Taylor Swift\'s \'80s-inspired fifth studio effort is her first \"official pop album,\" with heavyweights like Max Martin, Shellback, Ryan Tedder, and Jack Antonoff helping construct a sleeker, glitzier sound. \"Shake It Off\" mimics \"Hey Ya,\" OutKast\'s own pledge of allegiance to populism, and echoes of Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Belinda Carlisle can be heard throughout. *1989* is a juggernaut, as brash and brilliant as the lights of Times Square.
After a prolific first decade as a recording artist—between the band Rilo Kiley, her solo efforts, and side collaborations, she released eight full-length albums—Jenny Lewis took her time working on *The Voyager*, her third solo album. The six years that followed her sophomore release (2008\'s *Acid Tongue*) let Lewis refine and polish these 10 buoyant tracks. Working with two producers who are worthy of her wickedly intelligent songwriting—Ryan Adams and Beck—she devised her most mature and confident album to date. Lewis has rarely sounded in greater command of her versatile vocal gifts, from the sharp, vaulting chorus of the beat-driven opener, “Head Underwater”—which chronicles her emergence from a dark period (“I put my head underwater, baby/I held my breath until it passed”)—to the classic soul melody of “She’s Not Me” and the pleading western noir “You Can’t Outrun ‘Em.” The effervescent, summery production contrasts thoughtfully with Lewis’ piercing lyrics, which find her surveying life with restlessness and resignation in equal measure.
Ed Sheeran’s 2011 debut album, *+*, introduced the world to an unassuming pop star. Sheeran, who cut his teeth sofa-surfing and playing gigs in pubs, was a relatable everyman: His tunes combined singer-songwriter melodies with slippery hip-hop rhythms, and his lyrics were imbued with recognizable references and down-to-earth imagery. Sheeran came across as the guy you saw perform at an open mic night, and felt compelled to buy a drink for afterwards—mainly because he *was* that guy. Even when *+* began selling millions of copies, Sheeran was still showing up at gigs wearing a lumberjack shirt, loose-fitting jeans, and chunky sneakers. He was dressing for comfort; as a result, he sometimes looked like he’d wandered onto stage by accident. That approachability is maintained on *x*, his 2014 follow-up. But peel back Sheeran’s modest take on pop, and there’s a quietly experimental thread running through the record—best evidenced on the wanton lead single, “Sing.” Producer Pharrell Williams draws Sheeran away from his nice-guy persona, adding snapping beats, sonar-like electronics, and a grooving rhythm guitar. “I want you to be mine, lady/And to hold your body close,” Sheeran spits on the verse, sounding like a tequila-soaked playboy. Then he slides into a seductive falsetto for the chorus: “If you love me/Come on, get involved.” Such subversion is repeated on “Don’t,” which finds Sheeran taking aim at an adulterous ex-flame, and “The Man,” which is Sheeran at his most bitter. Elsewhere on *x*, he’s seduced by the allure of hedonism (“Bloodstream”) and forced to confront familial trauma—which he does with empowered sassiness (“Runaway”). Sheeran doesn’t abandon his duties as a swooning balladeer, of course: “Photograph” is an aching meditation on the realities of a long-distant relationship, “Tenerife Sea” is a sensuous ode to a lover, and “Thinking Out Loud” remains Sheeran’s most romantic song, forever destined to soundtrack first dances at weddings. The album’s amalgam of adventurous and innovative musicianship with crowd-pleasing reliability now feel synonymous with Sheeran’s music. But it was *x* that first hinted at an artist willing to test the limits of what people expected from him.
While he came to prominence as the guitarist for fun., Jack Antonoff formerly fronted the pop-punk upstarts Steel Train and has written songs for the likes of Taylor Swift and Sara Bareilles. He\'s a pro, in other words, and his craftsmanship shines through on the debut of his new project, Bleachers. Packing more \'80s punch than a pair of legwarmers and a can of Tab, *Strange Desire* looks to acts like Peter Gabriel, Simple Minds, and Duran Duran for inspiration. \"Wake Me\" has some \"Voices Carry\" ethereal slow-jam magic to it, and \"Rollercoaster\" sounds like Blink-182 covering \"Dancing in the Dark.\" Even Yoko Ono shows up to add some angular \'80s experimentalism. Yet the smash single \"I Want to Get Better\" is distinctly of-the-moment, a mash of looped pianos and choral chanting that makes for one of the summer\'s most unlikely jams.
Although her first two studio albums had moments of girl-group sass, Swedish-born singer/songwriter Lykke Li has always been most powerful when the tempos come down. 2010’s *Wounded Rhymes* featured a mascara-stained ‘60s-influenced charmer called “Sadness is a Blessing”; Li’s third album, *I Never Learn*, hones this gift for wallowing with a collection of miserablist dream pop. Stacked with Wall of Sound strings, lean songwriting, and confessional drama, Li’s doleful highlights (“No Rest for the Wicked,” “Love Me Like I’m Not Made of Stone,” “Never Gonna Love Again”) are carefully constructed ballads that float along in a melancholy, reverb-washed haze. When she fades out with the mournful “Sleeping Alone,” *I Never Learn* emerges as a powerful artistic achievement, every bit as lonely as it is lovely.
On his first album in 13 years, Richard D. James, the godfather of cerebral electronic music, is in top form. This isn\'t a comeback, nor a departure of any kind: *Syro* sounds like highly concentrated, classic Aphex Twin, a singular aesthetic that dates all the way back to 1982: beat patterns wiggle into the foreground, then disappear; analog synths snap, crackle and pop; moods vacillate between aggressively percussive and smoothly melodic. These tracks – they work together like one long set -- demand to be listened to with excellent headphones, the better to discern their highly intricate sequencing, arguably some of James\' most ambitious. Each tune is teeming with juicy noise, all of it gleefully arranged. What comes through most is joy: it sounds like James is having so much fun.
With 2011’s *Slave Ambient*, The War on Drugs offered a collection of emotionally rich, guitar-driven grandeur that earned songwriter/bandleader Adam Granduciel accolades from far beyond his hometown scene in Philadelphia. The War on Drugs’ fourth full-length operates with a bigger, bolder agenda—evident in the clattering electronics and hypnotic production of the nearly nine-minute opener, “Under the Pressure”. From there, *Lost in the Dream* unfolds with warm, melancholic rock that combines Granduciel’s mystical tenor with a blurry haze of vintage synths, chiming guitars, horn accents and reverb-soaked ambience. Uptempo tracks like “Red Eyes” and “An Ocean in Between the Waves” juxtapose pulsing, mechanical backbeats with droning synths. Ballads, like the heartbreaking “Suffering” and the gently paced title track, float along in a beautiful fog. After *Lost in the Dream* closes with a couple of minutes of wordless feedback, the album leaves a hypnotic, lingering impression.
'Lost In The Dream' is the third album by Philadelphia band The War on Drugs, but in many ways, it feels like the first. Around the release of the 2011 breakthrough 'Slave Ambient', Adam Granduciel spent the bulk of two years on the road, touring through progressively larger rock clubs, festival stages and late-night television slots. As these dozen songs shifted and grew beyond what they’d been in the studio, The War on Drugs became a bona fide rock ’n’ roll band. That essence drives 'Lost In The Dream', a 10-song set produced by Granduciel and longtime engineer Jeff Zeigler. In the past, Granduciel built the core of songs largely by himself. But these tunes were played and recorded by the group that had solidified so much on the road: Dave Hartley, (his favorite bassist in the world), who had played a bit on The War on Drugs’ 2008 debut 'Wagonwheel Blues', and pianist Robbie Bennett, a multi-instrumentalist who contributed to 'Slave Ambient'. This unit spent eight months bouncing between a half-dozen different studios that stretched from the mountains of North Carolina to the boroughs of New York City. Only then did Granduciel—the proudly self-professed gearhead, and unrepentant perfectionist—add and subtract, invite guests and retrofit pieces. He sculpted these songs into a musical rescue mission, through and then beyond personal despair and anxiety. 'Lost In The Dream' represents the trials of the trip and the triumphs of its destination.
At first glance, the pairing of producer Madlib and rapper Freddie Gibbs seems unlikely. The former is the ultimate crate-digger, known as much for his reclusive tendencies as his endless collection of obscure soul, jazz, rock, and other musical ephemera; the latter is a street-hardened former dealer who rhymes about the perils of the dope game. But they say opposites attract, and in this case their two aesthetics complement one another. Gibbs is a nimble, gifted rapper, his syllables quick-stepping around Madlib\'s many twists and turns, from the grainy \'70s soul-funk of \"Scarface\" to the half-time disco of \"Harold\'s\" to the hazy West Coast G-funk of \"Thuggin.\" The duo\'s credentials are strong enough to pull some of hip-hop\'s finest into their orbit: oddball Danny Brown contributes a verse to the squirming \"High,\" while the crews from The Wu-Tang Clan, Top Dog Entertainment, and Odd Future are all represented (via cameos from Raekwon, Ab Soul, and Earl Sweatshirt, respectively). As a final shot of gravitas, Scarface drops a verse on \"Broken.\" It\'s a deserved blessing from one of hip-hop\'s finest MCs to one of its most unlikely but successful pairings.