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)

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.

Few musicians have transitioned from cult artist to critical wunderkind as quickly as tUnE-yArDs, the creative moniker of Connecticut’s Merrill Garbus, did in early 2011. Before her sophomore album w h o k i l l was announced in early February, very few people were aware of her début, BiRd-BrAins, which was primarily recorded on a dictation machine; after w h o k i l l‘s release two months later, all eyes were on Garbus. Still today, w h o k i l l remains one of the quirkiest, most fearless, and most viscerally enjoyable albums of the decade. Its fusion of electric ukulele, brazen, confrontational, humorous lyrics, slinky bass, world-influenced percussion, and Garbus’ monstrously flexible, fiery vocals pulls from a slew of unusual influences, and three years later continues to sound like the future.

All this history makes it easy to feel disappointed by Nikki Nack, the highly anticipated follow-up to w h o k i l l, upon first listen. But like many albums, this one’s a grower, one that reveals itself with time. Collections that develop in this way aren’t at all uncommon, but few do so as quickly as Nikki Nack does. The attributes responsible for its initial letdown rearrange into its strengths after just two or three more listens, and some of these characteristics are radically different from anything Garbus has published in her career thus far. In particular, for this album, Garbus ditches w h o k i l l‘s omnipresent electric ukulele in favor of frantic, off-kilter drum machines and subtly glowing synths. It’s her pop-iest work yet, but it remains faithful to her sound: Nate Brenner’s bass is still just as central a component as ever before, Garbus’ voice continues to vacillate between passionate shouting and soulful singing, and the equally reflective and sociopolitically charged nature of her lyrics hasn’t disappeared.

Nikki Nack embraces change dutifully; in fact, one of its weakest tracks, “Look Around”, is the only one that retains the ukulele. Garbus’ sound shift is readily apparent immediately when “Find a New Way” begins the album. Synth spikes and oddly metered drum blasts control this song’s intro, after which Brenner’s bass expels the synthetic elements. “Time of Dark” treads a similar path, although its percussive eccentricity takes much longer to manifest. This song transforms into a liberating, wild, repeated chant of “Hey!” with just over a minute remaining, a change that’s neither jarring nor gradual, and this trick is repeated often on Nikki Nack.

“Left Behind”, one of the album’s strongest points, pulls the same switch at its midpoint, although its percussive flicker predicts this flip much more so than the initial tranquility of “Time of Dark” does. “Holiday! Holiday! Let’s go crazy!” Garbus chants without restraint; this relentless is signature tUnE-yArDs, only packaged differently on Nikki Nack. Lead single “Water Fountain”, which suffered the same plague of initial disappointment as its home album only to become an album highlight, puts this quality on full display: few, if any, other artists can manage to be taken seriously with such a sing-songy tune and lyrics that seem to be strewn together from those word magnets people arbitrarily rearrange on their fridges. This approach is a risk Garbus takes constantly, especially in the lyrical delivery of “Hey Life” and “Sink-O.” The latter is a frenetic, Matangi-like array of arguably vapid lyricism that’s rendered thrilling by the music accompanying it, whereas the latter begins relatively calmly and deals with relatable topics before briefly venturing into a childlike but undeniably fun mess.

Nikki Nack is ripe with potent lyrics despite its numerous slabs of intentionally inane words. The balance thrown off by the unbound lyricism of “Water Fountain” is restored by tracks such as “Manchild”, which is a cry of female empowerment just like w h o k i l l‘s “Killa” (perhaps not coincidentally, both tracks end their respective albums). “I mean it! Don’t beat up on my body!” Garbus bleats over loopy, disorienting percussion and cowbells (yes, cowbells — if you didn’t think this album was silly enough yet, now you know). “Left Behind” laments both traditional and class wars (“We said we wouldn’t let them take our soil”; “This place has really changed its ways, goodness/ruined by the boats of rich folks coming here”), and “Real Thing” callously scrapes away at America and its obsession with celebrities (“Red white blue course through my veins/Binge and purge the USA!”; “Girls, are you worried about dress size six?; “I come from the land of slaves/Let’s go Redskins, let’s go Braves!”; “I come from the land of shame/blood and guts are all I claim”). It takes a good ear to extract these messages from the utter chaos of Garbus’ music, and these words burn even more fiercely when delivered in her fire-hot voice.

Of course, Garbus’ true secret is the flexibility of her voice, and second single “Wait for a Minute”, easily her most straightforward and accessible song to date (and thus possibly the album’s best), shows her vocals operating at the exact opposite end of the spectrum as during her more politically charged anthems. It’s the first instance of a tUnE-yArds song conveying any sort of sadness, which is fully appropriate since it details its narrator’s depression. “Monday/I wake up with disgust in my head” is a hell of a downer to begin a first verse, especially coming from someone whose music is generally life-affirming. Subsequent lyrics like “The mirror always disappoints/I pinch my skin back ’til I see the joints” certainly don’t introduce any sunshine either. The psychedelic, slow-jam R&B sound and skittering drums perfectly match the song’s tragic mood. Interestingly, this song also throws in some self-reference, a trick more often reserved for cryptic acts like Destroyer. “I’ll still try to leave the high of violence behind,” Garbus croons during this song’s chorus, which hearkens back to a crucial point on w h o k i l l: “There is a freedom in violence I don’t understand/and like I’ve never felt before!” Garbus shouts, unaccompanied by music, about two-thirds into that album’s “Riotriot.” One of the most cathartic moments in her catalog is recalled here, a surprising and enticing choice.

“Wait for a Minute” doesn’t quite resemble most of Nikki Nack, a trend more frequent in its weaker tracks. “Rocking Chair”, its two-minute penultimate track, feels like an unnecessary piece of filler (even more so than the hilarious interlude “Why Must We Dine on the Tots?”, an allegory for the frustrating futility of trying to quash a misbelief commonly accepted as fact). It’s comprised solely of minimal percussion and Garbus’ vocals, and it demonstrates that her voice is so flammable that music is absolutely necessary to quell its abrasive, unpleasant edges. Although “Look Around” does exactly this, it too underwhelms: it constantly teases an explosive dynamic shift like those on “Water Fountain” and “Time of Dark”, yet never quite provides this relief. “Find a New Way”, another less memorable track, faces a problem in its rhythm section, where its percussion restricts the song instead of allowing it to soar.

At the end of it all, it really is Nikki Nack‘s use of percussion that accounts for its success. Nowhere is this more apparent than on “Stop That Man”, a track that competes with “Wait for a Minute” for the title of Best Nikki Nack Song, but is definitely a more concrete example of why Nikki Nack is so thrilling. It opens with muted, abrasive, digital percussive pounding that provides an ideal bed for Garbus’ robotically filtered vocals. Within thirty seconds, though, the song changes into a hearty shout to “Please, stop that man, stop that man, stop that man!” Garbus rides the beat perfectly throughout this song, adjusting the force and tempo of her voice almost exactly in line with the ever-changing percussion below her. The last minute of this song leaps forward with percussive blasts that belong on dance floors in sweaty, humid college basements, concluding the song with a warm but ferocious feeling.

Nikki Nack is exactly the kind of album that’s fun to write about. It’s so heavily filled and unexpected that more and more of its strengths emerge the more deeply and frequently its analyzed. At the start of this review, Nikki Nack seemed like a satisfactory, but not quite up to par, follow-up to w h o k i l l; now, at its end, it’s clear to see that this is an album that, although not as savage and unique as its brilliant predecessor, will be on repeat for a while. There’s so much to learn and to love here; so much, in fact, that subsequent listens will inevitably reveal aspects of the music that were previously buried beneath their surrounding excellence. Kudos to an album that ages gracefully.

After the 2010 M.I.A. album /\/\ /\ Y /\, I became weary of over stylized albums. Blame it on my fondness for the English language or, perhaps, on my aversion to juvenile StudlyCaps. Whichever it is, the chance of me picking up tUnE-yArDs’ newest album, w h o k i l l, on my own volition are pretty unlikely. But fate and talk radio stepped in, introducing me to an impressive new and individual take on music.

tUnE-yArd is the brainchild of Merrill Garbus, a New England native. Comprising her music of drum loops combined with a ukulele, bass guitar, and saxophones, Garbus manages to create a huge sound with in a small instrumental space. What really carries the record, however, is her huge voice. The album’s novel blend of lo-fi R&B mixed with poppy afro-beats gives it an almost carefree, estival feel. But there is a force in Garbus’ music, tucked within the funky loops and impressive vocals.

This is Garbus’ second release and her sound is clearly evolving. Her lyrics are provocative from the opening track through the end. The goading of the lyrics reminds us that she is not simply writing her personal narrative, but something more universal. By acknowledging duality that she feels as a woman and as an American, she is confronting what it means to living in a world with limitations. The America that Garbus sings about is raw and brutal. Tackling big issues like gender, body image, race, and human brutality, she confronts society head on. Yet, throughout all of this chaos and hurting Garbus never loses her optimism. She embraces the viciousness of the world around her, the America of the twenty-first century, while still holding it accountable and allowing it room to grow.

Music will forever be a source of social commentary. When it is done with style and esteem, there is the opportunity to create something worth believing in. With this album, Garbus has clearly done that in her own very individualistic way.

The lineup for this year’s Bonnaroo Festival located in Manchester, Tennessee has been announced. The headliners will cover a wide range of music lovers as Radiohead, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Phish take the top honors.

There is no doubt that Bonnaroo’s 2012 lineup is amazing this year. The bill is full of some great artists including; Bon Iver, The Shins, Aziz Ansari, Fruit Bats, St. Vincent, The Avett Brothers, Alabama Shakes, tUnE-YarDs, Delta Spirit, Ben Folds Five, Feist, Skrillex, and Trampled By Turtles.

The Bonnaroo Music Festival will take place June 7th – June 10th. See the Bonnaroo full lineup poster below.