst of all,” is made all the more hypnotic by how Ware lingers on the key word “moments,” making it resonate that much stronger. Even if it’s destined to be ruined by drunk teenagers in karaoke bars, “Wildest Moments” will always be a fantastic song, and one thing that makes me love it even more is that it was inspired by Ware’s fraught relationship with her best friend, (as opposed to the usual tale of the scorned lover), while the song’s open-ended lyrics leave room for a myriad of universal interpretations. [Nik]

Run the Jewels – “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry”

Full disclosure guys, this single from the second album of EI-P and Killer Mike’s collaboration project Run The Jewels is in my personal top five songs of the decade so far. I have to put aside the bitterness that’s bubbling inside me at seeing “Oh My Darling Don’t Cry” placed in the 30’s and not the 10’s of this list (breathe, Nik, remember that it’s a staff feature), and try to put into words how immortally sick this track is. From Killer Mike and EI-P’s explosive chemistry, through the samples of whips, cut-up drum loops, subdued alarms, and that brilliantly mixed sample of “Darling-d-d-darling/dar-dar-dar-d-ling,” making dance floors vulnerable to total destruction every time it drops, ‘Darling’ encapsulates everything that makes this duo such trailblazers of underground hip-hop. “Me and EI-P got time to kill, got folks to kill, on overkill/He hangin’ out the window, I hold the wheel” explains Mike, as EI-P’s murderous production (helped by Little Shalimar and Wilder Zoby) confirms everything he says. They retain the raw essence of hip-hop with incredibly inventive, electronic, and dubby productions, and for my money, make spotlight-hoggers like Kanye West look silly in comparison. [Nik]

Perfume Genius – “Queen”

A low, buzzing keyboard pulses, an elemental, lumbering drum beat, and shimmering, soaring synths lay the groundwork for “Queen,” the lead single off of Perfume Genius’ 2014 album, “Too Bright.” Strutting through the instrumentation with his tense, tortured vocal delivery is Mike Hadreas, who in his lyrics embodies a sociopathic, oppressive, shriveled matriarch who fancies herself a sexual predator. It’s been a pleasure to watch Hadreas expand his game, forgoing the dirge-like piano ballads that put him on the map to experiment with full instrumentation. “Queen” is emblematic of his growth as a songwriter, a creepy, glitzy nightmare that slays all in its path. Now we’re left waiting in a sweat to see what rare sonic confections he’ll have waiting for us on his next album. [Bernard]

Autre Ne Veut – “Play by Play”

“Never leave me” is a phrase heard time and time again in all manner of pop songs, but on “Play by Play,” Arthur Ashin, while posing in equal amounts of disco and soul as Autre Ne Veut, sells this phrase with the strength of the King of Pop. The way Ashin’s vocals deal striking blows and waver between the highs and lows of his vocal range over a constantly shifting, hyperactive arrangement of synthetic elements recalls Michael Jackson at his prime, possibly more so than anyone since him. Ashin’s desperate lyricism is delivered in angelic falsettos, seething raps, and extended wails; his vocals bend and adapt to the unpredictable, cerebral shifts in instrumentation that outline this song. Synths fade in and out of vision over merely a few seconds; percussive tracks expand and contract in real-time. Maybe Ashin’s character here is well worth leaving, but the music is almost unrealistically entrapping. [Max]

Fiona Apple – “Hot Knife”

It’s always a treat when Fiona Apple drops new music on her army of hungry fanatics (of which I belong) since she releases albums so infrequently. The ridiculously gifted singer-songwriter never disappoints, though, and her 2012 offering “The Idler Wheel…” was nothing short of a revelation. The crowning jewel of the stripped-down collection of lovesick tunes is “Hot Knife,” an empowered, primal track in which immaculately layered chants by Apple and her sister, Maude Maggart, weave and spin around each other over distant, rumbling war drums and Apple’s signature angular piano rifts. It feels as if you’re tied up and blindfolded in a vacuum of space and time, with Apple and Maggart circling you as they sing right into your ear, “if I’m butter than he’s a hot knife / he makes my heart a cinemascope screen / showing the dancing bird of paradise.” Who else could write this shit? [Bernard]

Listen to These Songs on Spotify

See the rest of our Best Songs Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#50 – #41)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

The 2010’s will be known as the first full decade in which music survived its Internet age. In 2000, services like Napster and Limewire planted the seeds for peer-to-peer sharing, but millions of songs weren’t yet a mere click away; this decade, however, Spotify has come to fruition, YouTube has blossomed into an everyday force, pre-release album streams are omnipresent, and the Internet blog community is constantly hitting refresh. “Plugged in” has an entirely different meaning now that the Internet acts as a global amp, making it impossible to feel disconnected—whether by streaming, downloading, or reading about music, it’s all a click away.

Even though it’s far easier to discover new music in this era, year-end and decade-so-far lists tend to canonize the same set of albums and songs. Way Too Indie is guilty of writing about some of the same songs that everyone else is, but we also showcase a few welcome surprises with this list of our Top 50 Songs of 2010–2014. We’ll be rolling the list out ten songs at a time, ten for each weekday, starting today with songs 50–41. Let this list guide you on your refresher course in 2010’s music history.

Best 50 Songs Of The Decade So Far
(#50-#41)

Taylor Swift – “Blank Space”

If “Shake It Off” is Taylor Swift’s giddy, playful middle finger to her haters, then “Blank Space” is the cooler, smarter version of the same thing (full disclosure: “Shake It Off” is also great). The song has Swift facing her detractors head-on, playing up the image of herself as some sort of psychotic girlfriend going through boys like bubble gum. But Swift brilliantly counters those attacks by putting the ball in the other half’s court with lines like “Cause you know I love the players/And you love the game” or “Boys only want love if it’s torture.” And, like most of 1989, Swift puts this all in an insanely catchy package, blending the song’s electronic and acoustic elements to make 2014’s catchiest chorus. It’s a song that has Swift acknowledging criticisms thrown her way and responding with a resounding “So what?” It’s what great artists do, and if you weren’t already convinced Swift deserves every bit of her success, “Blank Space” should change your mind. [C.J.]

Frank Ocean – “Pyramids”

Traversing from bass-thick synth fare to an ultimate club track to a tender soul ballad ending with a John Mayer guitar solo is possible in this decade. In fact, it sounds incredible when soul experimentalist Frank Ocean pulls it off. “Pyramids” is ten minutes of self-indulgent bliss with risk after risk paying off. Through this song’s transition from R&B banger to intimate, woozy electrosoul, Ocean weaves the best possible tale of ancient Egyptian pharaoh Cleopatra as a modern day stripper, matching his story’s wild, exaggerated nature with a song structure and genre defiance just as uninhibited. Whether you’re grooving along or transfixed in the slower sections, Ocean will have you headed to the pyramid tonight. [Max]

Rihanna – “Diamonds”

Allow me to indulge a little about “Diamonds” by bringing up a scene from Celine Sciamma’s film Girlhood (forgive me, I’m used to writing about films after all). In the scene, the main character Marieme watches her new friends lip sync and dance to Rihanna’s song before joining in herself. It’s an amazing sequence, already one of the highlights of 2015, and it shows why the song is so powerful. While Rihanna’s vocals soar over Benny Blanco and StarGate’s pulsating synths and thumping percussion, the refrain of “Shine bright like a diamond” transforms from a summary of true love to a proud declaration of happiness and independence. Rihanna has put out a massive amount of bangers and club ready singles over the years, but it’s this mid-tempo ballad shows her at the top of her game. [C.J.]

Beyonce – “***Flawless”

Back in 2000, Beyoncé was singing with Destiny’s Child about how awesome it is for women to buy their own things. Now it’s fifteen years later, and Beyoncé doesn’t give a fuck what you think. When Beyoncé released her latest album out of nowhere, furiously reclaiming her spot at the top of pretty much everything, “Flawless” was a clear standout. What other artist as popular as Beyoncé is making anything as abrasive and strange as this song right now? Who else has the balls to throw a lecture on feminism in the middle of their song, or bookend it with clips of herself losing on Star Search (a brilliant flip side to the song’s braggadocio)? This is Beyoncé taking her place at number one and using it to do whatever she wants, take it or leave it. Only Beyoncé can order people to bow down and actually make them want to do it. [C.J.]

Ciara – “I’m Out (ft. Nicki Minaj)”

Ciara was an artist begging for a comeback, and “I’m Out”—the opening track on her self-titled album—immediately quashed any fears of her latest album being a disappointment. With the help of Nicki Minaj, whose opening verse is yet another reminder of why she’s one of the most talented rappers out there right now, Ciara provides a fun blast of pure ego. It’s a defiant break-up song, filled with tons of swagger and a beat that makes it impossible to stay still. People may point to “Body Party” as Ciara’s true highlight, but I always prefer to put “I’m Out” on repeat instead. And one more thing: can we get more collaborations between Nicki Minaj and Ciara, please? These two are perfect together. [C.J.]

Solange – “Losing You”

After years of struggling to get out of her sister’s shadow, Solange Knowles finally stepped out on her own with “Losing You.” Back in 2012, Solange and Dev Hynes (known by most people as Blood Orange) provided a breath of fresh air from the pop and R&B landscape with this song. Its cool, sun-kissed style and groove was the perfect antidote to the barrage of dance floor ready tracks coming out at the time (who am I kidding? They’re still coming out). And Hynes’ production is a perfect blend of a throwback style with completely new and refreshing sound. It’s hard to believe that Solange still hasn’t come out with a new album yet, but if “Losing You” is a sign of what’s to come, it’ll be well worth the wait. [C.J.]

Neko Case – “Man”

I’ve been a Case fan since her 2009 album Middle Cyclone tornadoed its way into my heart. It took her some time to come back in 2013 with The Worse It Gets, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You, but she came back with the same firepower under her belly, this time ignited by a more introspective and personal approach. Her single, “Man,” is a raucously energetic folk-country crossbreed that commands your body to move, supported by Case’s signature vocal prowess, and stands out from the rest of the mellower selection with good purpose. With help from M. Ward lacing the production with his guitar skills, “Man” is everything that makes Neko Case a musical treasure: poetic, insightful, with 0% artificiality and 100% success rate at hitting targets with perfectly calibrated F-bombs. She’s a feminist who doesn’t need the support of a label in order to create a statement that shames most other self-appointed “feminists” in the game. “And if I’m dipshit drunk on the pink perfume /I am the man in the fucking moon/’Cause you didn’t know what a man was/Until I showed you.” Damn. She’s not a man, she’s a singing-songwriting beast. [Nik]

FKA twigs – “Pendulum”

Only someone who’s cultivated an aesthetic as mysterious, cunning, and faintly erotic as FKA twigs could make the statement “I’m your sweet little love maker” sound daunting. In fact, all of “Pendulum”, the song from which this lyric is taken, lurches forward quite unsettlingly. But that’s because a lack of reciprocation is a pretty terrible feeling, one that this song’s jarringly arrhythmic percussion and reversed piano loops capture chillingly. For its first three minutes, the former element dominates the soundscape, but when the focus flips to the latter, the building tension of twigs’ loneliness begins to release. It all comes rushing forward with a minute and fifteen seconds left in the song, when twigs beckons, “How does it feel to have me thinking about you?” as a brief near-silence gives way to a rush of bass and piano. Forget being lonely; a song this emotionally resonant unites everyone. [Max]

Future Islands – “Seasons (Waiting on You)”

Synthpopping trio Gerrit Welmers, William Cashion, and Samuel Herring are Future Islands, and while they’ve had critical success with their previous albums (they’ve been Pitchfork darlings for a while), it’s their 2014 record Singles that shoved them into the brightest limelight they’ve experienced yet. And I’m willing to bet good money that most of it is because of the fantastic album opener, “Seasons (Waiting On You),” which made topping song lists look like the most objective thing in the world in 2014. Don’t get me wrong, the album as a whole is excellent, but when ‘Seasons” refrain kicks in with “As it breaks, the summer will wake/But the winter will wash what is left of the taste” your earbuds are suddenly swept under a crushingly glorious New Wave. The song drowns you with everything that makes Herring’s vocals and lyrics, Welmers’ keyboards, and Cashion’s bass such perfect musical companions, and something inside you whispers; “this is the one.” [Nik]

Jai Paul – “Jasmine”

With just two songs, Jai Paul managed to change the entire landscape of 2010s R&B. Sure, electrosoul existed before Paul’s first single, “BTSTU,” appeared out of nowhere in 2011, but by the time “Jasmine” arrived a year later, the genre’s revolution was well underway. Paul’s watery, disorienting production, drone-like, lurching synths, and whispery, silk-soft vocals on “Jasmine” builds a skyscraper on top of the foundation “BTSTU” had laid. Combining the latter track’s all-against-the-walls percussion with the smooth dreaminess of “Jasmine,” electrosoul artists as diverse as Raffertie, Tropics, and maybe even Paul’s cousin Miguel took cues that formed the next many years of electrosoul. If you can’t vibe with “Jasmine” for whatever odd reason, at least appreciate the massive influence its mysterious creator, who has yet to officially release a song since “Jasmine”, has had on his genre in just two songs. [Max]

Listen to These Songs on Spotify

See the rest of our Best Songs Of The Decade lists!

View Other Lists of this Feature:
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#40 – #31)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#30 – #21)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#20 – #11)
Best 50 Songs of the Decade So Far (#10 – #1)

While reflecting on February, it becomes apparent that there were relatively few notable albums released this month. The same effect was felt in the underground and DIY music community: there’s definitely a bit less new material than usual to report on for this edition of The Underdog. That said, the quality of the lesser-known music released this month is quite strong. Among February’s best off-the-radar releases are an impressive third album by a yelping, quivering Boston trio; a stomping revamp of classic rock styles courtesy of some Philadelphia teenagers’ considerable début; and an even younger group of Barcelona kids’ harrowing, minimal post-punk thesis. These are albums that immediately strike the ear, yet, for some reason, features on blogs as frequently traversed as Pitchfork and Consequence of Sound don’t seem to being doing much to expand these groups’ fan bases. Hopefully, The Underdog can help to change that.

Adventures – Supersonic Home

A commenter on Supersonic Home‘s listing on excellent DIY label Run For Cover Records’ Bandcamp describes it as “the best 90s ‘revival’ record thus far.” Indeed, Adventures are the latest in a string of underground groups looking back on the 90s for inspiration, and their fans tend to see them as the best at their craft. To praise them so highly is to paint with broad strokes, but it’s undeniable that they’ve got a genuine charm and a great sound. The ecstatic guitars and eager vocal harmonies of exuberant punk album opener “Dream-Blue Haze” immediately declare Adventures’ influences, talents, and resonance; later tracks such as “My Marble Home” and “Long Hair” tread on more dejected 90s motifs with equal amounts of allure and poignancy. But even at their most defeated, Adventures still smile through these ten enjoyable alt pop songs. “I feel happy,” another commenter declared on the Supersonic Home Bandcamp listing when describing this album; indeed, it’s hard not to enjoy these unpretentious tunes.

Breakfast in Fur – Flyaway Garden

A good number of the albums that frequently rank highly on best-of lists find themselves so well-regarded due to their blatant influence on later acts. Is This It, Late Registration, Daydream Nation, Sgt. Pepper’s – these are all albums you might see on such lists, and ones that each have many obvious followers. Another album somewhat commonly listed alongside these names is Broken Social Scene’s 2002 record You Forgot It In People, but unlike the other records named here, People‘s influence isn’t nearly as transparent. No one has really taken that album’s sound and run with it – well, not until Breakfast in Fur offered an intensely beautiful, instantly striking revamp of it this month. Flyaway Garden occupies the same gauzy, ethereal blur as does Broken Social Scene’s breakout work; its welcoming acoustic guitars, snug synthetic ambience, and effervescent, breezy vocals all recall the best of BSS. “Portrait” would feel right at home on any of their albums, as might “Episode” or “Whisper.” But to only copy an already adored work would be boring; no, instead, Breakfast in Fur infiltrate their music with further influences from shoegaze (think Mazzy Star and Isn’t Anything) and neo-psychedelic sounds like those popularized by Animal Collective. Their diverse drawing board results in memorable numbers such as the Neil Young cover “Cripple Creek Ferry” and the breathtaking blast of unexpectedly hooky opener “Shape”, arguably one of the year’s finest songs thus far. Brewing distinct musical predecessors into a new, invigorating drink is an underrated talent, but on Flyaway Garden, Breakfast in Fur do so with ease.

Dirty Dishes – Guilty

Dirty Dishes are signed to a label called Exploding in Sound for a reason (which, by the way, is one of the most consistently strong DIY labels out there right now, as further evidenced by the Krill album that you can read about below). Their newest album explodes forward the moment it begins, with a feedback ring giving way to a slab of wailing guitars. Vocalist Jenny Tulite then lays down restrained vocals that are very clearly set to blow at any given moment; indeed, opener “Come Again” testifies that Dirty Dishes are more than capable of Exploding in Sound. “Red Roulette” and “Guilty” follow in both succession and ear-stabbing sound, but thereafter, things gradually diminish into more starry-eyed, dimly lit territory. “Androgynous Love Song” builds a bridge between the seething havoc of the album’s first third and it’s almost folky remainder. It’s impressive that a dusky, minimal dirge such as “Lackluster” can find a stable home on the same collection as “Red Roulette”, but Dirty Dishes resonate in both modes. If they sound this great already, one can only imagine what they might be able to pull off if they choose to go in only one direction on their next effort. It’ll be worth sticking around for, providing all the more reason to fall in love with Guilty.

The Districts – A Flourish and a Spoil

Groove and catchiness: two musical qualities you’d have to be truly pretentious to deny. Philadelphia rockers The Districts, who are roughly twenty years old, have both in spades. After their début EP made waves early last year, Fat Possum Records brought them aboard for an inauguration that satisfies eager, excited fans’ greatest hopes and desires. Heavily overdriven guitars that play bluesy chord progressions dominate this record, as does a generally gruff, energetic tone. “Heavy Begs” finds the band pounding away fiercely on its drums as heavily processed vocals seethe and croon in harmony with layers of incisive guitar work; “Hounds” digs deep into the blues rock well towards an intense final climax; “Young Blood” swells from an overwhelmingly brazen guitar attack into a somehow more inundating force of throaty shouting and guitar work that sends sparks flying over nine equally enjoyable minutes. And even though these songs are clearly incredible, they somehow all pale in comparison to album opener “4th and Roebling”, a supercharged stomper that contains one of the stickiest, most direct choruses in blues rock history. Actually, this is a chorus so massive that it leaves the boundaries of blues rock; there’s no clear definition of what The Districts’ sound is, but its traces of blues, rock n’ roll, and classic rock influences result in a product that’s as cerebral as it is corporeal.

Ex-Cult – Cigarette Machine EP

When everyone else around you is a punk, you better have a lot of guts and brawn if you want to excite your listeners. Ex-Cult are aware of their surroundings, offering up some of the most refreshingly visceral punk music of recent times. Similarly to the better known punk act Parquet Courts, Ex-Cult infuse their sound with references to both classic punk tropes and an almost krautrock-like sense of minimalism, repetition, and rhythm. The irreverence and nearly unsung manner of Cigarette Machine‘s vocals reaches back to Black Flag, while the simple rhythms and omnipresent riffage might feel at home among the earliest kraut achievements. Anyone who enjoys lacerating guitar work, intentionally low production quality, and sneering vocals is bound to feel revitalized after hearing Cigarette Machine, and it’s likely that the EP’s creators feel the same rush when performing these songs.

Krill – A Distant Fist Unclenching

It’s not uncommon to see or hear Krill fans compared to a cult. This Boston trio’s following may be relatively small, but it’s almost as strong as their mighty songs are. The heft and relatable weirdness of their tunes’ wry, paranoid musings, wiry, unhinged vocals, sharp, incisive guitar work, and thunderous, pointed percussion matches the fervor and lovable oddity of their devoted listeners. In fact, the former probably directly causes the latter. It only makes sense that a band singing about visiting someone at work only to almost involuntarily begin fantasizing about their shirtless body might generate an enthusiastic response among a small sect of people. This story is merely one of many idiosyncratic, hilarious tales on A Distant Fist Unclenching, Krill’s third and best album to date. Other scenarios include a popular villager killed by a tiger, an apology to a roadkill victim’s family (in Krill’s universe, animals have distinct family structures), and an ostensibly much sadder story of family turmoil. Although only the last of these themes may seem relatable on paper, the alerted, frayed state in which frontman Jonah Furman delivers his lyrics matches the mood and pacing of his band’s music so precisely that listeners’ catharsis is absolutely guaranteed. Krill can turn an interwoven BDSM and self-discovery tale into an allegory for emotions that everyone feels, thanks in no small part to their highly memorable cocktail of post-punk urgency. A Distant Fist Unclenching is truly unforgettable, ensuring that the band’s most famous declaration (and their fan base’s unofficial slogan) remains true: “Krill, Krill, Krill forever!”

Mourn – Mourn

There are two cases to make that this group of Barcelona-based 18-year old punks’ (and one 15 year old!) début album was actually released last year rather than just now. The first is its original release in native Spain early last year; the second is American label Captured Tracks’ digital-only American reissue last October. But only now has Captured Tracks made physical formats available for Mourn in the US, fully marking its impact on American ears. Yet even despite a first-billing review on Pitchfork, Mourn’s reach remains limited. They don’t quite yet have eight thousand likes on Facebook, which is surprising given how stark and immediate their songs are. Across ten songs and twenty-one minutes, Mourn don’t only demand attention, they absolutely command it. This is the first record in recent memory whose very first sound is an uneasy vocal take; to make things even better, only a dim, clean guitar backs the voice. Within thirty seconds of this opener, “Your Brain Is Made of Candy”, the full band instrumentation, unnerving vocal harmonies and dissonantly flickering guitar leads in tow, shoots forward, turning heads more rapidly than a tornado. This combination of minimalism and musical vice-grip continues across the entirety of Mourn, a clamoring post-punk journey that’s impossible to be torn away from while it lasts, but one that ends far too soon.

Each month we’ll collect and highlight the best new indie releases. Our aim here is to expose readers to great new indie music they may not have been aware of otherwise. We intend to cover music that we believe doesn’t get as much attention as it deserves, hence the title of this column: The Underdog.

As the new year approaches, the music industry enters a bit of a dry period, a sort of Great Recession, if you will. Contradicting its typical trend of eagerly anticipating upcoming albums, the blogosphere recounts what it loved, liked, disregarded, and ignored as the year went by, inadvertently casting a broad shadow over any music released in December. Of course, the surprise release of mythical albums like Black Messiah and Beyoncé have proven to be exceptions to this rule, but did anyone really notice that Nicki Minaj album that dropped last month? It’s clear that the music industry seems geared against album releases in December and early January, which is why this latest edition of the Underdog condenses both months into one article. By next month’s end, things will be closer to returning to full swing, but new music won’t be emerging at a rapid fire pace until March, in all likelihood. With all this free listening time on your hands, you’ve got no excuse to at least consider these ten albums released by emerging artists last December and this month. Who knows, maybe one of them will become the next big thing!

Amer – Luxandra

Ever heard of Frank Ocean? After the majesty of 2012’s Channel Orange, many fans were inspired to try their own hand at Christopher Breaux’s woozy, gleaming breed of electrosoul, some with more success than others. Amer, a self-proclaimed “two one-man-band band”, are on the higher side of this recent trend. Their approach is more minimal and hazy than that of their most obvious predecessor, and the lucidity and centering of their vocals gives them a bit of an edge against their competitors. On their Luxandra mixtape, they’re given a distinct touch via minute sonic elements such as the trap drum flickers on “Can’t Breathe” and the electric fizzle of the guitars faintly backing “Him.” It’s a short but engaging collection, but it’s enough of a grower that its brevity never feels like a shortcoming. Instead, it beckons the question, “When will these guys come out with more music?”, a query that’s a welcome distraction from their musical father’s painful lack of recent material.

Alex Calder – Strange Dreams

Brooklyn record label Captured Tracks is home to Mac DeMarco, one of last year’s biggest names, so it’s fitting that they also signed Alex Calder. Aside from their friendship, Calder follows in DeMarco’s footsteps: his lethargic, hazy vocals fall in line with the boundaries of DeMarco’s style, as does his slacker guitar sheen and dreary, enveloping dome of reverb. In fact, his songs often prove more memorable and direct than DeMarco’s blurry fog; the haunting hum of “Out of My Head”, for instance, brings an ominous touch into play that more precisely recalls earlier forebears such as Deerhunter. “No Device” likewise strikes less forgettably with its intensely watery, wavy flow, and the title track’s mercurial melody may well stick in listeners’ heads as brightly as the catchiest pop hits. Strange Dreams builds a bridge between the far too often disparate worlds of jangle pop stickiness and drugged out introversion, and is the most recent in a slew of reliable Captured Tracks releases.

The Aquadolls – Stoked on You

Originally self-released in late 2013, The Aquadolls’ debut album Stoked on You gained a wider audience after its Burger Records reissue in December 2014. Its guitar rock simplicity aligns with the label’s prior output, particularly in its deployment of surf pop sunshine and Californian glee. These fifteen songs get by on basic rock structures, hooky melodies, and vocals bearing the enthusiasm and force of a college-aged girl woken up by an unfriendly alarm. While drowned in this much instrumental sunshine, though, Melissa Brooks’ listless vocal delivery gains a good deal of resonance. This combination makes lines such as “What daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him” and “We were so high” seem novel rather than overused, and ensures that The Aquadolls achieve their desired emotional impact. Sometimes, you really should just keep it simple, stupid.

Beacon – L1 EP

Just like their music, Beacon remain active while lurking in the shadows. L1 isn’t at all their first work, but the impact of their music has yet to spread past Brooklyn; it feels like they could emerge from their corner of the world at any point now. The title track to their newest EP proceeds on a simmering bed of gleaming speckles, broad, harrowing gulps, creepy percussive flutters, and whispering, soulful vocals, assuring a tension just like the one set to explode around these guys really soon. Since the rest of the EP follows in similarly unsettling fashion, why not get in on the action now?

California X – Nights in the Dark

Nights. Darkness. Two things that are inherently nocturnal, together in one phrase. But not entirely appropriately so: despite being one of the tougher, more guttural garage punk records of recent times, California X’s second album lets in plenty of sunshine. Both the title track and its follow-up, “Red Planet”, slam away forcefully with bile and grit, yet convey a major-key gleam. “Blackrazor (Pt. 2)” wears a small smirk despite its pounding, lacerating guitar acrobatics, and “Summer Wall (Pt. 2)” growls pretty happily for a sonic concoction this thick. Listeners seeking some more heft to their melodic punk need look no further.

Cloakroom – Further Out

Now this one should be titled Nights in the Dark. Somewhere between shoegaze and stoner metal, and self-described as “stoner emo”, Cloakroom write music that traps open ears under wide layers of bottom-heavy, bloated guitars and consciously lackluster vocals. On their debut album Further Out, when this notably muddy sound isn’t setting the tone, eerily untouched guitar sparkles effervesce into focus, often lasting only until that grating roar returns into play. “Lossed Over” enters in its quieter mode, alternating between this and its heavier state often while still giving greater weight to its deafening distorted walls; “Outta Spite” more evenly distributes its time between these states. Other songs only occupy one extreme, such as the bleating drone of “Moon Funeral” and the surprising acoustic balladry of “Clean Moon.” Most impressive is the balancing act on single “Starchild Skull”, which displays the most direct percussive attack on Further Out and drifts between calm dejection and pounding exertion. The song ends with a tone and feel that lies roughly halfway between the album’s opposite ends, achieving a floaty bliss not unlike what listeners might experience across this whole album.

Forth Wanderers – Tough Love

Before Tough Love‘s first thirty seconds even finish, vocalist Ava Trilling makes her intentions quite clear, thereby setting the tone for the remaining 25 minutes of this young New Jersey five-piece’s debut. “I wanna be known/as a girl who’s stone cold”, Trilling declares on opener “Selfish”, on which the combination of Trilling’s distinctly downcast whimper and her band’s vast, minor-key guitars ensure that no listener will remain unaffected. This song’s starkly defeated mood impacts with just as much emotional tug on each of the album’s other seven songs, particularly “Blondes Have More Fun.” Far from a 2010s update on “Girls Just Want to Have Fun”, it too opens with straightforward yet startling lyrics: “I don’t know where I went wrong” may read as simple on paper (or on a computer screen), but sung with Trilling’s dejected gaze and her band’s emo-laced soundscapes, it strikes the heart directly. In fact, all Tough Love‘s songs turn ordinary phrases into sentiments far more emotive, an especially notable talent for kids who are just now beginning their second semester of college. May they wander forth forever.

Professor Caveman – Professor Caveman Vol. 2

Rutgers University’s New Brunswick campus is well known in the DIY scene for its rich basement show circuit, one that a small handful of college kids’ bands dominate with much fanfare. Perhaps the most popular band in the scene right now is Professor Caveman, whose shows in town always draw large crowds and result in immense audience participation. And how could they not? Listen to the grooves and melodies on Professor Caveman Vol. 2, which features contributions from two members of fellow scene kings and close comrades Eagle Daddy, and try not to succumb to their instant hookiness. “Toca La Guitarra” and “Puffin’ Down the Dart”, for instance, both use no more than a typical rock band setup (albeit with jaw-droppingly technical work across all instruments) to recreate the heyday of 1960s rock styles. But this isn’t just ripping off the past, although traces of Jimi Hendrix’s psychedelic influence are audible. Instead, songwriter/vocalist/guitarist Rob Romano infuses his music with the swagger of that era’s biggest surf rock and funk trends and figures while cultivating a hilarious personality and presence. The showy guitar and retro-gazing vocal takes ensure humor that brings this EP a notch above the countless other acts imitating the same styles. With talent this slick, it’s no wonder this caveman is a professor.

Suburban Living – Suburban Living

Faced with Suburban Living’s self-titled debut, you might react in one of two ways. The first one, asking “Who needs another shoegaze album?”, will get you nowhere. The second way would be to accept that the reason this style is omnipresent two decades after Loveless is because there’s something very specifically affecting about its hazy guitar tones and lackadaisical vocal delivery. Wesley Bunch, the man behind Suburban Living, isn’t nearly the first musician to adopt this subgenre’s watery, faded approach, but he does it remarkably well for someone just getting started. In fact, he embodies “watery” and “faded” very specifically and knowingly, aptly naming the corresponding songs “Drowning” and “Faded Lover”, respectively. Of course, Bunch isn’t the first musician to achieve success with this sound; this isn’t an album that deserves the phrase “it sounds like no one else”, but it doesn’t need to if it can provide melodies as sticky as that on “Wasted.” This song, the album’s most urgent, maintains a pulse to it, and the dynamic contrast between its restrained verses and its explosive chorus drives the music right into its listeners’ veins. “Hey! You can feel it! You can touch it!” Bunch sings ecstatically on the chorus, and he isn’t wrong: Suburban Living is an impressively tangible debut.

Björk turns 50 this year. It’s an unusual age to release a breakup album, but hell, Björk is anything but traditional. Her 22-year career (longer if her 1977 self-titled album, released when she was 12 and not at all written by her, counts) has allowed her to experiment across an astoundingly wide range of genres, make all manner of fascinating and unforgettable aesthetic choices, compose the album Medulla almost entirely from human voices, expand 2011’s Biophilia into an educational tool for Icelandic youth, and even play the lead role in a film, Dancer in the Dark, for which she created the music. On top of all these accomplishments, she’s renowned for her voice, one to which the overused moniker “unique” actually applies. Its combination of Icelandic accent, raw emotion, extensive range, and always being right on pitch didn’t sound like anyone else on 1993’s Debut, and in 2015, perhaps only Joanna Newsom can claim to have even a strand of similarity in her voice.

Yet one quality often found in other artists’ careers that is rarely found in Björk’s dynamic, all-encompassing catalog is sadness. Well, until now, that is – Vulnicura, her eighth album, quite blatantly explores the emotional devastation she felt (and still feels) in the wake of her split with longtime partner Matthew Barney. The structure of a family, the role of sex in a relationship, and the grieving process are among the sensitive topics explored here, all in Björk’s simplest lyrics in quite some time. The familiarity of her words and topics might prove fatal in other hands, but instead proves a nice change from the science textbook that is Biophilia and the abstractions of Volta. These two albums, her most recent, suggested to some fans that Björk had passed her prime; in contrast, Vulnicura may well be her strongest effort since 1997’s classic, vastly experimental Homogenic.

Actually, Vulnicura feels like the proper follow-up to Homogenic that fans never quite received. That’s not to say Vespertine isn’t magnificent, because it is; however, it generally travels in a gentler direction than its predecessor. In terms of Björk’s career, Vulnicura could be the intermediate stage between the two. Its reliance on very few elements, mostly string arrangements and the clamor of a synthetic percussive track, pull from the wandering trip-hop of what came before, but its subject matter, emotional candor, appropriately lengthy songs (the album and many of its songs rank among her longest), and gorgeous softness could theoretically precede Vespertine. In reality, though, a major factor of the album’s success come from names virtually unheard of two years ago; featuring extensive co-production from Yeezus and LP1 right hand man Arca, and mixing courtesy of even lesser known act The Haxan Cloak, this collection both hearkens back to Björk’s greatest accomplishments and is clearly indebted to the modern dark electronic underground.

In fact, Arca’s presence here was one of the most highly documented aspects of the album prior to its announcement. This proves to be for good reason; although Björk clearly led the production, Arca’s presence is certainly felt in the scattered, rattling beats that define these songs. The thoroughly ominous, minimal sounds of his solo work might well be the only thing currently existent that could combine with Björk’s exceedingly creative mind in a way that would bring her back to her roots and thereby reignite her mildly dormant spark. For example, the shuffle of “Lionsong”, defined by some synthetic percussive rattles and finalized by a hefty, but not overwhelming, bass pulse, both looks back on Björk’s past and bears Arca’s gentle touch. “Family” and “Notget”, which appear back-to-back later in the album, much more clearly emphasize the hand her co-producers play here, although the former track is the only one to feature Haxan Cloak on production duty as well. In its first half, the nocturnally booming percussion is a Haxan Cloak trademark, and the formless, haunting ambient drone is an Arca staple. The latter track even more obviously states that Arca is in the mix: the arhythmic shuffle of horror shop synths outlining its distant edges almost sound lifted straight from last year’s Xen. Then there’s “History of Touches,” built on a completely percussion-less grip that most blatantly recalls Arca’s debut.

Clearly, the helping hands here are a notable and exciting factor in Vulnicura‘s success, but it’s far too often overlooked that Björk leads her music’s production. Vulnicura will grow to be known as an album that sounds like classic Björk; if she were not the major force in her songs’ production, this would be impossible. Rather, the significance of Arca and Haxan Cloak as co-producers is that they’re both known for executing their mutated, pitch-black styles quite minimally, reputations that led Björk to choose them as cohorts. The selection of this approach to songwriting defines Vulnicura; specifically, Björk’s occupation of this sonic template expertly matches the newly personal subjects of her lyrics.

Vulnicura‘s barren, eerie soundscapes excellently accentuate the heartbreak defining the words. This is an album whose first track declares “I have emotional needs”; it’s immediately obvious that this will be no easy journey. Two tracks later, “History of Touches” quite literally recites a detailed retrospective on the very end of Björk’s relationship with Matthew Barney; its words are almost spoken rather than sung, with the incredibly spacious music surrounding it likely built to accentuate Björk’s speech. Outlining her past is just one step in moving on, though: “If I regret us/I’m denying my soul to grow/don’t remove my pain/it is my chance to heal,” she sings on “Notget”, a song where she tries to sympathize with Barney and see things from his perspective. This attempt to conquer her emotional pain is quite clearly necessary, as outlined by what’s arguably Vulnicura‘s single most heartbreaking lyric: “My soul torn apart/my spirit is broken/into the fabric of all he’s woven,” Björk states on the ten-minute “Black Lake”, a deeply complex piece that Billboard has already mislabeled as a Matthew Barney diss track. The song and this lyric are far more than merely an insult: it’s instead a deep analysis of both their roles in their split. Björk knows that, as a part of Barney, standing in his shoes might help.

Björk’s sorrows extend well beyond the departure of a long time lover, though; these two also brought a daughter into this world. On “Family”, a harrowing standout, she begins by asking, “Is there a place/where I can pay respects/for the death of my family?” These lyrics are almost unrealistically straightforward and morbid for Björk – only the opener’s “What is it that I have/that makes me feel your pain/like milking a stone” and the entirety of “Atom Dance” rewind to Biophilia‘s mystifying science metaphors – as they are throughout the album, bringing her pain and raw emotion to the center of her music for the first time in far too long. The unsettling declaration of “When I’m broken I am whole/and when I’m whole, I am broken” sung during “Quicksand” may be an acknowledgement of just how successful these songs are for letting their guard down; regardless, the sadness of these sentiments is new for Björk.

This lyric gets even sadder, though: later in the song, Björk changes “I” to “we,” adding an entire further layer of human depth to her words. This change in wording towards the final moments of the album might depict the last stage in grieving: acceptance. That said, it’s not too likely that this is the case, since as of this past Halloween, she’s still understandably tender about the situation. “I’m just going to have to cry and be a mess and do it,” she told Pitchfork’s Jessica Hopper in a recent interview when asked how she’ll be able to convey these songs live. Very simply put, when an artist cries while singing her words, that’s how you know it’s real. If the made up word “vulnicura” does indeed have a meaning, it may well be “heart-on-sleeve”: now approaching a half-century in age, Björk is once again putting it all on the line the way she did she was in her thirties. It sounds very much like this album was therapeutic for her to create; that she found a kindred spirit in Arca to guide her so closely in a time of emotional vulnerability is just as remarkable. Even more miraculous, though, is that this living legend has recovered from a small but previously thought irreversible decline in her career to deliver her most impactful songs in almost eighteen years.

Panda Bear, real name Noah Lennox, may have accidentally prematurely ruined his newest album, Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper, for a small handful of fans. For listeners who enjoy coming up with their own meanings for songs they hear – a faction that does indeed exist – Lennox’s recent revelation to The Fader of the truths behind Grim Reaper‘s songs might dampen the album experience. Of course, this problem could be avoided quite simply by just not reading the article; on the other hand, the thirteen songs comprising the album don’t rely on their words to stick as sharply as they do. Although the subject matter of Lennox’s lyrics, both in his solo career and within his revered group Animal Collective, is often quite deep, Grim Reaper continues his trend of obscuring his already cryptic words with seemingly infinite layers of sound, one of which includes his distinct voice. This instrument’s inherent ability to blur his message while shining brightly through his soundscapes remains key on Grim Reaper; that said, the album continues his previous effort Tomboy‘s upward trend of clearing the vocal fog of his breakthrough Person Pitch, thanks in no small part to a newfound volume and percussive influence from hip-hop.

Although Grim Reaper‘s gorgeously stagnant, watery opener “Sequential Circuits” might be seen as a purposeful throwback to the hazy, understated Person Pitch, Lennox quickly suggests this track to be a false start with his subsequent placement of “Mr. Noah” as the next song in line. Released late last year to extensive critical acclaim, “Mr. Noah” places Panda Bear closer to the dance floor than ever before while retaining his signature glee and playfulness. Lennox’s buoyant, ecstatic vocals seem to tell an incoherent story, but this only becomes apparent after many listens; the focus of this song, like on most of the album, is the shifting, warbly synths, surprisingly hefty percussive groove, and overall psychedelic sunshine swirl. Lennox’s vocal inflection, pitches, and tones play an important role in establishing this feel, but his actual sentiments take a backseat to all else, only emerging forward in the mix after repeated listens.

The fact that Lennox’s vocals are at all intelligible is actually quite a significant step forward in the Panda Bear catalog. Think back to Person Pitch, which contained moments, such as “Take Pills”, with lyrics that, despite being nearly indiscernible, bore significant depth and meaning. Grim Reaper improves on this prior tendency, ensuring that the doe-eyed, harp-led heartache of “Tropic of Cancer” weighs its tragic words and its melting instrumental equally. “Butcher Baker Candlestick Maker” and “Come to Your Senses” also skillfully balance what’s being said and what’s being heard, although it can be argued that, as is classic Panda Bear, the sound of these tunes’ vocals matters far more than their actual content. In particular, the latter’s cries of “Are you mad?” seem merely comical when aligned with the footwork of the underlying beats, an entertainingly novel percussive technique for Panda Bear.

Where lyrical clarity, vocal intensity, and hip-hop groove most fiercely align here is on second single and album highlight “Boys Latin.” This song has maybe the most readily audible lyrics of the album; that every word is accompanied with a lopsided echo accentuates just how tough it can be to know what Lennox is saying elsewhere. A listener seeking to make sense of the repeated refrain “Beasts don’t have a sec to think, but/we don’t appreciate a thing” might encounter a significant challenge doing so before reading that pesky Fader article, but these words are delivered sprightly and joyfully enough that their meaning doesn’t matter. The song’s other lyric, “There’s a dark cloud descending again/and a shadow moves in the darkness”, takes an intentionally murkier vocal turn, successfully paving a transition from faintly lighthearted to overwhelmingly ominous. This change is contained entirely in Lennox’s incredibly deft vocals; the jilting, synth-and-drum interlaced groove remains nearly the same throughout the song, one which entraps and resonates throughout.

Panda Bear Meets the Grim Reaper marks a slight sonic evolution for its creator, but still feels like it could only come from this sole source. It’s an idiosyncratic document from someone who might be staring death in the eyes, a weird position from which to be sending signals this colorful. If this is how death feels, what are we waiting for?

At the moment, the music industry is temporarily quieting down, as it does every November. During this yearly period, it might seem like there’s less music waiting to be consumed, which is where The Underdog comes in. Let us guide you to lesser-known releases, great works that were overlooked in light of bigger names this month. Something here is sure to fill the musical void that some listeners experience around this time of year.

Bugs in the Dark – Cross My Heart Little Death EP

Blues rock was invented long ago; today, t exists in so many different forms that the term feels elementary and almost condescending. But what better way is there to describe Brooklyn three-piece Bugs in the Dark than with this signifier? Their guitars flame distantly with the murky, howling groove of classic country blues, and their vocals sneer with an acidic fierceness. The latter of these qualities is certainly a somewhat more recent development in blues-based rock music (courtesy of names like Patti Smith, Siouxsie, and Karen O), but the raw, homeland feel that the former traits are responsible for is a classic that’s brazenly revitalized on the Bugs’ most recent EP, Cross My Heart Little Death.

Celestial Shore – Enter Ghost

Brooklyn trio Celestial Shore’s youth is palpable. The fractured, tense, bent-guitar noise that throws their second album, Enter Ghost, into overdrive bears a rough novice spark. The alternating havoc and psychedelia of this opening track, “Creation Myth”, is one of two distinct modes in which Celestial Shore operates; a trippy haze is elsewhere cast over Velvet Underground-like tunes such as “Weekenders” and “Too Cute.” Even at its quietest, though, Enter Ghost boasts a juvenile roar, yet it’s actually pretty mature for a bunch of kids who may not yet be out of high school. Crafting tunes this vivid and fierce from just a guitar, a bass, and a drum is a far more adult skill than might be expected from these guys, but they’re working very well with what they have.

Crying – Get Olde Second Wind

“Combine chiptune with basement punk and emo? Why not!” The members of Purchase, NY’s Crying likely had this conversation at some point. A style that sounds ridiculous and overblown in theory, it’s actually remarkable enough to have landed this group a record deal or two. After issuing the EP Get Olde on rising indie label Double Double Whammy, the relatively small, but consistently excellent, label Run for Cover signed Crying, reissuing Get Olde with the companion EP Second Wind. The double EP follows both the hyperactive 8-bit cues of Anamanaguchi and the desolate grimness of myriad emo bands. Vocals that might sound sad and distant when accompanied with traditional sounds instead flourish and rattle here. “Gotta check my email just like every other night/Gotta sip that 40 just like every other night,” as muttered dejectedly on “Olde World,” gains layer upon layer of exciting vivacity despite the hopelessness underlying these sentiments. It’s a balancing act that Crying pull off constantly on Get Olde Second Wind, a short assortment that’s so catchy its forlorn nature can be easy to miss.

Gifts – Seven Songs

Genres aren’t necessary to classify Gifts. All that needs to be said is that their guitars rip no matter what, their vocals travel lucidly over inhale-exhale drum blasts, and their emotions run directly down the middle of their songs. Seven Songs provides, yes, seven examples of this immense talent. Of all the things that two guitars, a bass, a vocalist, and a drum kit can achieve, very few are off-limits here. Check the blast beats on “Tracing Paper” and the mosh-worthy guitar slam that opens “Low”: Gifts shatter boundaries all the time, analogously to how their songs might shatter eardrums. But that’s no excuse not to play this one as loudly as possible.

Gold Lake – Years

Here’s a band that exemplifies everything that the Internet blogs about these days, yet somehow haven’t gotten the attention they deserve. Brooklyn’s Gold Lake layer crooning, warm, often-harmonized female vocals with highly reverbed, evocative guitar swirls and a generally gorgeous, striking atmosphere. Buzz names like Haim and Hundred Waters instantly come to mind, but Gold Lake might almost beat these acts at their own game. The soaring, beautiful vocal harmonies of “Severed Land, The Sound” are some of the year’s best, and the glittery blossom of “Home” employs musical retrospection awfully well. A galloping feel is common here, further solidifying potential comparisons to Fleetwood Mac (see this album’s “Echoes” for confirmation). Gold Lake aren’t nearly the first act to do what they do, but they make their sound feel completely novel, a tremendous task worth admiring.

Mitski – Bury Me at Make Out Creek

I can’t really think of anybody who embodies the term “underdog” better than Mitski does. Her songs dwell in loneliness, defeat, and desire; her fan base is almost alarmingly loyal, yet is relatively tiny; the blog buzz is currently pushing her towards indie stardom, yet for everyone aware of her goddess status, there are a bunch of people who’ve never heard of her. Furthermore, almost everyone who has heard Bury Me at Make Out Creek calls it one of their favorites of the year, and for good reason. The album can be as quietly heartbreaking as “First Love // Late Spring”, “Francis Forever”, and “I Will”, but even these songs explode into the frenzied loudness that truly makes this collection a home run. Other tracks like “Townie”, among the year’s best songs, kick the door down immediately; “Drunk Walk Home” further signifies the apex of maddened, demonic, emotive singer-songwriting. Mitski might be holding her breath with a baseball bat, to quote “Townie”, but the entire world is waiting on her big break. Don’t be surprised if it happens right this second, but until then, read our review of Bury Me at Make Out Creek.

Nots – We Are Nots

No Wave is making a comeback lately, with bands like Ausmuteants, Parquet Courts, and Memphis, Tennessee’s Nots on board. Their jagged punk tunes throw some nods towards post-punk, but the influence of kraut-rock and noise is far more evident in their craft. Nots don’t sing; what they do is closer to chanting and bellowing, not too far off from what The Clash and the Dead Kennedys did in their heyday. Instrumentally, their steely, warehouse bass, guitars, and drums spell out doom and irreverence without ever getting too loud. Dissonance is Nots’ trick instead, which would likely make Siouxsie Sioux and Patti Smith proud (again). If the goddesses theoretically approve, why not listen to it?

Pilots in Orbit – They Go Back Where You Found Them EP

One of the first lyrics on Pilots in Orbit’s final EP states, “I’m gonna waste your time.” While it’s doubtful that this is actually a nod to the band’s conscious decision to make this their breakup release, the sentiment is misleading. They Go Back Where You Found Them isn’t even twenty minutes long, but it’s some of the best finger-tapped, emo-indebted goodness of recent times. It’s a style New Jersey is quite versed in; contemporaries Vasudeva do this thing pretty well, for example. But what Pilots in Orbit have over Vasudeva is a deft, emotive vocalist, one who’s backed with a couple of other voices fleetingly enough that the harmonies don’t descend into overly tender territory. Instead, the band’s racing guitars form thrilling, sparkly anthems. If these qualities don’t convince you, know that the band formed from their ashes, El Americano, is already getting rave live reviews, and they haven’t even recorded their music yet.

Two Inch Astronaut – Foulbrood

I reviewed this album somewhat harshly. I’d still say it has a handful of problems to fix, but a band this young deserves praise and attention for their best moments regardless. That’s part of why they’re on the list, but a more important reason is that their songs, when good, are actually great. Opener “Foulbrood” is only the first instance here of one guitar covering for two or three guitars in its flexibility and skilfulness, and it also displays Sam Rosenberg’s vocals achieving the same great heights. “Part of Your Scene” pulls off the same trick with even more vigor; “Type Four” hosts an even deeper stutter and odd pacing to its riveting garage punk. The album peaks with the tensions of “No Feelings”, an expert study in the buildup and release of musical stress. Choruses that rip hard aren’t tough to come by, but ones that do so with this much intensity are a bit rarer. Props to the upward trajectory these guys are carving for themselves; they’re not quite there yet, but pure excellence can be expected soon.

About a month ago, I prefaced my review of Little Big League’s Tropical Jinx with a brief discussion of the Northeast’s burgeoning DIY scene. It’s a conversation that bears repeating upon the release of Two Inch Astronaut’s sophomore album, Foulbrood. Exploding in Sound is releasing this record, which adds to the continuous stream of notable works from the smaller label scene. The album is certainly more angular and technical than many other bands in this sect of modern punk music could even hope to achieve, yet it still feels right at home with the northeastern DIY crowd. That said, it’s not always as compelling as albums like, say, labelmates Krill’s jagged freakout Lucky Leaves or Double Double Whammy queen Mitski’s booming, thunderous Bury Me at Make Out Creek. In fact, it can actually grow tedious to listen to the entirety of Foulbrood in one sitting; instead, the standout songs hold up incredibly strongly on their own, with the rest of the songs being simply respectable, only a little bit interesting.

Foulbrood‘s technical prowess often sounds engaging and fresh, but this same trait sometimes comes with a sacrifice of overall song quality. Contrasting “Part of Your Scene” with “Black Fridge Area” sheds light on this conflict pretty nicely. The former track’s fuzz-blown guitars alternate between suppressed high notes and gruff, static-screen power-chord murk at an impressive pace, and its vocals snarl and bark appropriately fiercely. This combination of elements creates one of the album’s best tracks, whereas the dry, defeated approach to dissonance and showiness on “Black Fridge Area” keeps things relatively flat until the last-minute. As this song’s end approaches, the guitars wail more loudly and with far more venom, but this effect drowns out the vocals, a musical layer that could elevate the song instead of hiding behind it. “1, 2, Talk” suffers a similar flaw, its splayed, eerie notes not quite supporting vocalist Sam Rosenberg as intensely as they could. This song too approaches a higher state as it nears its end, but even the brief sequence of dirty, fleshy guitar playing that comprises the outro doesn’t hold up as well as other moments on Foulbrood. The apex of Two Inch Astronaut faltering in their flashiness, though, is “Dead White Boy,” an eight minute stoner crawl that visits so many different ideas that it’s difficult to keep up with; even describing its sound and structure proves frustrating.

Enough with the derision, though: there’s also quite a lot to celebrate about Foulbrood. The album begins excitingly with the thick, gravelly cut of the title track’s guitars, and Rosenberg’s vocals here act flexibly enough to ensure a great jam. His guitar playing is also pretty all-over-the-place, but in this case, the craziness establishes a sticky groove. Likewise, the crunch and mobility of “Type Four” is shaky in just the right way, and the lacerating high notes of its chorus are particularly incisive. The album’s true peak, though, is “No Feelings,” a jagged, brooding punk anthem that thrills in its visceral fidgetiness. “You’ve got a tendency to move slow!” Rosenberg shouts during this song’s chorus, but this sentiment directly opposes the music, which is chock full of dynamic shifts, high-octane guitar riffing, and odd pacing. Were Foulbrood to consistently use this band’s technical skills in the same electrifying, corrosive way it does on “No Feelings”, Exploding in Sound might be able to lay claim to 2014’s best punk album.

Instead, that honor still belongs to the handful of labels that distributed and released Cloud Nothings’ Attack on Memory earlier this year, but Foulbrood is nevertheless an accomplishment that Exploding in Sound can use to elevate its status among other, better-known labels. Of course the record has notable flaws, but it’s also smeared with the signs of a band that might strike pure gold in due time. For every misplaced note, guitar overexertion, or underwhelming vocal take, there’s a searing riff, a brash romp, or gut-wrenching shout. It’s a balancing act that Two Inch Astronaut is still working to perfect, but for now, they’re well worth attending to if their highlights remain the focus.

Mitski just found herself. “I’m not gonna be what my daddy wants me to be,” she chants on the harrowing, overblown chorus of “Townie”, the second single from her third and best album to date, Bury Me at Make Out Creek. It’s exactly the kind of phrase that might accompany the self-realizations that bolster the album; in fact, Make Out Creek is the first instance of Mitski sounding truly like herself, being what only she wants to be. The ghostly, precious chamber pop of her first two albums is here traded for an equally haunting, but far noisier and visceral sound. Although a few similar artists come to mind, the album is distinctly Mitski, and in discovering herself, she’s quite possibly discovered only herself: this mammoth of a collection is a treatise in loneliness, heartbreak, and the woes of solitude.

“I’ve been anywhere and it’s not what I want/I want to be still with you,” echo some of Bury Me at Make Out Creek‘s very first lines. These lovelorn sentiments, taken from opening track “Texas Reznikoff,” are as fractured and emotionally devastating as the song itself: a broken, ominous, muted folk introduction segues into a stomping, raucous, overwhelming garage pounder. The chilly image of “you’re the breeze in my Austin nights” previews next track “Townie” nicely, as do the noise and volume underlying these words. Later songs continue in this trend, with “First Love // Late Spring” gradually blooming from a barren sigh into a blazing, organ-filled coda. “One word from you, and I would jump off of this ledge I’m on, baby,” Mitski sings stolidly, emphasizing her conviction to end her loneliness.

Even the arrangements and sounds of Bury Me at Make Out Creek feel like dreary, open, depressing spaces. The guttural guitar roar of these songs often
has little to no other backing, and this sparseness is a deeply affecting, masterfully precise match for the album’s themes. The lone distorted guitar that begins “I Don’t Smoke” is only joined by at most another guitar, a distant, reverb-heavy percussion set, and Mitski’s evocative vocals; “I Will” finds Mitski’s voice at its most PJ Harvey-like against just faint keys, slinky bass, and cacophonous muted drumming. “Francis Forever” also deals in relatively minimal terrain, but uses this lack of layers to achieve a bit more noise. In whatever final form these scant sounds take, they’re deeply moving, and each pose provides deep insight into Mitski’s emotional plight.

Despite how well-crafted and successful the more sparing songs are, Bury Me at Make Out Creek‘s most memorable tracks tend to possess louder, more maximalist instrumentation. Such moments often follow quieter sections similar to those forming the entirety of other songs, making their presence a surprise that ensures the greatest possible impact. “Carry Me Out” is a great example: its initial disarming folk stance blossoms into a wailing, searing wall of guitars and demonically layered vocal chanting. “Texas Reznikoff” also opens the album with this strategy, trapping any listeners who might’ve considered ditching the album. But the song that will truly get the most attention for applying this formula is the downright scary, truly impeccable seventh track “Drunk Walk Home.” What starts as a small spattering of basic drums and an incredibly powerful vocal performance evolves into a more brazen percussive shuffle and dual-guitar unease. This tiny step up eventually explodes into a barrage of cutting, heavy guitar slamming and horror film screaming that feels like it’s trying to return to life from the grave. Easily Make Out Creek‘s standout track, it’s like Mitski’s “Hannah Hunt”: a third-album song whose moderate progression in volume and tension eventually reaches its bubbling point, resulting in a payoff that redeems itself time after time, it feels like the greatest gift the artist may ever offer.

Not to fret, though: if anything, Mitski’s latest full-length forecasts an incredibly rewarding career ahead. When a musician reinvents their sound this successfully, but with a respectable amount of sonic discrepancies among songs, it tends to be the next step in an even more cohesive, gripping direction. As menacing in its most booming moments as it is unsettling in its more subdued states, Bury Me at Make Out Creek shows Mitski solidifying her unique sound while maintaining a bit of stylistic flexibility. That someone this musically confident can be so lonely might initially be shocking, but then again, her music now stands in a class of its own. Who needs other people when you can spend time with music this good?

The first week of October was jam-packed with excellent releases by established or internet-hyped acts: Zola Jesus, Caribou, Flying Lotus, Iceage, Peaking Lights, The Rural Alberta Advantage, Johnny Marr, The Vaselines, SBTRKT…the list goes on. This makes it an ever-appropriate time to take a glance at smaller releases equally or more worth your time than these acts, hence the fourth edition of Way Too Indie’s monthly music column The Underdog. If you’re looking for a break from the same names that you’ve heard time and time again, here’s where to turn.

Ausmuteants – Order of Operation

This one just storms right out of the gates. Appropriate for the month of its release, spooky synths introduce Order of Operation on first track “Freedom of Information.” This song’s kraut-indebted approach to punk is immediately enticing, and repeats throughout, with killer jams such as “1982” and “Stadiums” proving especially memorable. At times, the kraut-punk tendencies approach pastiche rather than originality, but this actually makes the album pretty hilarious and riotous. What band could write a song like “Felix” and not be a bunch of jokers? That’s not to say Ausmuteants take making music likely, though; Order of Operation is pretty heavy, both in its sound and its impact.

Dinosaur Feathers – Control

Certainly weirder than 2012’s Whistle Tips, Dinosaur Feathers’ latest album portrays them restraining their abundantly gleeful pop tropes in favor of a more disco-indebted breed of synthetic music. Whereas past songs like “Untrue” got by on Bitte Orca-like, off-kilter guitar grooves, on Control, the rhythms are a lot simpler, allowing the vocals and digital elements to do the experimentation. Main songwriter Greg Sullo sounds more like Dave Longstreth than ever before, and the reverbed-out drum machines and wispy white synthetics of songs like “For Jonathan” also land in this avant-folk terrain. Elsewhere, “On My Mind” feels like a classic blues rock tune infused with an odd psychedelic airspace; “Zeitgeist” too blends brass and left-of-center sonic architecture into an entertaining tune. If anything, it sounds here like Dinosaur Feathers are intentionally exerting less Control over their sound.

Little Big League – Tropical Jinx

The sophomore effort from this Philadelphia four-piece has clear musical precedents in twinkly emo and 1990s bedroom sparsity, but sounds fresh while some other acts make fairly ordinary tunes in this style. Among this post-hardcore melancholy, there are songs like the punching, immediate “Sucker”, the eerily dapper “Old Time Fun”, and the doe-eyed “Deer Head”, each equally riveting. Vocalist Michelle Zauner knows how and when to sing, shout, scream, and whisper, making her defeated, discouraged lyricism all the more potent. The band’s guitars sound detached and dissonant, but carry a sense of melody and intrigue not as common in other bands of this style. This all makes for a great time, or as Zauner would put it on “Sucker”, “This, this calls for some drugs!”

Nicholas Krgovich – On Sunset

How are more people not covering this album? Seriously, the Pitchfork crowd might get a real kick out of this one. Krgovich’s got a voice like Dave Longstreth of the impossible-to-pinpoint Dirty Projectors, whose Amber Coffman is a close friend and collaborator; his arrangements testify to the innate appeal of the formerly maligned smooth jazz subgenre in the same way the rise of bands like Rhye and albums like Destroyer’s impeccable, modern classic Kaputt have. If it sounds too good to be true, that’s understandable, but it is true. This is a marvelous, gorgeous, playful album of vast appeal; “City of Night”, for example, is equally likely to entrap fans of lounge music, dream pop, Italo disco, and low-key psychedelic music. “Who’s gonna be there for me?” wonder warm, almost impossibly gripping female vocals in this song’s chorus; with music this good, it’s shocking that the answer to this question isn’t “everyone.”

Olivia Jean – Bathtub Love Killings

Olivia Jean is the vocalist and main songwriter of Third Man Records group The Black Belles. Bathtub Love Killings is kind of like Jean’s Blunderbuss, then; although The Black Belles aren’t broken up, it’s an incredibly bluesy, fiery solo debut similar to Jack White’s lone-star beginning. “Reminisce” has the same deep swagger as many of White’s greatest moments, and “Haunt Me” has the soft glimmer of Blunderbuss‘ many gentler moments. That’s not to say that Jean exists solely in White’s shadow; rather, her music feels characteristically hers even though she has a clear guiding hand. The surprisingly breezy “Merry Widow” is most certainly a Jean-exclusive approach to blues rock, and the haunted-house piano-guitar interplay of “After the Storm” is just held back enough that it retains an idiosyncratic Olivia Jean touch. Sure, Jack White may have produced the album, but he’s done it masterfully; Jean still shines brightly through her blatant influences.

Radiator Hospital – Torch Song

I’ll concede that this album was actually released on the very first day of September, but I missed it last time and it truly deserves a mention. Radiator Hospital is a Philadelphia-based power pop band that make an art of balancing catchiness, poignancy, and vigor. Although they’re only now beginning to receive the attention they deserve, one quick gloss over their Bandcamp shows that they’ve made lots of music in a very short time. Torch Song exhibits this tendency of proliferation in tip-top form: boasting 15 songs in just under 33 minutes with barely any filler, it’s the best version of their jam-packed album style yet. Its best track, “Cut Your Bangs”, is actually a far more melodic and affecting garage pop redo of a lo-fi acoustic stomp released around the same time last year. This improvement in recording quality is only one of the many huge steps forward this incessantly replayable, deeply lovable album makes. With songs as sharp as “Venus of the Avenue” and “Honeymoon Phase” in stow, the guest appearances by Waxahatchee’s Katie Crutchfield on “Blue Gown” and “Five and Dime”, as well as the spot her twin sister Allison Crutchfield of Swearin’ gets on “Midnight Nothing”, feel like a second layer of icing on an already delectable, immaculately formed cake.

Son of Stan – Georgia EP

Retrospection is a fad. But hey, with songs as strong as the ones on Son of Stan’s Georgia EP, why not let the past stick around for longer? Through the ridiculously heavy phaser and nocturnal steam of “Feel Her Design”, it’s tough to take issue with this pilfering of old styles. Likewise, the glowing synth hue and watery guitar grind of “Harbor Boat” are too instantly gratifying to demean this EP as unoriginal borrowing. Best of all are the vocals, though; often drenched in reverb and other ’80s effects, their eyes-shifting-across-the-crowd delivery is innately appealing. Imagine how great this would sound over the course of a full-length?

Useless Eaters – Bleeding Moon

Bleeding Moon continues in Useless Eaters’ tradition of writing punk that’s more clearly indebted to rock n’ roll than most of the band’s contemporaries. “Proper Conduct” becomes a halting, messy stomper that looks back on The Ramones’ legacy; “Dungeon” pushes fuzzy power chords to their limit, which helps it sound like the band is in the same room as you; “Aftershock” is a strangely industrial-bound tune that recalls experimental heroes Suicide. In general, Bleeding Moon is a bit more experimental than prior Useless Eaters albums, but it’s just as satisfying.

Wampire – Bazaar

Bazaar is somewhat of a comedown for the Portland, Oregon duo Wampire. Following the scuzzed-out psych-punk of last year’s Curiosity, this sophomore album takes a far more relaxed route to trippy bliss. Single “Wizard Staff” wraps an ’80s gloss and sparkle in layers of twangy, bright guitar, silky brass, and ghostly pianos; even the thornier “Bad Attitude” revels in nostalgia for a more instrumentally diverse, glam-infiltrated era of pop songwriting. This new take on their old sound doesn’t bring Wampire down; instead, their new appreciation for the glitzy, frail jangle of past decades renders Bazaar a fascinating and riveting listen.

Eternally suffering the brunt of the music industry’s pitfalls, the DIY scene still manages to release incredible music in spite of all the obstacles facing it. In particular, New England and the Tri-State Area are putting out some incredible sounds, and many of the most notable acts from these scenes quickly get signed to rising, wholly independent record labels. Specifically, Run for Cover Records, Exploding in Sound Records, and Double Double Whammy, all labels so small that they still have Bandcamp pages, are responsible for providing listeners the recent best of what lies at the fringes of the industry. Based in Boston, Brooklyn, and Ridgewood, NJ respectively (well, EiS also has space in Boston), these labels have given excellent acts like Radiator Hospital, Krill, Two Inch Astronaut, Ovlov, Crying, Pity Sex, Makthaverskan, Mitski, and LVL UP an outlet to captivate bigger audiences. In fact, Speedy Ortiz, now universally revered in indie circles, got their start on EiS before jumping to the somewhat bigger indie label Carpark Records.

It’s worth exploring these labels in depth, but for now, this very superficial overview makes a nice backdrop against which Little Big League’s sophomore effort, Tropical Jinx, can be viewed. This Philadelphia-based four-piece, now signed to Run for Cover after releasing their debut on Tiny Engines, write somewhat lo-fi, faintly dissonant, anxiously glum tunes in line with a lot of the music these labels put out. Their nervously dismal style is grounded by the respectably flexible musicianship of vocalist/guitarist Michelle Zauner, and her words and vocals guide Tropical Jinx across ten antsy, impactful tracks in only thirty-four minutes. The album is merely the latest example of a long lineage of DIY music that manages to be tense and emotive without sounding whiny and irrational, a great new addition to the already wonderful set of recent albums looking back on emo music and 1990s sparseness and loneliness.

Within the album’s opening moments, Tropical Jinx declares its debt to the twinkle of emo and the solitude its lyrics explore. The rough but restrained distortion on the opening notes of the first song (appropriately, the title track) segues into an array of deeply hurt, staring-at-the-ground rock instrumentation. Words arrive soon thereafter, and Zauner’s chilling confession of “I used to have it memorized — the sound of you entering a room” indicates the abandoned direction this album’s lyrics will take. Later tracks such as the woozy, hushed “Take It To a Weird Sad Place” and the roaring, monstrous “Sucker” expand on these themes; in particular, the latter track is one of Jinx‘s best, and it’s exemplary of many of the album’s strengths. Even through the song’s cutting post-hardcore guitar work and fuzzy sonic barriers, Zauner’s lyrics stab like the sharpest of incisors; “Always tend to thrive alone” in the first verse is bested by the chorus’ “I don’t want to leave the house/I’m a sucker/worship the hand over my mouth.” This last line is modified to “worship the hand inside my mouth” for the second chorus, the effect of which is exactly as disquieting as Little Big League planned it to be.

Another strength that “Sucker” displays helps point to an area in which Little Big League could stand to improve. After the last chorus, a chant of “This calls for some drugs” is followed by a brief but intense moment in which Zauner ends the previously stated motif of “I don’t want to leave the house” by gutturally screaming “The house!” The extra force stored in these two words is only repeated on Tropical Jinx during the album’s best song, “Dixie Gun.” Probably the best song about catcalling since Sylvan Esso’s “Hey Mami” blew up earlier this year, its second chorus, like that of “Sucker”, leads to a breakdown followed by a rushing, acutely gratifying sing-turned-shout of “On every fucking street in town/you’ll be the one/they’ll say/’WELL HE WAS ASKING FOR IT!'” It would be great to see Little Big League include more screaming in future releases; of course, Zauner’s low-key, bleeding-heart singing sounds great, but her robust shouting is like an adrenaline shot directly to the heart.

Nevertheless, the seclusion and stress of Tropical Jinx prove to be quite worthwhile throughout. The hazy but scorching instrumentation further adds to this fulfilling setup; lyrics such as “I can’t get you off my mind/I can’t get you off in general” from the don’t-leave-me tale “Boyish” ensure that these oft-explored feelings don’t go stale, and the discomfiting imagery of the slacker-esque “Property Line” achieves the same effect. It’s all very impressive work, one that merits the question, why don’t bands like this have a bigger audience yet? The answer might be that, with releases this good, the DIY scene may soon find itself exposed to more ears than ever before. And if that doesn’t happen, then at the very least, the artists and labels who work tirelessly from the bottom of their hearts to do what they love have every right to be deeply proud of what they’ve created.

“Top 40 synth sounds from a few years ago but with more reverb on the vocals: indie in 2k14. No thank you.” This recent tweet from Vampire Weekend soundmaster Rostam Batmanglij, despite being a bit rude and superficial, isn’t an uncommon view among listeners these days. It’s a criticism that’s been unfairly lobbed at acts like CHVRCHES, M83, and HAIM, and one that assumes all pop music is bad music. Enter Zola Jesus’ fifth album Taiga, a moving piece that will change this conversation. There’s no denying that the song structures of classic radio pop litter this album, and that Zola Jesus, real name Nika Roza Danilova, sounds like she’s beckoning from inside an echo chamber. But even with the lackluster, nature-exploring narrative throughout, Taiga is far more enveloping and dramatic than a commercial pop album. It’s a cinematic approach to a familiar template, and it’s incredibly striking and beautiful despite its flaws.

Taiga seems to find a specific precedent in Danilova’s guest appearance on M83’s 2011 track “Intro”, possibly her best-known song to date despite not being hers. The film-like spectacle and overwhelming rush of M83’s best work provides an affecting, entrapping cornerstone for this album’s production; hell, it sounds like M83 mastermind Anthony Gonzalez produced these tracks. Lead single and album highlight “Dangerous Days” is particularly guilty of this sin, but the same traits that recall M83 also ensure that the hairs on attentive listeners’ spines will stand straight up. “Lawless”, another top track, also benefits from this treatment, as its choral strings and mountainous beckon, which could sound cheesy in the wrong hands (and, honestly, almost do here), instead skyrocket towards some intensely tall target that they somehow successfully reach.

Danilova takes risk after risk here, walking the paper-thin line between near-artless radio fodder and beautifully composed, deeply moving synthpop across eleven tracks in forty-two minutes. Where her former strain of Gothic pop dealt in idiosyncratic restraint, Taiga instead pounds forward forcefully, taking chances on some rough stakes. “Hunger” clomps along menacingly, with its shifting percussion and acute synth spikes drastically spicing up its standard pop form. “Nail” is approximately every mainstream pop ballad distilled into a more chilling, primal form; “Ego” too reads like an overused formula given new, meaningful life. These are very calculated risks: Danilova’s tightrope walk between vapid and intense is deft, at times almost scary.

And this is all thanks in no small part to her incredible voice. Listening to the elementary descriptions on “Hollow”, the slightly bereft words of “Dust”, or the weird lecture of “Long Way Down”, it’s clear that few other voices could actually make these lyrics tolerable. Danilova has such an all-consuming, vital, vast, gorgeous voice that she could say anything not outrightly offensive or crazy and still sound fierce. Her roar only further enhances the sweeping choruses of songs like “Dangerous Days” and “Hunger”, both of which are guilty of boasting some of the more commonplace poetry of recent tunes. It’s interesting that Taiga works by sacrificing lyrical quality at the benefit of vocal expansiveness; it’s bound to infuriate listeners in line with Rostam Batmanglij’s philosophy, but with a voice this drastic and urgent, who needs a deeper, possibly pretentious meaning?

Yet there’s one moment here where Danilova’s songwriting is bound to please all camps. This song is “Go (Blank Sea)”, Taiga‘s second single. An immaculately crafted work of synthpop introspection, its lyrics depict something more universal than the often somewhat failed connection to nature pervading the album: a desire to escape, to be alone. Here, Danilova goes “downtown/where they don’t/know [her] name”, finally freeing herself from the forest which Taiga is named after (it’s Russian for “boreal forest”). It’s a theme anyone can relate to, and it’s not disguised in bourgeois metaphors or imagery. It’s also interesting that her words and sounds succeed most outrightly when she ventures forth from the very theme of her album (the forest and nature), with a supreme, omnipresent chorus that only the most sour of ears could deny.

And sour ears will surely deny Taiga; as established here, there’s a few small reasons to. In light of these oddities, it’s all the more shocking that this album is so unforgettable, so piercing, so righteous. The music is so tremendous that its obvious weaknesses and risks simply fall to the wayside. That a voice and some synths can still do this in an era where Top 40 songs instead use these tools for generic money-making tunes is a testament to something even larger than a boreal forest.

Now that fall is finally here, the big name releases keep coming in even larger amounts. The third edition of The Underdog, then, feels more important than ever: a lot of good new stuff that came out this month got overlooked and remains in the shadow of, say, Aphex Twin or Interpol. For the listener seeking more beyond the established acts of modern day, here are ten lesser-known suggestions for deeper exploration.

Astronauts, Etc. – Sadie

The debut EP from faintly mysterious solo act Astronauts, Etc. is a piano- and synth-bred electrosoul soother. The instrumentals are as beat-driven as they are spacious, slinky, and nocturnal; the vocals are rounded and watery in the same way that the voices of similar acts like Raffertie and Ben Khan strike. There’s an obvious sensual touch to it too, but more so in the sweet, melodic manner of the xx than in the traditional R&B sense. Sadie stands in one of the darker corners of the electrosoul movement, but it’s pop-oriented enough to draw in fans from all genres and brightnesses.

Ballet School – The Dew Lasts an Hour

This Berlin-based trio partakes in a rich history of Gothic influences, combining an intensely beautiful, watery guitar sparkle with a blissful synthetic sheen and vocals that vary between dreaminess and spikiness. Harmonies in these vocals are common too, adding a lightly psychedelic effect to these already woozy new wave tunes. It’s not nearly the first album to borrow heavily from the 1980s, but it’s one of the first to truly feel like a lost document of the time. Although the Dew lasts an hour, it’s too bad this album only runs two-thirds as long.

Broncho – Just Enough Hip to Be Woman

Are Broncho garage rock’s best kept secret? Although they’ve been active for just about four years, they remain merely an underground sensation despite deserving so much more. In a genre that’s so commonly approached with laziness and a lack of creativity, Broncho hit just about all the right marks. Their songs never end too soon, nor do they labor on for ridiculous lengths. Their guitars are drowned in enough reverb, delay, and phaser to add a significant spark to their otherwise traditional chord progressions. Most importantly, the vocals balance detachedness with lucidity, even with the layers of lo-fi haze shrouding them. It’s as though this band has distilled all of pop’s best qualities into a garage rock format, and any ears lucky enough to stumble upon this great album will wonder where Broncho have been all this time.

Duologue – Never Get Lost

Duologue very nicely fill the post-King of Limbs void created by Radiohead’s three year absence. But where that album sometimes felt weak and haphazard, Never Get Lost is immaculately crafted and gorgeously rendered across all ten of its tracks. Percussive skitter appropriated from the Burial catalog pops up on “Sibling” after two minutes of Yorke-esque crooning and haziness; “This Is Happening” lurches forward on some of the most daunting, enveloping synth surges in recent memory. Although listeners are told to never get lost, how can you not lose yourself in this album?

GRMLN – Soon Away

Carpark Records’ best-kept secret is back with yet another album full of searing, crystalline garage pop. Overdriven guitars chug away with remarkably high fidelity, and power pop vocal clarity provides the icing on this bright power chord cake. The songs rip with the ferocity of some of punk’s harshest, most abrasive tunes, but are far more rooted in upbeat, sunny loudness. A clear idolatry for the melodic, clean-cut punk of Husker Du and Dinosaur Jr. is apparent throughout Soon Away, an album named after a direction in which its songs won’t turn any listeners.

Lemonade – Minus Tide

Last year, this band’s single “Skyballer” just made our Top 20 Songs of 2013 list. It’s tempting to think, then, Lemonade aren’t quite Underdogs, but their audience hasn’t grown much since then. Minus Tide is an album likely to change that: try not to float away with the shining groove of “Water Colored Visions”, the oceanic chillwave thump of “Come Down Softly”, or the dance-speckled endeavor of “Clearest.” Disco’s intersection with chillwave throughout this album results in an inescapable drift, a Tide that’s tough to reckon with.

Lowell – We Loved Her Dearly

Maybe the reason Lowell isn’t too well-known at the moment is that so many other musicians have found success with this sound. Or, should I say, these sounds; We Loved Her Dearly vacillates between various established electropop motifs that receive a welcoming refresher here. “The Bells” reinstates dainty, glittery pop as a memorable institution; “Cloud 69” makes a spectacle of throbbing, murky cheerleader chants; “I Killed Sara V” plays the piano ballad game with a strong hand; “LGBT” leans in a sultry, surf-indebted direction before blossoming into an entirely different synthpop mode. It’s impressive to see one artist so adeptly writing in so many styles, and the chameleonic Lowell stands to earn a slew of new fans for it.

LVL UP – Hoodwink’d

New Jersey gets a bad rep, so much so that LVL UP are now pretending to be from Brooklyn. But these Ridgewood, NJ power pop craftsmen have nothing to be ashamed of; their thoroughly distorted guitar work and low-key but lucid vocals are instantly redeeming. Three different songwriters and vocalists helm the tunes here, so the cohesiveness of these basement jammers can’t be overlooked. The songs are alarmingly confident and punchy, as most of them accomplish in less than three minutes what some songs take four or five to do. There’s no hoodwinking going on here despite the album title; this is genuine songcraft at its most rewarding.

Lydia Ainsworth – Right from Real

Gothic pop may be the template, but eerie electronic art pop is the result. Lydia Ainsworth’s voice faintly echoes Kate Bush (excuse this overly used comparison, which is truly accurate in this case and not just a sexist overreach), and her ghostly, choral electronics owe a debt to Bjork’s Vespertine. The eight songs here are incredibly gorgeous and immaculately formed, with synths that impact like cathedral bells without ever overwhelming or being too large in size. Ainsworth’s vocals alternate between an Arctic push and a heavenly warmth, and her mildly introverted soundscapes might disquiet listeners in the same manner that Julia Holter is known to. This is all to be expected from her label, Arbutus, which consistently releases some of the most haunting, beautiful art pop out there. Clearly, Right from Real is no exception.

TOPS – Picture You Staring

What was I just saying about Arbutus and art pop? TOPS are another one of that label’s signee’s, but their music is more fit for the far larger imprint 4AD. Ariel Pink and Blonde Redhead both call (or, for the latter, used to call) this label home, and their psychedelic, watery lounge guitar twang pervades Picture You Staring. The album stands to uproot Mac DeMarco from the slacker haze throne; its greater groove definitely imbues it with more pop power. Most interesting is how the soporific, sunrise vocals and vapor-like guitars echo shoegaze ballads, and TOPS make no effort to conceal their distant relationship with this genre. That they instead wind up with such a soothing, milky sound is reason enough to at least try this album.

Everything’s a remix. Consequently, there’s a comfortable aftertaste that lingers when a band can admit to wearing their influences on their sleeves. It’s a tricky, meandering road that can lead to either drowning in one’s influences or accepting the idea that we are all students of popular culture. Tennis, a husband and wife ensemble realizes that everything we create is a fusion of the past and current trends.

The album art of their latest project Ritual in Repeat takes a sharp turn with its personification of the disruptive forces that comes with comfort and uniformity. The album cover features a face that’s missing eyes, nose and all the psychological structures upon which our senses are built. Missing everything that helps shape identity. After two albums and one EP the band understandably found themselves sinking in a monotonous cycle. To break their rituals, Tennis enlisted the help of Patrick Carney of the Black Keys, Jim Eno of Spoon, and Richard Swift of the Shins. Ritual in Repeat marks on the state of being in a cloudy place, existing without one’s true identity. The album ushers in strong ideals about love, entitlement, public persona, dreams, triumph and tribulations. Tennis sails into their third album quite confidently by remixing old nostalgic sounds to create a sonically engaging experience that is both physical and endearing.

On this new LP, Tennis manages not to abandon their signature glossy and high rolling sounds. What happens differently, is the noticeable change in thematic arc. Track after track, Tennis recreates important social commentary by carefully fusing songs together into a smooth thesis. More importantly, the songs are disguised and hidden behind colorful instrumentals inspired by different decades. Ultimately, it enables us to listen, think, and then feel. Tennis gets real deep. The stories and lyrics are accentuated by interesting moments of social commentary. There are so many tracks worth re-listening to for the sole purpose of dissection and analysis.

Disco sensibilities drum up playful thumping, as Alaina Moore allows her vocals to fly freely on the track “Never Work For Free”. The line “I can’t give up what never belonged to me” is a commentary on the sense of entitlement that people feel when pursuing their dreams or love. The track drives home the sentiment that only through hard work and not entitlement do people actually succeed. Tennis delivers some more bouncy and thoughtful tracks. At the middle of the track-list is the song, “Bad Girls” which is inspired the by the 90’s gospel revivalist movement. The reborn aura is complemented by what sounds like a faint organ piano in the background. This song explores the young scarlet culture in hollywood and the good girl/bad girl labels. “Needle and a Knife” has lovely elements of 80’s funk and 60’s grooves complete with a strong message of empowered single women. The visual makeup of this album produces catchy and sticky tasty treats.

The last half of the album, packs less punch but is stripped back enough to feel nicely intimate. Equal rotation of sounds that borrow from different decades give the record a refreshing angle whether or not a track is stripped back or grander. “Viv Without the N” is a harmonizing gem, while “Wounded Heart” is a somber moment that leaves lasting feeling. From the track “This Isn’t My Song” until the last song “Meter & Line”, Tennis rides on a nice soft path. By trading their old their rituals for more bolder messages the duo comes out sounding more vivid. There’s an enjoyable balance between sounding great and having interesting lyrical content. Ritual in Repeat is carved as a natural synthesis of old school rock elements shaped into a radio hit with important little hidden treasures.

Avi Zahner-Isenberg is a weird dude. The songwriter, vocalist, and guitarist of the Long Beach-based band Avi Buffalo has an Instagram account replete with morbid, badly-drawn Microsoft Paint sketches of objects ranging from skeletons to skyscrapers to the insides of homes. As if this weren’t odd enough, the lyrics he sings on his band’s sophomore effort, At Best Cuckold, can be incredibly bad, to the point where it would be shocking if someone other than a thoroughly zany dude wrote them. Instead of being cringe worthy, though, Zahner-Isenberg’s words sound like a deeply genuine form of self-expression when paired with his immaculate, widescreen landscapes of gorgeous, reverb-soaked, crystal-clear guitars, lucid, precise pianos and frequently falsetto vocals. At Best Cuckold displays a socially strange twenty-something year old using the universal language of music to build bridges with people who might otherwise find him disquieting.

It’s easy to isolate bad lyricism from the songs on At Best Cuckold, especially since they’re often equally strange both with and without context. A notable example of this appears just after the album’s midpoint on the psych folk beauty “Found Blind.” “I was not well/and you could tell/I’m walking barefoot with some blank CDs/I’m borrowing from the campsite next door”, Zahner-Isenberg narrates with words so specific that the image they conjure is both unsettling, as probably intended, and straight up goofy. But the watery, vast acoustics and general sunshine of this track would really allow him to say anything at all; it just sounds so good that these awkward words almost become beautiful. “Oxygen Tank” is an even more blatant example of the poetic murder Zahner-Isenberg often gets away with committing; just a brief moment before the music begins, he states, “A man carrying an oxygen tank/is gonna come kill me and my family too/if I don’t stop seeing you.” Later in the song, he describes the “sounds of babies screaming/coughing, breathing poorly/in the backseat.” However, this song’s lackluster piano-based gloom isn’t nearly enough to excuse these images, making it the album’s worst track.

Imagery that’s almost as specific pervades another album highlight. “Bitch I’m on fire/you got magnum desire/I’m a cheese ball on fire” is one of the first things Zahner-Isenberg declares on “Memories of You”, which is at least partially about a blowjob (“hello sweat pea/my boner pressed/up to your chest/I let go”; “my cherry pie/please take my load/just got one holy road”). In this very same song, Zahner-Isenberg also mentions, in his words, “the mourning of the grandpa I never met.” If anything it’s a testament to the space oddity that is Avi Zahner-Isenberg, it’s his ease in thinking about sex and family within the same minute. The lyrics here are some of the album’s most memorable simply because they’re so insane, but what really ensures their impact is that Zahner-Isenberg’s high-pitched coo is drop-dead gorgeous, and the bright sparkle of piano and glorious guitars below his sentiments shoot straight into the spine. It’s incredible that Avi Buffalo can completely negate the flaws in their lyricism with such an unforgettable, sprawling melody.

Of course, a guy who can feel confident in publishing lyrics as bizarre as these could drift into some very unfriendly territory if he didn’t include some wholly resounding words in his work. It’s fitting, then, that first single and album opener “So What” has a set of excellent, albeit tangential and spontaneous, lyrics; the Real Estate-like guitar jangle that guides the song is a perfect match to Zahner-Isenberg’s ethereal, hazy vocals. The story told here is a lovelorn one, and the vein of faint melancholy running through this song also aligns nicely with this theme, making for one of At Best Cuckold‘s most enjoyable songs. Elsewhere, the gentle, heartwarming folk rock of “Overwhelmed with Pride” employs dismal descriptions of roads and birds (okay, “And these birds seem so fucking free” is the one bad lyric stuck in this otherwise stunning poem, but let’s not dwell on it). “Can’t Be Too Responsible” also gets by on some pretty solid wordwork, making Zahner-Isenberg’s defeated sighs of “I won’t give in” seem all the realer. An equally deflated guitar line is far more centered than the rest of the song’s instrumentation, and the dejected atmosphere of the song is unforgettably disarming.

In general, At Best Cuckold is an album that’s striking in its balanced sadness. This is perhaps most obvious when hearing its last track, “Won’t Be Around No More”, the album’s most explicitly forlorn tune. A organ-like synth hums lowly in the periphery as Zahner-Isenberg delivers his most steady falsetto on the album; the delicate acoustics of the song’s verses expand slightly into quietly fuzzed, fully heartbroken electrics. Naturally, a clunky lyric pops up here (“I stayed up all night/made sure I was hard/kissed you in the morning/right beside her”), but the track is so emotionally tearing that all its words feel endearing. The more Zahner-Isenberg sings “I won’t be around no more”, the more it becomes believable. In its place as the album’s final statement, it might also mean that this is the last we’ll hear from Avi Buffalo; after all, they did take a four year break of near complete silence between this album and their debut. The woe surrounding this statement will be shared by the listener as At Best Cuckold reaches its close, and this weirdo from Long Beach will have suddenly made connections all across the globe.

In case you were wondering, no, Being is not the work of the woman who is actually Mozart’s sister. Instead, Mozart’s Sister is the alias of Caila Thompson-Hannant, who chose her moniker because the real Mozart’s sister was an underdog and an outsider excluded by her peers. The real figure after whom Thompson-Hannant is named could have left a musical legacy as vast as her brother’s if women had been treated equally to men during their time. Thompson-Hannant feels like “a bit of a loner”, in her own words; although her comparison of this mentality to the sexism Mozart’s sister faced in her time is a bit of a stretch, it clues listeners in to the sounds and feelings pervading Being. With song titles such as “Lone Wolf”, “Do It To Myself (Run Run)”, and “Don’t Leave It To Me”, Thompson-Hannant’s debut explores loneliness in a way that makes it seem like the very essence of her, er, being.

That’s not to say that Mozart’s Sister treats loneliness with disdain. On “Lone Wolf”, she sounds incredibly excited to be “moving through the night”, as the song’s chorus puts it. “The best part about going out/is coming home alone/fuck yeah, I’m fifteen again/living out on my own,” whispers Thompson-Hannant over synths that, despite being some of the Being‘s slinkiest and nocturnal, may also be the album’s most pop-leaning. Likewise, “Do It To Myself (Run Run)” celebrates the personal freedom of not being tied down in a bad relationship, and features robotic, ominous synth work that’s fully appropriate for the topics at hand. But it’s really opener “Good Thing, Bad Thing” that cements her stance: “I like being alone alright” is one of the song’s first lyrics (and thereby one of the album’s first lines).

What ensures that Being is memorable is how precisely its instrumentals match these sentiments. Throughout the album, Thompson-Hannant crafts synthetic soundscapes that are resplendent in their murky darkness and low-rumbling tones. “Enjoy” makes its titular command easy thanks in no small part to the anxious, introverted contrast between its pitter-patter of bleak synthetic sounds and Thompson-Hannant’s pleading, oscillating voice. “A Move”, one of the quieter, more introspective tracks here, matches the album’s most Little Dragon-esque vocal performance with a slowly blossoming field of computer-built nocturne. “Bow a Kiss” especially impacts unforgettably due to its dicey, anxious darkness: the album’s least serious tune by some distance, Thompson-Hannant’s hilarious, out-of-place wails of “street boy, pussy money, pussy money!” are rendered genuine musical material by the song’s frayed, somewhat dance-centered groove. It’s a track that most obviously displays the alignment between words and music on Being: that its most whimsical song is also its most energetic and nervous is no coincidence.

Another artist who might be described as energetic, nervous, and whimsical is Thompson-Hannant’s friend and soundalike Grimes. In fact, when comparing Being to Grimes’ work, the Mozart’s Sister moniker takes on another meaning: living in the shadow of someone close to you. Being‘s main flaw, and one that Mozart’s Sister may continue to face, is that her work exists very specifically in the shadow of Grimes and the sect of art-electronic that she’s inspired since her 2012 masterpiece Visions. For example, “Salty Tear” has Thompson-Hannant focusing on her upper vocal register, filling out a minimal, slow-budding electronic instrumental with chanty, chirping, fairy-like vocals, just as Grimes is known to do. “My House Is Wild” also suffers this plague, although the strength of Thompson-Hannant’s lead vocals here allow listeners to overlook just how similar the peripheral vocal bits sound to the rest of the new art-electronic uprising. “Falf 1”, with a beat that could be a distant cousin of “Genesis”, even more deeply echoes Grimes, but also traces the steps of contemporaries Little Dragon and Santigold. It’s safe to say, then, that Being is stuck primarily in one artist’s shadow, while also briefly hiding in the shade of other established acts.

Luckily, though, Thompson-Hannant seems aware of how similar and often-done her sound is, otherwise Being would fail completely. Instead, it’s a good, but not quite great, album filled with enjoyable songs that aren’t ashamed of their flaws. It’s an interesting type of confidence, since it allows these songs to stick somewhat, yet prevents them from flowing with the uniqueness that ensures the success of truly unforgettable artists. It would be impossible to write a song as hooky and monstrous as “Bow a Kiss” if not for an extensive amount of brazenness and conviction, but Mozart’s Sister will need to improve in these departments for her future releases to stay interesting. For now, though, what we have is enough to appreciate.

The second edition of The Underdog comes during a month that saw an abundance of releases by well-established acts: Spoon, FKA twigs, The New Pornographers, Basement Jaxx, and so forth. But for every big name that put out an album this month, there were dozens of exciting artists whose work found a much smaller audience. Check out this month’s Underdogs here, and travel back in time to July’s Underdogs for more well-hidden gems!

Adebisi Shank – This Is the Third Album of a Band Called Adebisi Shank

Adebisi Shank blend chiptune, math rock, and vocoders into what could be the soundtrack to your favorite arcade action game. Their pummeling, major-key guitars are the sonic equivalent of lasers, and their retro synth sounds sound like how a friendly android might speak. And yeah, that track titled “Chaos Emeralds” is absolutely a reference to Sonic the Hedgehog; Adebisi Shank equates listening to playing, and it’s so much fun. Although their music certainly wouldn’t pass the Voight-Kampff test, it’ll remind you just how great the experience of pure, unfiltered, adolescent joy can be.

Cold Specks – Neuroplasticity

A repeat Underdog, Cold Specks’ Bodies at Bay EP last month merely previewed her elaborate, mystifying Goth-soul sophomore effort, Neuroplasticity. As with the EP, listening to the album quickly becomes a competition for how many new hyphenated genre names one can invent to describe Cold Specks’ incredibly specific, captivating sound. Elements of jazz, soul, post-rock, Gothic rock, and blues abound and fuse into an eerie, soul-sucking backdrop for vocalist Al Spx’ hefty beckon. That Swans’ Michael Gira provides backing vocal harmonies on two of these tracks is perfectly fitting; the addicting unease his band is renowned for pervades Neuroplasticity, an album appropriately titled to rewire your thoughts about genre boundaries.

El May – The Other Person Is You

El May is Australian singer/songwriter Lara Meyerratken; this moniker is how you’d pronounce her name if shortened to L. Mey. It’s a simple, whimsical method for coming up with a name, mirroring the free flow of Meyerratken’s songs. The music on her debut, The Other Person Is You, is catchy and sticky without using much more than some synth pops, tropical flourishes, a linear drumbeat, and Meyerratken’s angelic, flowing voice. Whether as explicitly poppy as “Diamonds, Girl” or as mellow as “Atlantic/Pacific”, the songs on this album offer something for everyone, and would require a host of arrogant vitriol to dislike.

Elephant Stone – The Three Poisons

Elephant Stone may not be a well-known name yet, but it turns out this Canadian threesome’s 2009 debut was long-listed for that year’s Polaris Prize. Five years later, their sophomore album arrives (although there was an EP in 2011). It’s a throwback to the psychedelic classics: in the same way that Temples and early Tame Impala specifically recall Cream and The Beatles, The Three Poisons feels like a lost Pink Floyd or drug-era Beatles album. The very first sound heard on this album is a sitar, of all things; Elephant Stone tell listeners their exact musical goals immediately as the album commences, and deliver on their aspirations across eleven tracks in forty minutes.

Listen to The Tree Poisons

Literature – Chorus

Jangle pop might sometimes be associated with cheesiness, but Literature make it fun without sounding contrived and disingenuous. Their guitar lines are groovy, watery, and optimistic, all qualities that endow their sound with hopefulness, cheerfulness, and a shining, dance-like gleam. That the high-pitched, drawn-out vocals are drenched in reverb actually helps: the effects applied add a surprising amount of emotional depth to the indie party being had here. Their sophomore album is called Chorus for a reason: all twenty-nine minutes of its incredibly short runtime are as memorable and striking as your favorite song’s chorus.

Mozart’s Sister – Being

It’s totally possible that Caila Thompson-Hannant, who performs as Mozart’s Sister, will forever live in friend and musical soundalike Grimes’ shadow. Not enough people have given her full-length debut, Being, a fair chance. It’s definitely a flawed album, but the ominous, rapping beatwork and thoughtfully inane lyrics of “Bow a Kiss” will linger in your head for weeks after hearing it just a few times. “Lone Wolf”, although a tad brighter and more harmonious, achieves the same effect; “Do It To Myself (Run Run)” also achieves this to a lesser extent. Even with the minor missteps of “Salty Tear” and “My House Is Wild” in tow, Being is a solid album that suggests a bright future for Mozart’s Sister, so long as she stops being the Santigold to Grimes’ M.I.A.

Music Go Music – Impressions

Impressions is a very self-aware title for Music Go Music’s second album. Their songs come off as sharp, accurate impressions of their idols, of whom ABBA and Madonna are just a couple of examples. Their sugary, hyperactive disco-funk sound derives from their thumping bass, stellar guitars, and delicate, hefty female dancefloor vocals borrowed from the 1980s. They don’t just wear their influences on their sleeves; instead, they fully occupy them, and the music that follows is catchy, fun, and impossible to ignore.

The Outs – Spiral Dreams EP

As with Elephant Stone’s The Three Poisons from earlier in the list, The Outs’ latest EP displays these Brazilian psychedelic auteurs in a welcoming state of backwards-looking gaze. Psychedelic pop acts of decades past including The Beach Boys, The Beatles, and even Jimi Hendrix lend their legacy to Spiral Dreams’ fuzzy, blurry vision. Over a mere four tracks, it explores the same space its inspirations trekked through years ago, all while making these sounds new and refreshing.

Roadkill Ghost Choir – In Tongues

With spacious acoustics and reverberating, lackadaisical vocals, Roadkill Ghost Choir make great music in a style with which many other artists struggle to succeed. Instead of falling into the various pitfalls of country, western, and folk, on In Tongues, Roadkill Ghost Choir flavor their sound with enough vigor and resonance to capture even the most skeptical of ears. There’s even a psychedelic edge to their folky soundscapes, in the same way that Kurt Vile’s music is a bit trippy. With vocal harmonies and watery, flowering guitar lines abound, In Tongues does weird and wonderful in just the right amounts.

Rubblebucket – Survival Sounds

Fun comes first in Rubblebucket’s world. It’s not sloppy, overproduced fun, though; instead, this seven-piece Brooklyn band use clever arrangements of synths, brass, guitar, percussion, and female vocals to get listeners groovin’ and movin’. Even at its most upbeat and funky, though, the group’s latest album, Survival Sounds, is at its strongest when vocalist Annakalmia Traver takes center stage. Without Traver’s dynamic, adaptable vocals, Rubblebucket would merely record exciting instrumentals rather than playful, taunting pop anthems. That the vocals make all the difference testify that, although Rubblebucket are all fun and games, they also know damn well how to balance fervor with fury.

Benjamin High did not die in vain. His tragic 2007 passing at just 19 years old, far too young an age for anyone to leave us, began to inform Cymbals Eat Guitars’ impressive catalog even before the band caught listeners’ attention with their 2009 debut Why There Are Mountains. High, a member of the long-defunct Green Arrows and briefly a contributor to Why There Are Mountains, met CEG’s frontman Joseph D’Agostino at a basement show in West Caldwell, New Jersey, and the two were instantly best friends; D’Agostino recently described their spark to Wondering Sound as “the equivalent of love at first sight for friends.” Understandably, the sudden, heart shattering loss of such a close companion still afflicts D’Agostino today, but only during the writing of his band’s third effort, appropriately titled LOSE, did he truly feel comfortable approaching his emotions. LOSE is rife with intensely personal lyrics, both in its more tranquil, traditionally gorgeous moments and during its riotous, searing garage rock anthems. The music often remains emotionally striking, even when D’Agostino’s quavering, needy voice obscures his exact words.

LOSE opens with its first single, “Jackson”, an excellent choice for a first track (and single). It firmly establishes the elements the album’s songs will bear: somber pianos, agony-laced guitar strife, unusually stable, affecting vocal work from D’Agostino, specific, storytelling lyrics, and a song structure that’s long, but not needlessly so, form this track’s backbone. “You’re taking two Klonopin/So you can quit flipping/And face our friends” is an incredibly honest group of words to open this song, and thereby the album; delivered in the almost Antlers-like haze of “Jackson”‘s music, it delivers an undeniable blow to the ears.

That “Jackson” is not nearly the only moment of emotional clarity, musical beauty, and ambitious length to appear on LOSE ensures its success. “Place Names” and “Laramie”, respectively six and eight minutes each, bear the intensity, both lyrically and musically, of “Jackson”, and both tracks are album highlights. “Laramie” scoops up a bit of what’s made CEG’s previous two albums great — the grey, moody, Modest Mouse-like atmospherics of Lenses Alien in its first half, the berserk yelping and frantic synth-guitar interplay of Why There Are Mountains‘ “…And The Hazy Sea” in its second half — and blends these traits together into an impactful tune. “Place Names”, which bears one of LOSE‘s most memorable choruses, begins as merely a draft of a thought, and ends six minutes later in a spectacle of chilling, Local Natives-esque oohs and aahs. “For the last year you lived/You slept in your parents’ bed”, D’Agostino laments among a sea of swirling, phasing guitars, in just one instance of the riveting forwardness that pervades this track.

Even the shortest tracks on LOSE cram unsettling, intimate details into their short runtime. “XR” is LOSE‘s shortest track, but it may be the album’s most direct-from-the-diary story. Details such as the well-esteemed New Jersey record store Vintage Vinyl, a low-profile Wrens show, and the cult film Faces of Death feature in its lyrics, which also directly address “Ben [High]’s Myspace grave.” However, these specifics can be hard to discern without a lyrics sheet, given the filters applied to D’Agostino’s yelping, mad vocals; further, D’Agostino wrote “XR” specifically to be played in sweaty college basements, so its high-tempo guitar work and plastered harmonica blasts introduce a whole ton of wild fun at the cost of lyrical audibility.

“XR” is really the only track where the lyrical murkiness consistently presents a problem. “Chambers” and “Warning” definitely present small moments when it can be tough to decide what D’Agostino is saying, but their melodic, straightforward instrumentals perform a lot of the work over in the feelings department. In particular, “Warning” is a straight shot of musical adrenaline to the veins, as it would be even if the words to its chorus could be understood without a lyrics sheet. A searing, aggressive piece of shoegaze-indebted garage rock, it stands directly opposite the equally potent “Child Bride”, which barely boasts a guitar at all. Instead, pianos, orchestral strings, and D’Agostino’s heartbreaking vocals form this unforgettable tale about how a friend’s early years of child abuse proved a gateway to current drug abuse.

Most of LOSE is drenched in sounds so harrowing that their words, despite their importance, wind up playing second fiddle. Although this statement sounds like a backhanded insult, it’s actually a compliment. This quality turns out to be the album’s saving grace, a trait more easily realized when listening to the album’s last two tracks, which are its least interesting songs. “LifeNet” gives an underwhelming vocal performance from D’Agostino, although the lyric “getting laid in the black sand” isn’t an image that listeners will forget anytime soon. In its place directly following “Chambers” on the album, it just sounds like a less thoroughly worked-over version of its predecessor, since they really contain the same musical approaches. “2 Hip Soul” follows “LifeNet”, an excellent sequencing choice since it’s the slowest, moodiest tune on LOSE. But this is still a mode that CEG have yet to perfect: D’Agostino’s vocals, although often delicate, are just a bit too weak here, and the song suffers for it. Its most exciting part, its final two minutes, has no words. An instrumental riot of noise pop guitar work and a barrage of, er, cymbals, frame this segment of the song, ensuring that LOSE ends with a bang.

An album this imposing deserves to end on a grand, mountainous note, as it does. LOSE may not be a perfect album, but its tiny cluster of flaws doesn’t reduce the impact of its songs, even when their size shrouds their sentiments. No, these are truly skyscrapers of songs, tunes that reach all the way up to heaven. And up there, somewhere in the sky, Benjamin High is smiling — no, beaming — down upon LOSE and Joseph D’Agostino, just as he has been for seven years now.

Enigmatic swedish outfit JJ is known for their grandiose gestures. They have gifted fans with a euphoric Lil Wayne sample, a free Christmas Eve mix tape and a name change. However, there is still an atmosphere of mystique that clouds the band. Unlike most modern bands, you won’t find them doing routine press interviews. Amid their eclectic taste is a missing personal connection that is almost obligatory in our social media age. V stands to change that. According to the band V is a statement of communication. JJ’s discography features gritty tropical flavors that never truly feel too bubblegum pop. That same gritty flavor was well represented in the trailer for V. In true idiosyncratic fashion strong images of psychological pain, fire, and hard decisions warps in and out. The expectation was that the album would deliver relatable and believable honesty. The reality is that for better or worse, JJ sacrificed big sugary pop indulgent sounds for sculptured clarity.

JJ’s tendencies towards drama proves promising as V opens up to an airy and dire 48 seconds. The stark instrumental boils over into a picturesque sound reminiscent of a song that could be perfectly placed at the beginning of a coming of age indie flick. Perhaps it wasn’t accidental. By stripping down the beginning JJ interjected a feeling of transparency. On the second track, “Dynasti”, gradual drum beats dance as Elin Kastlander’s signature heavy vocals is perfectly choreographed. But not much separates this track from those found at the end of every Grey’s Anatomy episode. That essentially becomes V’s narrative. The band frequently presents their useful dichotomy of synthy chorus hooks and laid back delivery. “Dean & Me” is the epitome of what V has to offer. A familiar formula of dream-sequence-like opening that boils into a fiery pot of semi-interesting beats.

Amid that formula, the lead single “All White Everything” becomes more interesting even if the tempo never really explodes. Raw lyricism shine along the gorgeous piano notes. JJ manages to give a sharp imagery of isolation and the  beautiful disturbance that surrounds the color white. However, the album contain loads of sleeper tracks. Songs like “When I Need You”, “Full”, “Innerlight” will be forgotten t-minus one full listen of V.  “I” is a reused anecdote with the protagonist asking the ex lover if their current lover “do this like me, kiss like me or takes you there.” On top of that the album features basic lyrics like, “If you show me love you might get a hug but if you don’t I wont care at all.”  Song after song the album feels less interesting and more like a pot of contrived moves that resulted in boring cohesiveness.

In the middle of it all, “Fågelsången’s” jungle vibe is a short bite of something more promising. V itself is promising. The scale of the songs are grander but less exciting. For every forgettable track there is one that’s decent. V leaves something to be desired. Missing are the different textures and disturbances that are previewed on the album trailer. There is a lack of intensity and sonic disruption. The album never quite lives up to the hype and becomes a saturation of false hope.

Do you know what Anosmic means? It’s not a common word to read while browsing the web, but it surely caught my attention. Anosmic or Anosmia is the inability to perceive odor. I’d tell you how many people have this condition, but there is not any clear data for it. What I can tell you though, is that Alex Wright of The Wax Girl is one of those people. I can also tell you that his debut EP is titled Anosmic.

Alex, a Canadian based post-rock/ambient producer released Anosmic earlier this month. The five track EP at first struck me as something to just unwind to, but after listening to it repeatedly, each track now stands as a piece of an ongoing story. Even with a mellow tone, tracks like Departure make you want to get up and get things done.

The EP starts out with the track Consciousness, an open invitation to start an exploration into this world that Alex has crafted. Leading into two of the tracks that have gotten the most play counts from me; Broken Space and Unknown Location. Both differ in their style, but what’s unique is the use of synths and drums to create an atmosphere of calm and almost eerie peace. We finish out with Departure, which first seemed to be the end of the EP because of the uplifting appeal, but then comes Sleep Disorders, a track for which I have no words other than “Great”. With a strong debut like this, I cannot wait for more. Alex’s composition for these tracks make it easy to interpret multiple stories from the album, depending on the listener, and its tales are unforgettable.

This EP is just the start of great things to come from Alex, a music video is expected later this year and a full-length debut album from The Wax Girl next year. In the meantime, check out the album after the video below. Like always, I recommend you listen to it all in one sitting.

We got to chat with Alex a few hours before the album’s release for our Music Hangout Series. Wondering what The Wax Girl has to do with anything? All the answers you need in the video below.

You can grab the EP over at The Wax Girl’s Bandcamp page or on iTunes – Twenty percent of proceeds from both the digital & physical copies goes to Raising the Roof – a Canadian organization that provides strong and effective national leadership on long-term solutions to homelessness.

Is FKA twigs human, or is she dancer? “I can’t recognize me”, she sighs at the end of “Video Girl”, a song that expresses her disdain towards sometimes being more noticed for her dancing in the background of two Jessie J videos, among others, than for her thriving music career. It seems that twigs herself, real name Tahliah Barnett, only sees the dancer in her, but LP1, her eagerly awaited debut, suggests she’s more human than most, despite the mysterious persona she’s cultivated since last year’s cherished EP2. Outside of “Video Girl”, LP1’s lyrics touch on sexuality and emotional intimacy in a stark, honest way, and her music, despite its jagged, eerie feel, is innately sensual and wholly resounding.

Both lyrically and sonically, the content of LP1 is a continuation of EP2. Past songs like “Water Me” and “Papi Pacify” now seem like stepping stones towards excellent tracks including “Pendulum” and “Give Up.” The disorienting, almost uncomfortable R&B of “Water Me” preludes the slithering background noise of “Pendulum”, and both songs explore unmet desires in a sexual partnership. Likewise, the expansive murkiness of “Papi Pacify” bleeds into “Give Up”, whose command of “Just nod your head and give up” doesn’t stray far from “Clarify your love” on “Papi Pacify.” What’s most clear when comparing the new tracks to their predecessors, is that Barnett has now refined EP2’s combined package of lust, desolation, and smokiness into a sound even stronger than her already haughty past works.

In fact, most of LP1 is sticky and irresistible, exactly as the lovers described in FKA twigs’ songs. “Video Girl” is slinky and subtle, but it’s impossible to get unstuck from your head after just a few listens. “Lights On” at first appears choppy and frenetic, but it quickly rearranges into a breathy, striking earworm. “Numbers”, one of the album’s more upfront, immediate moments, may at first dismay listeners seeking a tune as well-flowing as EP2’s “How’s That”, but it soon grows into a ballistic, hyper-tense tale of lovelorn regret. It doesn’t come without a veiled threat, though; Barnett refuses to merely express her anger, opting instead to also act on it with the question, “Tonight, do you want to live or die?”

Even when she’s hurt, Barnett remains in control of the situations she’s placed in, so it’s even more thrilling to hear her in a confident place of complete power. “Two Weeks”, LP1’s celestial standout and a hefty contender for Song of the Year, backs Barnett’s salacious boasting and unrestricted lust with her most uncomplicated, accessible production work to date. The trap drum flickers that appear every so often accentuate her already potent words: “higher than a motherfucker dreaming of you as my lover” is one of the year’s most unforgettable phrases, and the silken synth spikes underlying it swell its impact to undeniable proportions.

Sure, “Two Weeks” is excessive in its profanity and pretty much everything else, but this risky overindulgence is a massive success. It’s also LP1’s most maximalist, obtrusive track; it stands opposite the majority of the album, and casts a shadow over it. For example, the placement of “Hours” after “Two Weeks” makes its restrained, low-key electronics easy to gloss over; that it’s also the lead-up to “Pendulum” sure doesn’t help. “Closer” feels like it could explode into a sonic bliss similar to “Two Weeks”, but never quite gets there. Final track “Kicks” suffers mildly from the same plague, although its unwinding song structure and sexual loneliness, to be overly euphemistic, do entertain quite well.

It’s on this final track that FKA twigs asks, “What do I do when you’re not here?” After listening to LP1 only a handful of times, it’s inevitable to apply this question to the album. Few albums this summer have been as simultaneously perplexing, disquieting, intimate, gorgeous, and memorable as this one. What did we do without this album?

Bell’s Roar began with just a guitar and a voice. Over the years Sean Desiree has transformed her solo project by fully taking advantage of her skills as a drummer, bassist, and ultimately a producer. Her approach to music is DIY not because of its aesthetic, but because of how she keeps her voice ever-present. The music is rooted in a melodic feel, but the beats transform her songs into energetic and dynamic electronic compositions.

Her debut Bell’s Roar EP is a forceful and sensitive collection of six beautiful and personal songs and which was recently mentioned in our Underdog column. Elements of loopy post-rock guitars, hip-hop beats, and R&B vocals combine with an ease and minutia equity suited for the dance floor, living room, or headphones. If the talent Sean Desiree shows on this debut is any indication of what is to come, we will be hearing a lot from her. The vocals, guitar layering and synth-driven beats are best described as synth-pop/post-rock/soul. The album also features Kiran Gandhi, MIA’s drummer for her Matangi tour.

Sean Desiree recently spoke to me about the origins and themes of the EP, develop her own sound, dissecting song meanings, and the key to turning the EP into the final product and much more.

On your Bandcamp, you describe yourself as an instrumentalist. On songs like “Slow” and “Step Up, Step Back”, how many of the instruments are you playing? Which is your favorite to play?
On “Slow” and “Step Up, Step Back” I play mostly everything you hear. I play the guitar, bass, synths, and do backup vocals. The drums on “Step Up, Step Back” are synths. The drums on “Slow” are a mixture of both synths and live drums done by Cedar Apffel, the producer, and myself. There’s a bass synth line in “Slow” and a guitar part in “Cover in Red” and “I Know” that was added in by Cedar. My favorite instruments are guitar and drums.

To me, your music is gorgeous thanks in no small part to how minimal it is. The most obvious elements are the click track, the guitar, and your voice. Is this minimalism intentional, used to convey maximum emotion, or is it just a symptom of your songwriting approach?
It’s just the way I write music. I think because my music started as a singer-songwriter project with just guitar and vocals, those two end up getting highlighted.

Your guitar tone is really incredible. It’s dreamy, emotive, and a tad unsettling, but it’s also restrained and tense, feeling like it could explode forward at any given moment. How do you achieve this – is it a recording technique, guitar pedals, etc.?
I’m in love with the sound of the guitar. I layer harmonies and rhythms on top of each other and seek to find points of harmony and dissonance. A lot of my songwriting takes place in the wee hours and I think that’s conducive to allowing yourself to be emotionally vulnerable. Cedar and I worked together to craft the actual texture of the guitar.

The way you apply guitar in your songs seems like it might be informed by jazz and soul music. What kind of music did you listen to in your formative years? Did this music lead you to pick up the guitar, or did you start with a different instrument and make the transition later?
My early childhood was filled with music of my parents and grandparents’ generation. Motown, jazz, soca, disco and R&B were the most present. I first picked up the guitar to play songs by bands like No Doubt and Nirvana.

Your voice is incredibly flexible, and you have a great sense of command over it. Were you ever formally trained? If not, how did you form your voice into the powerful instrument it is today?
I never really believed in my voice and was incredibly shy about it. I played in another band before this in which I rarely sung. It wasn’t until I started writing music for myself that I began to develop my own sound and confidence. I was never formally trained but would like to do that. I believe my voice has a lot more to offer.

When I listen to your music, I’m reminded only tangentially of other musicians – even though Bell’s Roar is still a relatively new project, you’ve already given it its own unique sound. This makes your influences difficult to pinpoint, but I’m interested in knowing what genres and musicians they are since they’ve resulted in such a specific sound.
I don’t feel like I’m truly influenced by a particular sound. There are bands I like, such as Santigold, Radiohead, Lauryn Hill, etc., but I don’t see myself as them. I feel like my uniqueness comes from years of building my ideas and writing everything myself. There’s not that much outside influence with my project, so it’s a genuine expression of myself. Of course I am influenced by others but it’s not in such a direct way. I am finding it challenging to not fit into a genre because most bookers, music bloggers, etc. want to know how to place you and to make comparisons.

Your name is a tribute to feminist writer bell hooks. How has her writing affected your lyricism? Has she affected how you approach creating music?
My writing to some extent. I read her because she speaks about issues that reflect my core beliefs. She focuses on the intersections of race, capitalism, and gender and how they perpetuate systems of oppression. My lyrics have that theme and I allow myself to speak freely about being queer because I will not let the music industry oppress my self-expression.

It’s clear that Cedar Apffel, who produced your album and has produced many others, did a great job here. How significant was his contribution to the final mood and sound of the album? What exactly did he contribute?
He was key to turning it into the final product. I came to him with demos that I made with Logic Pro and the quality was ok, but not great. All I had at my disposal were Logic amp samples and synth sounds. I was planning on releasing it just as that, but he really loved the music and wanted to re-record everything. So within the course of meeting maybe 8 times I re-recorded all guitar, bass and vocals with him creating the tone. He also added his ideas as far as arrangement. I am greatly appreciative of that because I’m doing this alone and sometimes I’m unsure and need constructive criticism.

Apart from the dreaminess and minimalism in your music, I feel like there’s a good amount of sadness and ache in it. Do you do this to match the mood of your lyrics? Is it a result of the tone, space, and tempo you give your guitar? Is it some of both?
The guitar is usually the basis of my songs and it is where I get the tone. The music sometimes works with the mood of the music and sometimes it has nothing to do with it. “I Know” is an example of music first and lyrics second. The music has a lot of energy and happiness while the lyrics are about abuse. “Slow” is where they work well together. There’s a lot of emotion in both. I think a lot of mainstream music uses the formula of having the two match, but I believe conveying a message while getting people to dance is powerful.

It really does seem like these lyrics are incredibly personal to you. In listening to the EP, I had trouble pinpointing which track is closest to your heart. So I want to ask, which of these songs holds the most meaning for you?
It’s between “Slow”, “I Know” and “Ancestors.” “Slow” is obviously about the love of my life. “I Know” is about my experience with abuse. “Ancestors” is a tribute to the lives of my ancestors. “I Know” may have a bit more meaning because it’s something I don’t talk about publicly but was able to write about.

The new album has extensive use of vocal harmonies. When you’re writing your lyrics, do you ever imagine certain words being sung by more than one layer of voice, or is that a decision you make after crafting the instrumental?
It’s both. Pretty soon after I have the lyrics or melody other sounds come into my head. Cedar and Alisa [Sikelianos-Carter, my partner] also added in ideas.

I think one of the most interesting and universally relatable lyrics comes from “Covered in Red”: “You can’t pay me to be/something that I can’t see/and if you’re like that/you better fight back.” It’s a lyric that could be applied to all sorts of situations in life, and the song’s other lyrics suggest what specifically you’re talking about, but I’d like you to elaborate on it more now, if you can.
The song has two meanings really, or it’s two songs in one. I have the most difficult time with lyrics. I love writing the music and melody for vocals but sometimes I have my partner, Alisa Sikelianos-Carter help me write the lyrics. The song started out being about my tendency to shutdown in relationships. I sometimes have a hard time being vulnerable and will hold back my feelings. I’m trying to overcome that. The lyrics you brought up were from the other version talking about societies brainwashing and oppression. However, they relate because most of my fear of being open comes from my fear of judgement and feeling less than.

Is the title “Covered in Red” implying that you’re covered in blood? To me, none of the lyrics in the song could suggest that, but I want to know if I’ve missed something.
This song was revised a few times and the original version had a chorus with lyrics that talked about being covered in red as being covered in blood. Once the lyrics got removed I never thought of redoing the title. I loved the name and the song just became “Covered in Red” no matter what the lyrics were.

How has your sound changed since Bell’s Roar started? Do you have any sort of future vision for it, or are you just going to take your creativity as it comes to you?
It has expanded from my voice and guitar to a more realized vision of my music. This initial EP gets out the concept of the project, but I believe further development of who I am as a musician will only bring forth more creativity.

In the years that Bell’s Roar has been alive, how often have you played live? Have you toured at all? Do you have any upcoming shows planned?
I have performed live pretty rarely up until this point. I have done 2 short tours, one in the Northwest and the other in Germany. Now that I released my first album I plan on spending a lot of my time booking and performing. I would love to sustain myself off of doing what I love. To get to that point I have to introduce people to my music and hopefully it resonates.

Welcome to The Underdog, a new column here at Way Too Indie! Each month we’ll collect and highlight the best new indie releases. Our aim here is to expose readers to great new music they may not have been aware of otherwise. We intend to cover music that we believe doesn’t get as much attention as it deserves, hence the title of this column: The Underdog. With that in mind, let’s begin!

Bell’s Roar – Bell’s Roar EP

Sean Desiree alternates her home between New York City and Albany, but there’s no wavering in her music. As Bell’s Roar, she creates eerie, R&B-infused dream pop that will affect any listener with even a semblance of a soul. On her debut EP, guitars sparkle and emote, drums pitter and patter, and Desiree pours her very essence into her gorgeous, unequivocally moving vocal performance. “In my heart, I’m feeling sore,” she laments on “Ancestors”; that she’s already this emotionally invested on merely her debut EP suggests that this singer-songwriter only has more greatness to offer in the near future.

Boytoy – Boytoy EP

Name every modern rock trend you can think of: garage, surf, power pop, lo-fi, and so forth. Boytoy have synthesized their own brand of music from all these themes; rather than sounding like a rip-off of past successes, they advance a rockin’ approach that makes the band’s debts clear without explicitly copying them. “Shallow Town” is a throwback to garage and surf, and a riotous, undeniably catchy anthem; “Blazed” is the world’s millionth stoner anthem, but it’s also a sticky earworm of a jam. In an era where so many garage and punk bands find themselves stuck in their forebears’ shadows, Boytoy have their own wonderful charm.

Cold Specks – Bodies at Bay EP

Post-punk and post-rock are established genres, but what about post-soul and post-jazz? Cold Specks make a case for both these labels (although, concession, more genre labels are most certainly not needed). Vocalist Al Spx sings with a lounge-imbued, soulful tone, and her smoky, subdued brass arrangements and jazz-indebted percussion and atmospherics aid in outlining just how haunting her voice is. “Absisto”, a highlight from her recently released Bodies at Bay EP, showcases her strengths boldly: trombones, watery keyboards, and wispy percussion bolster fervent vocals. A bit more than halfway through the song, a brief period of silence precedes an instrumental explosion, a moment that’s a nice metaphor for the joy of listening to this EP.

Field Mouse – Hold Still Life

Shoegaze’s three-decade-or-so run has succeeded in no small part because the genre’s guitar-vocal interplay provides an innate emotional connection. Field Mouse know this all too well, as they craft nearly every track on Hold Still Life with roaring six-string attack and vulnerable, ductile, high-pitched female vocals. The biggest complaint an album like this will inevitably receive is that it’s too familiar and repetitive, but tunes as pointed as “Everyone But You”, “Bright Lights”, and “Tomorrow Is Yesterday” excuse some of the flaws. An imperfect listen, but a sprawling and enjoyable one nonetheless. Check out our review of Hold Still Life.

Junk Riot – Headache

“Excuse me?” would be an appropriate initial reaction to the following true statement: Junk Riot sound like Savages and the Rapture. Surely, a band comparable to these completely distinct acts must have an intensely unique sound; in that regard, and in many others, they don’t disappoint. The hyperactive, shrill synths and guitar-bent dance-punk of The Rapture and other mid-2000s DFA acts meets the outsider female post-punk ferocity and darkness of Savages and their obvious ancestors (Siouxsie and the Banshees, Patti Smith). Complete with a blatant Stooges interpolation on “How It Goes”, this is the most harrowing and hardcore dance-punk has ever sounded.

Kestrels – The Moon Is Shining Our Way EP

I’m not sure whether constantly referring to Loveless when I write about shoegaze is merely lazy journalism, or if it’s genuinely inevitable since it really is a seminal record for the genre. Either way, it’s utterly necessary to mention it when talking about this EP by Kestrels: in the twenty-three years since Loveless‘ release, arguably no other act has so perfectly pinpointed Kevin Shields’ guitar tone and Bilinda Butcher’s vocal dreariness. It’s almost like Shields lent his pedalboard to Kestrels, and it actually sounds incredible. That constant flange and whammy tone pervades The Moon Is Shining Our Way, a direct, searing document whose only true flaw is brevity.

Ladi6 – Automatic

“Electrosoul” is a term that’s been bounced around in recent years to describe acts as diverse as Frank Ocean, Jai Paul, and even Matthew Dear. Yet none of the artists to fall under this umbrella have quite sounded like Ladi6, whose Automatic amounts to little more than classic soul redone with psychedelic synths. Erykah Badu’s legacy smiles widely over this record: deep, raspy, low-pitched female vocals meet the past half-decade’s advent of bedroom-produced trip-hop, resulting in an unexpectedly specific sound. It’s a style you have to hear to believe, and Automatic will hook you from the first listen.

The Muffs – Whoop Dee Doo

The Muffs are surf punks, sweet and simple. Their strong, overdriven power chords and power pop melodies instantly gratify over the course of the standard two to four minutes per song. But what sticks out the most about this band (and a sweet spot is helpful, maybe even necessary, when dealing with such a tried-and-true style) is how obviously bad their vocalist is. Many of the most memorable vocalists are remarkable partly because it’s near-certain they’d sound terrible without music backing them: Lou Reed, Bob Dylan, Bruce Springsteen, Julian Casablancas, Dan Bejar, Britt Daniel, the dudes from The Rapture and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Add The Muffs to this list of acts that rightfully get away with murder.

Toasted Plastic – TP/ST EP

In the summer of 2011, Ridgewood, NJ’s most successful act, dream pop wunderkinds Real Estate, returned to their hometown for a free show featuring the town’s resident math punks, Toasted Plastic. At the time, they couldn’t have chosen many groups with a sound so diametrically opposed to their own; three years later, Toasted Plastic are looking a bit more melodic and straightforward with TP/ST. Their usual bouts of mathy spasms persist throughout this EP’s four songs, but there are also plenty of calmer passages guided by warm guitars and steady rhythms. It’s not an album for those who suffer musical vertigo, so to speak, but the dizzying thrills presented here will spin anyone right ’round.

The Wytches – Annabel Dream Reader

A self-described “surf psych” band, England’s Wytches adorn slowed-down garage rhythms with classic post-punk shades, surf swagger, and lo-fi recording techniques. It’s the sound of a surf-punk haunted house, equal parts harrowing, thorny, groovy, and brash. “She took all of your mind!” shouts Annabel Dream Reader‘s opening track, “Digsaw” (or maybe it’s “money”, not “mind”?); by the end of this album, The Wytches will have taken the same from most of their listeners.

A shoegaze band named Field Mouse. At first glance, things couldn’t be any more typical, right? Here’s yet another female-fronted, searingly emotive band taking cues directly from My Bloody Valentine; here’s yet another band with the word “Field” in the name (try not to get them confused with The Field or especially Field Music); here’s yet another band with the word “Mouse” in the name (if you haven’t heard of deadmau5 or Modest Mouse, can you teach me how not to feel restless without an internet connection?). Inspecting more closely, though, Field Mouse are a foursome with a simultaneous playfulness and dreariness all their own, despite these traits’ clear influences. Their latest album, Hold Still Life, is a gorgeous, moving display of how tactfully they dabble in well-covered terrain, although this tendency can occasionally prove problematic.

Hold Still Life immediately declares its intentions and influences, leaving no doubt as to what its listeners will encounter over its not-quite-forty-minute runtime. “A Place You Return to in a Dream” is a wise choice for an opening track, its bleak guitar roar and wispy, nasal female vocals dipping into an alternate world where Loveless is several shades darker. “Tomorrow Is Yesterday” follows, and its trippy title hints at the hallucinatory nature of this track. It’s also a great continuation of “Place”‘s motifs: restrained but blossoming guitar roars straddle the borderline between shoegaze and garage rock as vocalist Rachel Browne muses ethereally.

The songwriting methodology of “Place” and “Tomorrow” reaches its apex on album highlight “Everyone But You”, Hold Still Life‘s most outrightly sugary moment. A small glimmer of light breaks through the intro’s expansive guitars, ensuring that the chorus’s incredibly dark, haunting chorus lands as an unforgettable surprise. Browne remains restrained in her delivery, yet undeniably establishes a gut connection. Actually, this innate bond is felt often throughout the album: “Reina” and “Horizon City” are two of many similar songs here that, despite being a bit predictable, still succeed in their goal of aiming for the heart.

Redundancy is Hold Still Life‘s main problem, and it’s one that could have possibly been avoided if its tracks were presented in a different order. The album is pretty consistent until its ninth track, “Bright Lights”, a drop-dead gorgeous slow-burner that reminisces of mosquitoes buzzing, industrial lights shining on a broken sunset, and adolescent heartbreak. It’s an unexpected sound for Field Mouse, and it pays off in spades: its eerie but endearing guitar sparkle strengthens Browne’s graceful, deft vocal performance. “Kids”, the album’s only percussion-less tune, follows two tracks later; it’s another track that’s memorable simply for how different it is. Were these two songs placed earlier in the album, it might well be a more satisfying listen.

Or maybe the problem is that, overall, Hold Still Life is almost too consistent. Distinguishing “Happy” from “Asteroid” isn’t always an easy task; the first handful of tracks, with the exception of the new-wave-indebted “Two Ships”, sound only slightly different from one another. This uniformity isn’t nearly the worst of problems an album can have; in this case, Field Mouse’s songwriting is strong enough to render it only a mild setback. Hold Still Life certainly has no bad tracks, just a few too many similar moments. It’s nevertheless a great document from a worthwhile group, but one that suggests that it’s better to grab life by the horns than to hold it still.

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.

Earlier this year, I wrote here about my disappointment with Perfect Pussy’s Say Yes to Love , and cited its length (or, rather, lack thereof) as one of its major flaws. It’s easy to get the notion, then, that I think albums need to be a certain length to succeed, but read more closely — this isn’t why Say Yes to Love failed. That album was a letdown because its shortness blurred all its songs together into one murky, indistinct, relatively uncompelling unit; when it wasn’t doing that, it was disguising noise as melody. A few moments stuck out in this haze, but not enough to excuse such a short runtime.

By contrast, White Lung’s Deep Fantasy, their debut for Domino Records (but their third album overall), is fifty seconds shorter than Say Yes to Love, but it’s far more cathartic, show-stopping, and memorable. Deep Fantasy is rife with guttural riffing, mountainous percussion, and harrowing vocals courtesy of feminist blogger Mish Way, and this formulation very rarely tires over the album’s twenty-two minute runtime. Fantasy‘s lyrics, which deal with topics such as consoling a rape victim, overcoming drug abuse, and living with body dysmorphia, are as potent and intense as its instrumentation; both these characteristics expertly recall the grunge and riot grrrl movements.

Deep Fantasy blazes through the gate immediately with opener and lead single “Drown With the Monster”, arguably the most addicting punk anthem of the year so far. Actually, the punk label adorned here is a bit misleading: “Drown With the Monster” verges on heavy metal territory. The rapid, churning guitars underlying its verses wouldn’t sound out of place on a recent Exodus album, and Mish Way’s vocals are delivered in a wailing beckon faintly reminiscent of any of Arch Enemy’s rotating female lead vocalists. In its two minutes, “Drown” tackles Way’s substance abuse with fearlessness and vigor; in fact, by turning her problems into a veritable headbanger of a rally cry, she’s drowned the monster in its place.

“Down It Goes” follows, and it begins in a similar vein as “Drown” before transitioning into sunny, beachy grunge-punk, something like you’d hear on an early Sleater-Kinney tune. “I am not as strong as you, but I am everywhere!” Way affirms over an instrumental palette that’s just as serene as it is alarming. “Snake Jaw” and “Face Down” continue this sonic path, but each refines it differently: the former adds a tad more bleakness to match its lyrical exploration of body dysmorphia, whereas the latter may be the most outrightly grungy, 90s-absorbed tune present.

Of course, a band as fierce as White Lung will only briefly allow itself this moment of relative sunshine: “I Believe You” reintroduces the heaviness and force of “Drown With the Monster”, and covers more territory than many of Deep Fantasy‘s songs despite being the album’s second shortest. “Yeah, I believe you! Girl, you’re so strong!” Way reassures a friend recovering from the trauma of rape, a powerful moment made even more intense by her band’s intermittent, dark guitar pummels and searing treble lines. “Wrong Star” offers a moment to breathe after “I Believe You”, trading in the latter’s heaviness for a less overwhelming tone, but no slower a pace.

“Just for You” and “Sycophant”, which follow next, in that order, are slightly less gripping than the rest of the album, marking one of Deep Fantasy‘s two very mildly less engaging sequences. “Lucky One” breaks up these two moments, its unreasonably shrill and rapid guitars instantly hooky. In particular, the song’s chorus is really entrapping, as its low-rumbling guitars offer a surprising and engaging change-up from the song’s mostly bright but enthralling riffing.

Ending the album is “In Your Home”, a track that’s notably different from the rest of the album. Easily the slowest (although it’s still pretty high-tempo) tune here, “In Your Home” gives up some of the near-omnipresent aggression of Deep Fantasy in favor of an unexpected bit of melancholy. Although the song is likable, it’s not quite as viscerally enjoyable as the rest of Deep Fantasy, but its placement as the album’s final track does offer a necessary comedown from the rushing adrenaline preceding it.

“Take these sights in!” commands Mish Way near the beginning of Deep Fantasy. With just twenty-two minutes of runtime, this album rarely loses focus, keeping listeners in line all the while. Short collections as engaging as this one aren’t so easy to come by, so it doesn’t take much effort to become entrapped in this Fantasy.

Is it surprising that someone writing for a site called Way Too Indie went through a deeply immersive heavy metal phase when he was fifteen years old? I’m talking about myself here. From the time I began high school until my best friend introduced me to Is This It just after I turned seventeen, I was what they call a “metalhead.” Today, my taste has evolved into something more expansive and all-inclusive, but I still enjoy some metal artists from those years. Mastodon, Gojira, Opeth, and occasionally Boris still bring pleasure to my ears (and, more recently, Deafheaven).

Notice something these acts have in common. Their compositions never sacrifice melody for heaviness and brutality. Where bands like Nile and Cannibal Corpse primarily concern themselves with achieving the heaviest sound they possibly can, the groups listed above instead throw some genuine earworms in the mix. Their music is not merely guttural, indistinguishable muck; rather, its well-developed, ornate but ruthless metal. South Dakota’s Talk Rock follows in the later transition, although the breed of metal they advance could pass for extremely low-pitched, high-tempo shoegaze. Throughout their recently released album Vile, they engage in heavy but melodic riffing. It’s an approach that sometimes works well, but is also so perpetual throughout the album that it gradually tires as the album progresses.

The foundation of most of Vile‘s songs are heavily reverbed guitar riffs that are as spacious as they are gruff. Opener “666 Lips” demonstrates this nicely, its music teetering between haunted grimness and shoegaze soaring. The excitement of this sound is dimmed by the vocal take on this song’s chorus, though: the constricted, oddly mopey whines of “Six six six!/On her lips, I felt it!” make the lead up to this break feel disappointing. A better example of the catharsis that the open-ugly contrast Vile provides is “Scapegoat”, a track that crashes through the gates on the album’s most claustrophobic, tidal riff. It perfectly sets the stage for the song’s continued tensions and balances between darkness and hugeness.

“Scapegoat” provides the best example of what Talk Rock has the potential to accomplish. “Perpetual Cryptic” is another instance of this trio deftly pairing dreaminess with deadliness: the partial immersion of its somewhat lackluster vocals by its guitar walls imbue it with the proper amount of eerie growl and upward ecstasy. More often than not, though, Talk Rock fail to fully deliver on the promise of their strongest moments. “Vile Mouth” feels drawn out and lazy, its five minutes feeling like a drag rather than an adventure. Its tempo shifts are only briefly alluring, instead descending into discomfort. Likewise, the louder sections of “Kreepen Man” don’t quite make up for the perpetual crawl of the slower parts. Instrumental track “New Wrist” is guilty of the same set of sins.

Vile is also home to tracks like “The Body”, which contains traces of both musical glory and letdown. The song’s first four minutes are absolutely great, striking an excellent pose of both haunted drone and stark slamming. Yet its last two minutes dribble off into more confusing terrain, wherein the interlocking pummels and arpeggios aggravate rather than excite. That last statement is a half-decent summary of Vile: it’s an album whose peaks are so distinguishable in part because what sounds them just isn’t as exhilarating. These peaks are possible indicators of an excellent metal album in Talk Rock’s future, but for now, they’re more talk than rock.

To get an idea of what four-piece NYC band Beast Patrol sounds like, it helps to check out their list of “Artists We Also Like” on their official Facebook page. Older names on this list include the low-pitched demonics of Black Sabbath and the Eno art rock of Roxy Music, but newer names like blues-psych southerners The Black Angels and psychedelic overjoy masterminds Tame Impala also appear. Yeah, Beast Patrol is as classically oriented as they are watery and dreamy, as their influences hint.

Alternatively, seeing them live brilliantly defines their sound without all this effort and thinking. On a Wednesday night, a small crowd filtered into Manhattan’s Mercury Lounge to enjoy Beast Patrol’s album release show, honoring the arrival of their Unarm Yourself EP. The album title is telling: let down your guard entirely, and Beast Patrol’s music will offer only the best of times.

Beast Patrol’s recorded sound is grand, but it doesn’t really indicate just how intense they are live. Their brand of shoegaze-gone-dream-gone-psych takes on a bluesy and punchy tone in the flesh. Frontwoman Vanessa Bley leads a small crew of three men who have nearly the exact same beard, her onstage gyrations only matched by co-guitarist Robert Granata. The phasers dousing Bley’s guitar lines engage and affect all attentive ears, and her band’s talent reinforces her tight grip.

After witnessing this band put on a show, it’s impossible to deny the influence of straight-up blues on their recordings. The version of “Distant Grandeur” committed to record is ethereal and sparkling; live, Bley and Granata’s blues-driven guitars become life-sized in a way that can’t be heard on the recording, stopping listeners right in their tracks. More obviously heady tracks like “Run Towards Fear” certainly benefit from this trait when played live: although it’s almost folk-punk on the EP, it really sounded like a lost Kinks track live.

Success wouldn’t come so easily to this band if not for Bley and co’s dynamic interactions. On stage, Bley doesn’t dictate her cohorts’ motions and sounds; rather, she coordinates with them wisely, resulting in a natural and buoyant environment. Audience members grooved constantly not only because the band sounds so good, but because they didn’t simply stay still. In particular, Bley and Granata probably stepped foot on at least half of the stage while they were up there. Appearing mobile on stage can be vital to engaging an audience, and Beast Patrol are masters of this notion.

Really, though, at the end of the day, what counts the most is the sound. Beast Patrol needn’t worry here: their guitar tones and innate instrumental talent ensure their success. The crowd most certainly vibed with the Patrol’s vibrant guitar tones, foot-shuffling bass, and trenchant drumming. Bluesy and phaser-heavy sounds invaded the room, and no one present could turn away.

It’s too bad that Beast Patrol have no tour plans at the moment, because they put on a thrilling live show. For now, throw on Unarm Yourself, lean back, close your eyes, and envision the band playing these songs right in front of you. It shouldn’t be too difficult a task: music this confident translates incredibly on record, and even more excitingly live.

Is it 2014 or 1984? Although this is a question that’s been asked lately in regards to the whole NSA scandal, it’s also one that applies to the state of recent music. The last few years have given rise to a sudden surge of artists that incorporate the textures, moods, tones, and lyrical themes of three decades ago in their songs. Whether it’s Blood Orange occupying the bubblegum synthpop of the time, Destroyer transforming smooth jazz from corny cliche into enchanting folklore, or Haim taking on Fleetwood Mac’s interpretation of the era, modern listeners have been exposed to an intense amount of music that borrows heavily from the 80s.

Enter a new face to this crowd: Shamir Bailey, who records as Shamir, and draws inspiration from the wild dance pop of Michael Jackson as well as the funky R&B of Prince. For someone who was born many years after his idols reached their peaks — Shamir is only 19 years old — he tends to adopt their craft quite well. His debut EP Northtown offers a brief glimpse into just how successful he can be at continuing his idols’ legacy, while also showing that he strikes more thoroughly when letting his own shades shine through.

The most immediately entrancing thing about Shamir’s musicianship is his androgynous, soulful voice. Throughout Northtown, Shamir showcases his incredibly dynamic and adaptable voice in enticing ways. “I Know It’s a Good Thing” explores the highest parts of his register as he drifts through booming pianos, a consistent click track, and backing oohs and aahs. “I’ll Never Be Able to Love” captures the low and high ranges of his voice pretty well: he delivers his verses in a relatively low pitch, but puts his laceratingly high-pitched vibrato front-and-center during its chorus. It’s also the most downbeat of the original pieces here, its minimal palette of drums and vocal harmonies later expanding into a stuttered percussive smack for merely a moment.

This later segment of “I’ll Never Be Able to Love” is its most exciting, and it highlights an interesting trend in Shamir’s songs. Despite how inherently gorgeous his voice is, his songs are more thrilling when he surrounds it in maximalist splendor, a technique not as heavily explored by his predecessors. On “Sometimes a Man”, for example, a deep house beat flows sensually under Shamir’s voice, and the abundance and ferocity of the accompanying synths and percussion nicely round it out. The song is one of two absolute dancefloor jams included here, and it’s got a surprisingly dark underbelly, especially when compared to the other banger here, “If It Wasn’t True.”

“If It Wasn’t True” is the moment when Shamir truly glows. Actually, this is an understatement; here, Shamir shines solid gold, fully embracing the maximalism unshared with his idols. He’s brewed up what might be the most viscerally engaging funk-disco tune in ages, and he absolutely revels in it. Pulsating, fat synths and a steady click track introduce this first song on the EP, leading to our first encounter with Shamir’s already-trademark smoothly androgynous vocals. Shamir muses about his bitter breakup with a former lover, his voice soaring over a consistently in-your-face instrumental bed, which unexpectedly explodes into a barrage of searing, adrenaline-rushing synth blasts after about two minutes. It sounds like what the 1980s could have been if that time’s artists had access to current musical technology and trends: catchy, sensual, mobile, funky, and just one of the goddamn best songs of the year so far.

Placing “If It Wasn’t True” at the EP’s beginning provides an excellent introduction to Shamir’s retro-nostalgic world, but it casts a shadow over the remaining songs. Don’t be mistaken — these are all great tunes, although the final track, a lo-fi folk Lindi Ortega cover (“Lived and Died Alone”), feels completely out of place here. “Sometimes a Man” comes incredibly close to matching the magic of “If It Wasn’t True” since it’s just as bold and maximalist; “I’ll Never Be Able to Love” and “I Know It’s a Good Thing”, on the other hand, just don’t compare despite being pretty enjoyable. But, as Shamir reminds us on the latter track, talk is cheap; instead of discussing Northtown‘s flaws, let’s just be happy that Shamir’s delivered a true gem or two here, and that many more are to come.

The summer heat and humidity has started settling in over Houston, schools are about to end for summer break, and college kids are back home for the summer. Know what those three things have in common? If you guessed summer, you’d be spot on. The weather may not be of much concern for us Houstonians, but it does signal the coming of an anticipated festival.

In the midst of festival season, Houston’s Free Press Summer Festival joins the rest with top-notch headliners and a great line-up of local artists. From May 31st to June 1st. Eleanor Tinsley Park in downtown Houston transforms from a typical jogging park into…well this –

Photo from FPSF Facebook

We’ll be having a special series of our Music Hangouts – A self-proclaimed Houstonian interviewing five bands, some of whom are local Houstonians themselves. Check out the info about the bands below along with times and links to the events. Leave some questions for them…get to know them…check out their music…and join me next week!