On their fifth album, Beach House don\'t veer too far from their template: beautifully spare, sun-bleached ditties that belie their often-dreary subject matter. Sure, there’s a blown-out guitar here (the pleasantly noisy “Sparks”), or a breathy spoken word there (“PPP,” replete with Cocteau Twins-style guitar), but the duo\'s MO remains: “If it ain’t broke . . .” The creeping organ tones and Victoria Legrand\'s gauzy croon are so luxuriant, you almost forget that these are still sad songs—and it’s in that balance of light and dark that they reliably stick the landing.
*Customers outside of North America, please try Bella Union in Europe/UK or Mistletone Records in Australia/NZ. Thanks! Beach House is Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally. We have been a band for over a decade living and working in Baltimore, MD. Depression Cherry is our 5th full-length record and was recorded at Studio in the Country in Bogalusa, Louisiana from November ’14 through January ’15. This time period crossed the anniversaries of both John Lennon’s and Roy Orbison’s death. In general, this record shows a return to simplicity, with songs structured around a melody and a few instruments, with live drums playing a far lesser role. With the growing success of Teen Dream and Bloom, the larger stages and bigger rooms naturally drove us towards a louder, more aggressive place; a place farther from our natural tendencies. Here, we continue to let ourselves evolve while fully ignoring the commercial context in which we exist.
Nashville’s one-man hit factory presses pause on the production line for a soulful solo debut. 13 years in the writing, the tracks on *Traveller* possess choruses as effortlessly infectious as anything Stapleton has gifted to high profile clients like Adele and Luke Bryan but there’s a fascinating desperation to the themes here. From the wild, sleepless delirium at the heart of “Parachute” to the bandit bluegrass on “Outlaw State of Mind”, this is country rock that’s unafraid to explore drink, drugs, and a very dark underbelly.
Courtney Barnett\'s 2015 full-length debut established her immediately as a force in independent rock—although she\'d bristle at any sort of hype, as she sneers on the noise-pop gem \"Pedestrian at Best\": \"Put me on a pedestal and I\'ll only disappoint you/Tell me I\'m exceptional, I promise to exploit you.\" Warnings aside, her brittle riffing and deadpan lyrics—not to mention indelible hooks and nagging sense of unease with the world—helped put *Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit* into the upper echelon of 2010s indie rock. The Melbourne-based singer-songwriter stares at stained ceilings and checks out open houses as she reflects on love, death, and the quality of supermarket produce, making *Sometimes* a crowd-pleaser almost in spite of itself. Propulsive tracks like the hip-shaking \"Elevator Operator\" and the squalling \"Dead Fox\" pair Barnett\'s talked-sung delivery with grungy, hooky rave-ups that sound beamed in from a college radio station\'s 1995 top-ten list. Her singing style isn\'t conversational as much as it is like a one-sided phone call from a friend who spends a lot of time in her own head, figuring out the meaning of life in real time while trying to answer the question \"How are you?\"—and sounding captivating every step of the way. But Barnett can also command blissed-out songs that bury pithy social commentary beneath their distorted guitars—\"Small Poppies\" hides notes about power and cruelty within its wobbly chords, while the marvelous \"Depreston\" rolls thoughts on twentysomething thriftiness, half-glimpsed lives, and shifting ideas of \"home\" across its sun-bleached landscape. While the topics of conversation can be heavy, Barnett\'s keen ear for what makes a potent pop song and her inability to be satisfied with herself make *Sometimes I Sit and Think, and Sometimes I Just Sit* a fierce opening salvo.
Deafheaven’s sublime 2013 album *Sunbather* was an alloy of black metal aggression and shoegaze melodicism as beautiful as it was punishing. Opening with a murmur of ambience before giving way to the sound of church bells and Slayer-like thrash, *New Bermuda* pushes the band’s formula even further, juxtaposing twinkling guitars with searing growls (“Baby Blue”) and lurching, hardcore-style breakdowns with chord progressions that could’ve come from a moody English alt-rock record circa 1988 (“Gifts from the Earth”). It’s an adventurous blend from an extraordinary band.
A wondrous debut from the house producer of indie-pop romantics The xx, *In Colour* is the sound of dance music heard at helicopter height: beautiful, distant, and surprising at every turn. Whether summoning old-school drum ’n’ bass (“Gosh”) or dancehall-inflected pop (the Young Thug and Popcaan double feature “I Know There’s Gonna Be (Good Times)”), the mood here is consummately relaxed, more like a spring morning than a busy night. Laced throughout the thump and sparkle are fragments of recorded conversation and the ambience of city streets—details that make the music feel as though it has a life of its own.
The former Drive-By Trucker delivers his most diverse album yet in *Something More Than Free*, a beautifully observed and finely conceived collection of windswept rock that finds the singer/songwriter exploring questions of place and identity. While “Speed Trap Town” perfectly captures the feeling of growing up in rural America, “24 Frames” ponders faith and family—all with the lyrical acuity of Townes Van Zandt and the melodic aplomb of Tom Petty.
Simmering with slow-burning soul, Natalie Prass’ debut features sophisticated arrangements supported by strings and a horn section. Gorgeous melodies and memorable hooks grace its nine songs and give the album a cohesive mood. Standout tracks like “Bird of Prey” and “Your Fool” play like a cross between Dusty Springfield and classic Philly soul without sounding overtly retro. Her understated, intimate voice is both delicate and darkly sly, a perfect pairing to the sensibilities of producer Matthew E. White and the Spacebomb Records house band. The result is an impressive and assured debut that deserves close attention.
Sufjan Stevens has taken creative detours into textured electro-pop, orchestral suites, and holiday music, but *Carrie & Lowell* returns to the feathery indie folk of his quietly brilliant early-’00s albums, like *Michigan* and *Seven Swans*. Using delicate fingerpicking and breathy vocals, songs like “Eugene,” “The Only Thing,” and the Simon & Garfunkel-influenced “No Shade in the Shadow of The Cross” are gorgeous reflections on childhood. When Stevens whispers in multi-tracked harmony over the album’s title track—an impressionistic portrait of his mother and stepfather that glows with nostalgic details—he delivers a haunting centerpiece.
Even as a 20-track double album, this is one of the most cohesive and engaging hip-hop debuts you’ll hear. Against dank, ambitious production overseen by storied beat-smith No I.D., the Long Beach rapper documents a life spent learning the power of fear in a gang quarter with vivid wordplay and uncompromising imagery. “Jump Off the Roof”’s paranoid gospel and the woozy soul thump of “C.N.B.” embody a thrilling opus that values darkness and anxiety over radio-baiting hooks.