Spin's 50 Best Albums of 2013

A few years removed from *Acid Rap*’s 2013 debut as a free mixtape, it’s surprisingly easy to hear impending greatness in Chance the Rapper. This hindsight comes, of course, well after the BET, Soul Train, and NAACP Image awards for best new artist, the Best Rap Album Grammy, hosting *Saturday Night Live*, the noted influence on rap demigod Kanye West’s *The Life of Pablo*, the friendship with the Obama family, the Kit Kat endorsement, and so on. But it’s here, across 13 genre-melding tracks (14, if you count the second half of “Pusha Man”), on the follow-up to 2012\'s debut *10 Day*. In the moment, Chance the Rapper’s aesthetics—a distinct singing voice stretched in all directions over a jazzy confluence of choir melodies, R&B guitar lines, vintage soul samples, trap drums, golden-era hip-hop beats, and Chicago juke music—were something of an outlier within his city\'s emerging drill music scene. “I dropped *10 Day* the same year Chief Keef started blowing up,” Chance told Apple Music’s Nadeska. “All the labels came into Chicago and the drill movement came up and it was a lot of pressure. Also around that time was when Chief Keef worked with Ye, so there was a big question of, \'Yo, you\'re the dude that super loves Ye, you’re quote-unquote “conscious rap.” You should be doing this stuff.\' So I just had a lot of pressure to bring something.” Chance would inevitably link with Kanye, but most who found their way to *Acid Rap* were looking for an alternative to drill. Which is not to say that Chance didn’t acknowledge the plight of his hometown. Topically, the second half of the album’s “Pusha Man” (colloquially known as “Paranoia”) is one of the most affecting songs of the period, with Chance singing, “Everybody dies in the summer/Wanna say goodbye?/Tell \'em while it’s spring.” Elsewhere, he uses his melodic croak to reminisce on the simple joys of childhood (“Cocoa Butter Kisses”), the man he’s becoming (“Lost”), and problems within his relationship (“Acid Rain”). *Acid Rap*’s guests are mostly voices just left of hip-hop center (Childish Gambino, Action Bronson, Ab-Soul), but Chance also made it a point to include Chicago speed-rap legend Twista and to introduce listeners to the young genius of Noname. So who then, by way of this 13-song conflation of sounds and voices, could have have known that Chance the Rapper would go on to become one of the most celebrated voices in hip-hop and a force of pop culture in his own right? The answer, simply enough, is anyone who would have listened.

There are deftly wielded forces of darkness and light at work on Vampire Weekend’s third record. Elegiac, alive with ideas, and coproduced by Ariel Rechtshaid, *Modern Vampires of the City* moves beyond the grabby, backpacking indie of its predecessors. In fact, whether through the hiccuping, distorted storm of “Diane Young” or “Unbelievers”—a sprinting guitar-pop jewel about the notion of afterlife—this is nothing less than the sound of a band making a huge but sure-footed creative leap.

This talented three-sister act received what felt like years of hype with its advance EPs before finally releasing its debut album, *Days Are Gone*—which sports a title seemingly aware of how much time passed while fans were waiting. With such expectations, *Days Are Gone* delivers on the hype, with self-penned songs so perfectly performed that it feels unfair that Haim has received so many comparisons to Fleetwood Mac, no matter how kind and worthy. A catchy tune like “The Wire” is so immediately likable that it\'d throw the rest of an album by a lesser act off balance. Except Haim is the real deal, and even the very next songs—“If I Could Change Your Mind,” “Honey & I,” “Don’t Save Me”—exhibit fresh excitement of their own propulsion. Producer Ariel Rechtshaid (Usher, Vampire Weekend) helped these songs flow with their identities intact. The album features the best attributes of \'80s pop; while those who lived through that era might feel a sense of untraceable déjà vu, everyone should marvel at the catchy, unforced fun heard throughout this remarkable debut.

Crisp drums, juicy chords, irresistible hooks—Disclosure’s debut album couldn\'t have sounded fresher. Brothers Guy and Howard Lawrence were just kids when their favorite styles were last in vogue, and they bring the right balance of innocence and insouciance to swinging drums and plunging organ basslines, while vocalists like Sam Smith and AlunaGeorge lend a soulful shine to the impeccably polished productions.

Virgins was recorded during three periods in 2012, mostly in Reykjavik, Montreal and Seattle, using ensembles in live performance. The sound palette of this work is wider, almost 'percussive' and tighter sounding than previous works. While this album remains committed to a painterly form of musical abstraction, it is also a record of restrained composition recorded live primarily in intimate studio rooms. This record employs woodwinds, piano and synthesizers towards an effort at doing what digital music does not do naturally—making music that is out of time, out of tune and out of phase. This follow-up to his Juno-awarded Ravedeath, 1972 album exchanges gristled distortion and cavernous sound in favour of a close, airy, more defined palette. At times it points to the theological aspirations of early minimalist music. But it is not 'fake church music' for a secular age, rather something like an attempt at the sound of frankincense in slow-motion, or of a pulsing, flickering fluorescence in the grotto. Some pieces go off the rails before forming into anything, others eschew crescendo compositional structures or bombastic density while going sideways instead. It points to the ongoing development of Hecker's work. It suggests illusory memories of drug- hazed jams or communal music performance that may have never been performed or been heard. These are mp3s that give confusing accounts either of sound's glowing physicality or of its prismatic evasiveness. It is an offering of music into the void, a gift of digital filler between distractions. Yet hopefully it also stands as a document of the enduring faith in the narcotic, enigmatic function of music as long-form expression.

Boards of Canada return to album-making with a meticulously realized creation that both fascinates and disturbs—often simultaneously. *Tomorrow’s Harvest* marks how far the Scotland-bred duo has come since starting on the fringes of ‘90s electronica. Dark shadings and ominous textures have largely replaced the more pastoral atmospherics of earlier releases like 2002’s *Geogaddi*; the tone of these tracks suggests sinister forces hovering behind the facades of a futuristic cityscape. “Gemini,” “Collapse,” “Nothing Is Real,” and similar cuts unfold with a sense of mounting tension conveyed by jittery keyboard figures and furtive pulsations. At times—especially in “Palace Posy”—the duo achieves a Teutonic pop grandeur. There are lighter moments too, such as “Jacquard Causeway” (built around a woozy loping beat) and “New Seeds” (almost cheerful with its funk-tinged groove). More typical, though, are moody, insinuating pieces like “Telepath” and “Uritual,” which suggest soundtrack excerpts from long-lost sci-fi films. Boards of Canada render these aural visions with cool intelligence and hints of deadpan humor.

A hip-hop veteran hailing from Brooklyn\'s Brownsville neighborhood, KA got his start in the early \'90s with underground favorites Natural Elements. In recent years he\'s made a major comeback, releasing several high-quality, self-produced albums that have won him props from such disparate sources as Okayplayer, NPR, *Rolling Stone*, and Pitchfork. Rocking a distinctly raspy, almost-whispered flow, he lays down an advanced assortment of autobiographical rhymes that address his appreciation for true hip-hop (\"Off the Record\"), nightly shenanigans in the city (\"Knighthood\"), and the inevitabilities of middle age (\"Our Father\"). As with last year\'s excellent *Grief Pedigree*, the beats here are extremely understated and minimal: just sparse drums sprinkled with darkly atmospheric loops to set the mood. Roc Marciano lends a hand on \"Soap Box,\" but other than that it\'s all KA, delivering a low-key avalanche of storytelling verses that also touch on chess, religion, and the sometimes grim realities of BK.

Coming out of Detroit, Danny Brown has gone from blog-friendly mixtape rapper to legitimate star in just a few short years. Now he\'s signed to A-Trak and Nick Catchdub\'s Fool\'s Gold Records, and *Old* is his third full-length (following *The Hybrid* and *XXX*). It\'s his first with major-label backing and officially for sale in stores. One of the most unusual, nontraditional emcees in the game right now, Brown has two distinct vocal styles: one mellow and laid-back, the other high-pitched and hyperactive. The songs here are also of the split-personality type; half are serious, darkly introspective, and thought-provoking (\"The Return\" with Freddie Gibbs, \"Gremlins\"), while the other half are spazzed-out let\'s-get-wasted-and-party anthems that wouldn\'t sound out of place on a LMFAO record (\"Smokin & Drinkin,\" \"Handstand\"). The production—from Oh No, SKYWLKR, Frank Dukes, and BadBadNotGood—is heavy on the freaky electronics, while vocal features come from A$AP Rocky, Schoolboy Q, Ab-Soul, and others. If you\'re already a Danny Brown fan, you\'re gonna love this.

On *Wenu Wenu*, Syrian singer Omar Souleyman brilliantly blends old-school *dabke* music with modern influences to create an irresistible amalgam. Serpentine oud lines mix with snaky synthesizers until you’re not sure which is which; a similar sleight of hand occurs between the traditional Eastern percussion and electronic beats. At the center of it all is Souleyman’s singing, so perfectly enmeshed in the driving feel of dance tunes like \"Ya Yumma\" and \"Warni Warni\" that it, too, is difficult to separate from its surroundings.

Kacey Musgraves knows how to wrap an intriguing story around an ear-snagging hook while capturing the rhythms of small-town life. Songs like “Silver Lining” and “Step Off” are notable for their delicate balance of hope and realism; “Stupid” and “It Is What It Is” face up to the hard truths behind romance with remarkable clarity. This is smart, superbly crafted, and truthful to its tuneful core.

There is an early Daft Punk track named “Teachers” that, effectively, served as a roll call for the French duo’s influences: Paul Johnson, DJ Funk, DJ Sneak. Within the context of 1997’s *Homework*, “Teachers” presented the group as bright kids ready to absorb the lessons of those who came before them. But it also marked Daft Punk as a group with a strong, dynamic relationship to the past whose music served an almost dialogic function: They weren’t just expressing themselves, they were talking to their inspirations—a conversation that spanned countries, decades, styles and technological revolutions. So while the live-band-driven sound of 2013’s *Random Access Memories* was a curveball, it was also a logical next step. The theatricality that had always been part of their stage show and presentation found its musical outlet (“Giorgio by Moroder,” the Paul Williams feature “Touch”), and the soft-rock panache they started playing with on 2001’s *Discovery* got a fuller, more earnest treatment (“Within,” the Julian Casablancas feature “Instant Crush,” the I-can’t-believe-it’s-not-The-Doobie-Brothers moves of “Fragments of Time”). The concept, as much as the album had one, was to suggest that as great as our frictionless digital world may be, there was a sense of adventurousness and connection to the spirit of the ’70s that, if not lost, had at least been subdued. “Touch” was “All You Need Is Love” for the alienation of a post-*Space Odyssey* universe; “Give Life Back to Music” wasn’t just there to set the scene, it was a command—just think of all the joy music has brought *you*. “Get Lucky” and “Lose Yourself to Dance”—spotlights both for Pharrell and the pioneering work of Chic’s Nile Rodgers—recaptured the innocence of early disco and invited their audience to do the same. There was joy in it, but there was melancholy, too: Here was a world seen through the rearview, beautiful in part because you couldn’t quite go back to it. “As we look back at the Earth, it’s, uh, up at about 11 o’clock, about, uh, well, maybe 10 or 12 diameters,” the sampled voice of astronaut Eugene Cernan says on “Contact.” “I don\'t know whether that does you any good. But there\'s somethin’ out there.” This was the Apollo 17 mission, December 1972. It remains the last time humans have been on the moon.

While Waxahatchee’s debut, *American Weekend*, is often described as “haunting” (for good reason), the artist’s sophomore release exudes a more pointed, aggressive sound. Waxahatchee is Katie Crutchfield, a singer/songwriter and Alabama native doing what should be impossible by now: giving new life to a well-worn musical genre. On *Cerulean Salt*, she swings from stabbing, grimy guitars on the first two tracks to a relaxed and almost sweet-seeming saunter featuring tambourines and acoustic guitar (“Lips and Limbs“). Then a thudding, spare bass and hollow snare paint a bleak picture on “Brother Bryan.” That song opens with the line “I said to you on the night we met, ‘I am not well,’” which tells you what to expect lyrically on this beguiling work. Crutchfield’s an honest, straightforward artist who emits the smart pop-flavored confidence of Liz Phair, the mystery of Cat Power, and the melodic playfulness of Pavement, though Waxahatchee’s sound is considerably simpler. Whether she’s slamming her electric guitar or strumming an acoustic, the emotional nakedness of *Cerulean Salt* is a beautiful thing.

On her second full-length record as Waxahatchee, former P.S. Eliot singer Katie Crutchfield’s compelling hyper-personal poetry is continuously crushing. Cerulean Salt follows last January’s American Weekend -- a collection of minimal acoustic-guitar pop written and recorded in a week at her family’s Birmingham home. On this new record, Crutchfield’s songs continue to be marked by her sharp, hooky songwriting; her striking voice and lyrics that simultaneously seem hyper-personal yet relentlessly relatable, teetering between endearingly nostaglic and depressingly dark. But whereas before the thematic focus of her songcraft was on break ups and passive-aggressive crushing, this record reflects on her family and Alabama upbringing. And whereas American Weekend was mostly just Crutchfield and her guitar, Cerulean Salt is occasionally amped up, with a full band and higher-fi production. At times, Cerulean Salt creeps closer to the sound of PS Eliot: moody, 90s-inspired rock backed by Keith Spencer and Swearin’ guitarist Kyle Gilbride on drums and bass. The full band means fleshed-out fuzzy lead guitars on “Coast to Coast”, its poppy hook almost masking its dark lyrics. Big distorted guitars and deep steady drums mark songs like “Misery over Dispute” and “Waiting”. There’s plenty of American Weekend‘s instrospection and minimalism to be found, though. “Blue Pt. II” is stripped down, Crutchfield and her sister Alison (of Swearin’) singing in harmony with deadpan vox. She’s still an open booking, musing on self-doubt versus self-reliance, transience versus permanence. “Peace and Quiet” ebbs and flows from moody, minimal verses to a sing-song chorus. “Swan Dive” tackles nostalgia, transience, indifference, regret — over the a minimal strum of an electric-guitar, the picking at a chirpy riff and the double-time tapping of a muted drum. The album closes with a haunting acoustic-guitar reflection on “You’re Damaged,” possibly the best Waxahatchee song to date.

For his debut release on the reputed Warp Records imprint, Daniel Lopatin (a.k.a. Oneohtrix Point Never) draws somewhat on the compositional elements from his previous LP, *Replica*, but pushes them seamlessly to their breaking points—each track is a short film\'s worth of ideas and range. Referencing any number of touchstones from \'90s Internet culture to the subtle ambient works of Aphex Twin, to *Oxygene*-like swells of cinematic synths, the listener is left with almost zero ability to predict where a track will lead. Yet there\'s never the sense of being taken unexpectedly—Oneohtrix turns sound on its head to bring you to the place you\'re meant to go, which is sometimes many places at once.

Rhye\'s music is so Sade-like and heavy with musical instruments that it might seem odd to label it electronic. Yet it shares the chillwave DNA of The xx, Inc., and even Toro y Moi. *Woman* is an appropriately earthly title for this silky-smooth debut, perfect for a laidback late-night lounge set. “The Fall” layers murmuring piano phrases with a woozy, danceable mélange of brass and synthetic strings. Meanwhile, violins and cascading harps introduce the finger-snapping swing of \"Open.\" Michael Milosh\'s falsetto vocals are androgynous and pitch-perfect.

When Eminem put out the sequel to *The Marshall Mathers LP* in late 2013, he joined a small handful of rappers—including JAY-Z, Q-Tip, and the late MF DOOM—who’d managed to still sound relevant after hitting 40. Age hadn’t matured him—at least not so much that he backed off the violence, misogyny, and homophobia that made him a lightning rod 15 years earlier. But on *The Marshall Mathers LP 2*, there was a sense of awareness about his place in the culture that could be interpreted as maturity. He wasn’t a dark, twisted rapper; he was the dark, twisted rap *guy*: That was his role. So while the album’s shout-outs to Phife Dawg (“Legacy”)—as well as the old-school feel of tracks like “Berzerk” and “Survival”—could be described as nostalgia, they’re also Eminem’s way of saying that, no matter how good he is, he knows he’s just a piece in a much bigger cultural picture. By the time *The Marshall Mathers LP 2* arrived, the tabloids and headlines that once followed Eminem were mostly gone. It was just him, his notebook, his memories, and a love for the music that made him. “They said I rap like a robot, so call me Rap-bot,” he proclaims at the top of “Rap God,” before offering five and a half of the most technically demanding minutes of his career. That’s the feat, but that’s also the joke—watch him go. Same, in a way, for something like “Legacy,” which listeners might realize squeezes five minutes of rhymes out of the same few syllables. In an interview with Eminem, conducted a few years after *The Marshall Mathers LP 2*‘s release, a *New York* magazine writer asked the rapper what he liked to do for fun. “Aside from writing? Mostly I love writing,” he said. “Yeah, writing is something I really enjoy.” It’s hard to tell whether or not he’s kidding, but on *LP 2*, the picture still comes through clear: Here’s a guy so consumed by rap that the rest of the world basically doesn’t exist.

After gently warming up with the swaying title track, Rudimental’s debut album immediately delivers the hard-hitting single that stormed UK singles charts in 2012, “Feel the Love.” Enlivened by a crackling drum \'n\' bass groove, joyous refrain, and funky organ riff, the tune is emblematic of the rousing fusions that make *Home* recall early ’90s pop/dance alchemists like Massive Attack and Soul II Soul. The quartet of producer-musicians at the group\'s core embrace an ecstatic dance-\'till-you-drop ethos that\'s further articulated by a variety of guest vocalists (including BRIT Award Critics\' Choice-winner Emeli Sandé, upcoming American rapper Angel Haze, and upstart UK soul singer Ella Eyre). Sure, there are moments of reprieve—like the downtempo, muted four-on-the-floor pulse and liquid synths of \"Spoon\"—but *Home* is at its best with crowd-pleasing, party-rocking anthems (\"Waiting All Night,\" \"Not Giving In\").

After kicking in the door as a 16-year-old rap phenomenon, Odd Future\'s Earl Sweatshirt, now 19, is unleashing *Doris*. His first full-length album further establishes him as a promising talent in hip-hop. With production from The Neptunes (\"Burgundy\"), drunken ad-libs from RZA (\"Molasses\"), rapping by Frank Ocean (\"Sunday\"), and energetic cameos from Tyler, The Creator (\"Whoa\", \"Sasquatch\"), Earl\'s introduction is assertive. Swerving among hard raps, smooth melodies, and jazz-infused chords, *Doris* is eclectic, elusive, and hard to pin down. By the time the record finishes with the sweeping soul samples of \"Knight,\" Earl\'s outing makes for an entertaining ride.

Laura Marling’s questing nature reaches its zenith on album four, the 16-song epic *Once I Was an Eagle*. It kicks off with a hypnotic four-track suite of songs tied together by a raga-like drone and hand percussion, sucking the listener into her existential headspace. Further in, there’s classical guitar (“Little Love Caster”), tender devotionals (“Love Be Brave”), and Dylan evocations (“It ain’t me, babe,” she affirms on “Master Hunter”), all stirred by her steely interrogations.

They’re called punk and metal, but at their hearts Norwegian berserkers Kvelertak are the living, fire breathing embodiment of rock and roll. “This is going to blow your brains out”, says singer Erlend Hjelvik.

Kelela Mizanekristos has previously experimented with indie, jazz, and metal while searching for an outlet for her voice. By setting the emotional expressiveness of ’90s R&B to the stark, adventurous sounds of UK bass music, she’s finally found the perfect formula. From the dank grime of “Enemy” to the title track’s snipped dubstep beats, the spaciousness of the music always allows Kelela’s melodic, love-bruised vocal to shine. As a result, *Cut 4 Me* never loses the biting point between invention and immediacy.

With her second full-length album, Janelle Monáe continues the imaginative narrative of her futuristic alter-ego Cindi Mayweather. This storyline started on Monáe\'s debut EP, *Metropolis: The Chase Suite*, and continued though the acclaimed 2010 full-length *The ArchAndroid*. The richly detailed tunes on *The Electric Lady* continue the story of Mayweather—a femme android superhero—through a funk-infused power struggle in the city of Metropolis. And even though Monáe’s concept is elaborate, hard-grooving tunes like “Q.U.E.E.N.” (feat. Erykah Badu), “Electric Lady,” and “Dance Apocalyptic” are undeniably magnetic and stand on their own merits. Tracks like “We Were Rock n\' Roll” and “It\'s Code” demonstrate Monáe’s gift for weaving influences of classic soul and exploratory funk (think Funkadelic and Nona Hendryx) with crisp neo-soul production and rock guitar flourishes. Prince makes a guest vocal on an album highlight—“Givin Em What They Love”—while reflexive ballads like “PrimeTime” (feat. Miguel), “Can’t Live Without Your Love,” and “What an Experience” feature some of Monáe’s most personal songwriting to date.

The main feeling that Kevin Shields felt upon the release of *m b v* in 2013 was relief. The process of making his band’s third album—and first since 1991’s era-defining *Loveless*—had begun almost two decades before, and, after a last-minute race to complete it before a planned tour, it was done. “We had a six-month tour in front of us and we literally just finished it in time,” Shields tells Apple Music. Continuing a theme begun by *Loveless* and 1988’s *Isn’t Anything*, Shields compromised nothing on *m b v*. This time, though, it was a totally independent production, all on him. “I spent about £50,000 mastering it,” he says. “If we were with a record company, they would have been going absolutely crazy, but we paid for it ourselves and we put it out ourselves and we made a lot more money than we would’ve made if we’d put it out on a label.” *m b v* began back in 1996. The band’s classic lineup had started to disintegrate, with drummer Colm Ó Cíosóig and bassist Debbie Googe departing. Perhaps in a reflection of this unsettling period, Shields began to approach songwriting in a much more experimental manner. “I went on this process of recording a lot of ideas in a purposely abstract way,” he says. “I wasn’t trying to write a song with a beginning and an end. Instead of writing a part in a song, I’d record it and then record another part. I was doing the writing process and the recording process at the same time but in different ways. It might be weeks between a verse and a chorus…well, I don’t do choruses.” The idea was that eventually these ideas would form a coherent whole that would be a new my bloody valentine record, but the project stalled in 1997 when Shields ran out of money. “And then I started hanging out with Primal Scream and I kind of drifted into that world, which was fun for quite a while.” It wasn’t until Shields was remastering the band’s back catalog in 2006 that he listened back to the unfinished sessions. “I realized it was actually better and more relevant than I thought it was,” he recalls. “I’d kind of forgotten about the more melodic parts of it and realized they were quite strong. I thought, ‘I should finish this and make it into an album.’” It was a freeing process, Shields says, filled with lots of “crazy shit.” At one point, they paid to fly people from England to Japan with proofs of the artwork because they didn’t trust just seeing it on a computer. “We were literally throwing money at it to make sure it was as good as possible,” he says. “Every single penny was justified.” By the end, Shields felt vindicated. “We did it our way and it was perfectly good.” No my bloody valentine record ever sounds of its time—they all sound like the future. But there is something especially reinvigorating about listening to their third album, perhaps because of how unlikely its release seemed at points. To hear Shields still erecting signposts on where guitar music can go on the sensational closer “wonder 2,” which sounds like a rock band playing drum and bass from inside the engine of a 747, or the slo-mo sway of “if i am” is to be reminded that this is a visionary at work. One of the central themes of *m b v*, says Shields, was a strong sense of everything coming to an end. He thinks that’s why it still resonated when he listened back in 2006, the feeling growing as he recommenced work on it in 2011 and even more so now. “We’re in a cycle of the world of things coming to an end and moving into a new phase,” he says. “The record is more relevant as every decade goes by.”

*Dream River* is Bill Callahan’s 16th (or so) release, including those he recorded as Smog. His music is mysterious and intense. Even after 25 years, it remains filled with surprises. Where in the past Callahan has thrived on repetition, here nothing is static. *Dream River* is sublime in its subtlety; each word and pause feels essential. The instruments are in sync with Callahan’s drowsy and understated baritone, and the arrangements fully support the freeform lyrics and open song structures. The music is lush and the backing band inspired, particularly the remarkable guitar work of Matt Kinsey. His guitar tones play off Callahan’s vocals beautifully as keyboards, flute, congas, and percussion add texture and motion on standouts like “Javelin Unlanding” and “Spring.” Another highlight is the opening “The Sing,” a Callahan classic featuring pedal steel, electric guitar, country fiddle, and a hint of mariachi rhythm. *Dream River* is an affecting album that ranks among Callahan’s best work.

Ol' man Eagle is back, floatin' Apocalyptically on a Whaleheart down the Dream River. Eight gentle percolations fire the pressure-cooker of life, dialing us into the Callahanian mind- and soul-set. Deep like aqua, soulful like man and animal alike.

Colin Stetson established himself as an intensely original solo composer and performer in 2011 with the release of the widely acclaimed New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges, which ended up on countless year-end lists. Anyone who has seen Stetson in solo performance can attest to the stunning physicality of his circular-breathing technique and capacity to produce a seemingly impossible palate of multiple voicings simultaneously in real time. New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light is the final installment in a trilogy of solo albums, again recorded live in single takes and again mixed by groundbreaking producer Ben Frost. Colin's membership in Bon Iver has also led to vocal contributions from Justin Vernon for this record, who appears on four songs, and whose voice constitutes the only overdubbing on the album. New History Warfare Vol. 3: To See More Light is the most cohesive and fully realized of Stetson's solo albums to date. It should reliably stand as the apotheosis of the New History Warfare trilogy, and certainly signals the full flourishing of Stetson's unique talents as both composer and performer, pressing his arsenal of virtuosic techniques into the service of vivid, impassioned and conceptually astute songcraft.

In 2006, the first album by this British electronic producer found him exploring the outer reaches of trance, glitch, and minimal techno. Seven years later, having busied himself elsewhere in between, Holden followed up with an ecstatic explosion of sounds and styles on *The Inheritors*. The electronic merry-go-round that Holden presides over is based around thick, visceral analog synth tones that alternately throb, rattle, and wheeze as the situation demands, but they\'re framed in a multitude of mind-melting ways. On \"The Caterpillar\'s Invention,\" avant-jazz sax frenzy collides with a tribal groove and a prog-flavored accumulation of electronics. \"Sky Burial\" pits electro-acoustic edginess against old-school Harry Partch–style DIY clang-and-bang sound sculpture. Along the way, \'70s Berlin–style cosmic synthscapes dart around funhouse-mirror reflections of everything from ambient music and post-rock to videogame soundtracks—making for a sometimes disorienting but consistently engrossing journey.

William Tyler has worked with Lambchop, Bonnie \"Prince\" Billy, and Silver Jews, and his 2013 solo album *Impossible Truth* was released by the notable indie rock label Merge Records. Still, his own music has little to do with those associations. His majestic guitar work belongs alongside Leo Kottke and Glenn Branca, such are the wonders of Tyler\'s playing. Recorded and mixed at Beech House in Nashville and co-produced by Tyler and Mark Nevers, *Impossible Truth* was inspired by two books Tyler read while on tour: Barney Hoskyns\' *Hotel California* (about the \'70s Laurel Canyon music scene in Los Angeles) and Mike Davis\' *The Ecology of Fear* (which discusses the history of the destruction of L.A., both real and imagined). The 10-minute \"The World Set Free\" deals in feedback and apocalypse, while \"Country of Illusion\" weaves a nine-minute mystery that approaches raga. \"The Geography of Nowhere\" yanks on a mean electric blues guitar. \"We Can\'t Go Home Again\" and \"A Portrait of Sarah\" yield acoustic revelations. 

On her sixth studio album, the incomparable Neko Case returns to the exquisitely dark, structurally complex, yet unfailingly lovely songwriting that made her 2006 landmark *Fox Confessor Brings the Flood* so transcendent. “Night Still Comes” is Case at her most achingly gorgeous, even while singing tormented lyrics reminiscent of Fiona Apple’s “Every Single Night” (“My brain makes drugs to keep me slow… but not even the masons know what drug will keep night from coming”). “Bracing for Sunday” finds Case singing matter-of-factly about murdering the man responsible for a friend’s death. “Nearly Midnight, Honolulu” is an appalled a capella lullaby to a child Case witnessed being viciously berated by his mother, while the darkly baroque “Afraid” gives us the gift of Neko covering Nico, the former Velvet Underground muse. Still, the album is not without lighter moments such as plaintive love song “Calling Cards” or the resilient, horn-swirling closing track, “Ragtime.”