Treble's Top 50 Albums of 2015

Thanks to multiple hit singles—and no shortage of critical acclaim—2012’s *good kid, m.A.A.d city* propelled Kendrick Lamar into the hip-hop mainstream. His 2015 follow-up, *To Pimp a Butterfly*, served as a raised-fist rebuke to anyone who thought they had this Compton-born rapper figured out. Intertwining Afrocentric and Afrofuturist motifs with poetically personal themes and jazz-funk aesthetics, *To Pimp A Butterfly* expands beyond the gangsta rap preconceptions foisted upon Lamar’s earlier works. Even from the album’s first few seconds—which feature the sound of crackling vinyl and a faded Boris Gardiner soul sample—it’s clear *To Pimp a Butterfly* operates on an altogether different cosmic plane than its decidedly more commercial predecessor. The album’s Flying Lotus-produced opening track, “Wesley’s Theory,” includes a spoken-word invocation from musician Josef Leimberg and an appearance by Parliament-Funkadelic legend George Clinton—names that give *To Pimp a Butterfly* added atomic weight. Yet Lamar’s lustful and fantastical verses, which are as audacious as the squirmy Thundercat basslines underneath, never get lost in an album packed with huge names. Throughout *To Pimp a Butterfly*, Lamar goes beyond hip-hop success tropes: On “King Kunta,” he explores his newfound fame, alternating between anxiety and big-stepping braggadocio. On “The Blacker the Berry,” meanwhile, Lamar pointedly explores and expounds upon identity and racial dynamics, all the while reaching for a reckoning. And while “Alright” would become one of the rapper’s best-known tracks, it’s couched in harsh realities, and features an anthemic refrain delivered in a knowing, weary rasp that belies Lamar’s young age. He’s only 27, and yet he’s already seen too much. The cast assembled for this massive effort demonstrates not only Lamar’s reach, but also his vast vision. Producers Terrace Martin and Sounwave, both veterans of *good kid, m.A.A.d city*, are among the many names to work behind-the-boards here. But the album also includes turns from everyone from Snoop Dogg to SZA to Ambrose Akinmusire to Kamasi Washington—an intergenerational reunion of a musical diaspora. Their contributions—as well as the contributions of more than a dozen other players—give *To Pimp a Butterfly* a remarkable range: The contemplations of “Institutionalized” benefit greatly from guest vocalists Bilal and Anna Wise, as do the hood parables of “How Much A Dollar Cost,” which features James Fauntleroy and Ronald Isley. Meanwhile, Robert Glasper’s frenetic piano on “For Free? (Interlude)” and Pete Rock’s nimble scratches on “Complexion (A Zulu Love)” give *To Pimp a Butterfly* added energy.

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.

*Black Messiah* ends one of R&B\'s most mysterious disappearing acts, arriving almost 15 years after D\'Angelo\'s sophomore full-length, *Voodoo*. Filled with fluid musicianship, political dissent, and bewitching production, *Black Messiah* is a mosaic of funky, rule-breaking neo-soul that\'s alternatively rebellious, sensual, and deeply spiritual. The serpentine melodies of D\'Angelo\'s ‘90s work are here, but they’re pushed to an experimental edge by his aptly named band, The Vanguard ((which includes Roots drummer Questlove and jazz luminary Roy Hargrove). Soulful keyboards and richly layered vocal harmonies are at the core of the psych-funk of “Ain’t That Easy” and the piano-driven saunter of “Sugah Daddy,” which stand in contrast to guitar-spiked protest songs like “1000 Deaths” and “The Charade.”

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.

Track Listing: 1. Remains 2. Claudette 3. And When You Fall 4. Blood 5. Old Girl 6. Irony. Utility. Pretext. 7. But She Was Not Flying 8. Black Eunuch 9. Games 10. In Parallax 11. Untitled

The peerless indie trio’s first LP in a decade is 33 minutes of pure, lean, honest-to-goodness rock. Corin Tucker is in full command of her howitzer of a voice on standouts like “Surface Envy.” Carrie Brownstein’s haughty punk sneer leads the glorious “A New Wave.” Janet Weiss’ masterful drumming navigates the songwriting’s hairpin tonal shifts, from the glittering “Hey Darling” to the turbulent album closer, “Fade.\" *No Cities to Love* is an electrifying step forward for one of the great American rock bands.

“We sound possessed on these songs,” says guitarist/vocalist Carrie Brownstein about Sleater-Kinney’s eighth studio album, No Cities to Love. “Willing it all–the entire weight of the band and what it means to us–back into existence.” The new record is the first in 10 years from the acclaimed trio–Brownstein, vocalist/guitarist Corin Tucker, and drummer Janet Weiss–who came crashing out of the ’90s Pacific Northwest riot grrrl scene, setting a new bar for punk’s political insight and emotional impact. Formed in Olympia, WA in 1994, Sleater-Kinney were hailed as “America’s best rock band” by Greil Marcus in Time Magazine, and put out seven searing albums in 10 years before going on indefinite hiatus in 2006. But the new album isn’t about reminiscing, it’s about reinvention–the ignition of an unparalleled chemistry to create new sounds and tell new stories. “I always considered Corin and Carrie to be musical soulmates in the tradition of the greats,” says Weiss, whose drums fuel the fire of Tucker and Brownstein’s vocal and guitar interplay. “Something about taking a break brought them closer, desperate to reach together again for their true expression.” The result is a record that grapples with love, power and redemption without restraint. “The three of us want the same thing,” says Weiss. “We want the songs to be daunting.” Produced by long-time Sleater-Kinney collaborator John Goodmanson, who helmed many of the band’s earlier albums including 1997 breakout set Dig Me Out, No Cities to Love is indeed formidable from the first beat. Lead track “Price Tag” is a pounding anthem about greed and the human cost of capitalism, establishing both the album’s melodic drive and its themes of power and powerlessness–giving voice, as Tucker says, to those who “struggle to be heard against the dominant culture or status quo.” “Bury Our Friends” has Tucker and Brownstein joining vocal forces, locking arms to defeat a pressing fear of insignificance. It’s also emblematic of the band’s give and take, and commitment to working and reworking each song until it’s as strong as it can be. “‘Bury Our Friends’ was written in the 11th hour,” says Tucker. “Carrie had her great chime-y guitar riff, but we had gone around in circles with how to make that part into a cohesive song. I think Carrie finally cracked the chorus idea and yelled, ‘Sing with me!’” “A New Wave” similarly went through many iterations during the writing process, with five or six potential choruses, before crystallizing. It enters with an insistent guitar riff, and a battle between acceptance and defiance–“Every day I throw a little party,” howls Brownstein, “but a fit would be more fitting.” The album’s meditative title track was inspired by the trend of atomic tourism and its function as a metaphor for someone enthralled and impressed by power. “That form of power, that presence, is not only destructive it’s also hollowed-out, past its prime,” says Brownstein. “The character in that song has made a ritual out of seeking structures and people in which to find strength, yet they keep coming up empty.” Sleater-Kinney’s decade apart made room for family and other fruitful collaborations, as well as an understanding of what the band’s singular chemistry demands. “Creativity is about where you want your blood to flow, because in order to do something meaningful and powerful there has to be life inside of it,” says Brownstein. “Sleater-Kinney isn’t something you can do half-assed or half-heartedly. We have to really want it. This band requires a certain desperation, a direness. We have to be willing to push because the entity that is this band will push right back.” “The core of this record is our relationship to each other, to the music, and how all of us still felt strongly enough about those to sweat it out in the basement and to try and reinvent our band,” adds Tucker. With No Cities to Love, “we went for the jugular.” –Evie Nagy

Following his scintillating debut under the Father John Misty moniker—2012’s *Fear Fun*—journeyman singer/songwriter Josh Tillman delivers his most inspired and candid album yet. Filled with gorgeous melodies and grandiose production, *I Love You, Honeybear* finds Tillman applying his immense lyrical gifts to questions of love and intimacy. “Chateau Lobby 4 (In C for Two Virgins)” is a radiant folk tune, burnished by gilded string arrangements and mariachi horn flourishes. Elsewhere, Tillman pushes his remarkable singing voice to new heights on the album’s powerful centerpiece, “When You’re Smiling and Astride Me,” a soulful serenade of epic proportions. “I’d never try to change you,” he sings, clearly moved. “As if I could, and if I were to, what’s the part that I’d miss most?”

*A word about the refurbished deluxe edition 2xLP* With the new repressing of the deluxe, tri-colored vinyl that is now available again for purchase, we ask just one favor that will also serve as your only and final warning: The deluxe, pop-up-art-displaying jacket WILL warp the new vinyl if said vinyl is inserted back into the jacket sleeves and inserted into your record shelf. To prevent this, we ask that you keep the new LPs outside the deluxe jacket, in the separate white jackets that they ship in. Think of these 2 parts of the same deluxe package as “neighbors, not roommates” on your shelf, and your records will remain unwarped for many years to come (assuming you don’t leave them out in extreme temperatures or expose them to other forces of nature that would normally cause a record to warp…)! *The LP is cut at 45 rpm. Please adjust your turntable speed accordingly!* “I Love You, Honeybear is a concept album about a guy named Josh Tillman who spends quite a bit of time banging his head against walls, cultivating weak ties with strangers and generally avoiding intimacy at all costs. This all serves to fuel a version of himself that his self-loathing narcissism can deal with. We see him engaging in all manner of regrettable behavior. “In a parking lot somewhere he meets Emma, who inspires in him a vision of a life wherein being truly seen is not synonymous with shame, but possibly true liberation and sublime, unfettered creativity. These ambitions are initially thwarted as jealousy, self-destruction and other charming human character traits emerge. Josh Tillman confesses as much all throughout. “The album progresses, sometimes chronologically, sometimes not, between two polarities: the first of which is the belief that the best love can be is finding someone who is miserable in the same way you are and the end point being that love isn’t for anyone who isn’t interested in finding a companion to undertake total transformation with. I won’t give away the ending, but sex, violence, profanity and excavations of the male psyche abound. “My ambition, aside from making an indulgent, soulful, and epic sound worthy of the subject matter, was to address the sensuality of fear, the terrifying force of love, the unutterable pleasures of true intimacy, and the destruction of emotional and intellectual prisons in my own voice. Blammo. “This material demanded a new way of being made, and it took a lot of time before the process revealed itself. The massive, deranged shmaltz I heard in my head, and knew had to be the sound of this record, originated a few years ago while Emma and I were hallucinating in Joshua Tree; the same week I wrote the title track. I chased that sound for the entire year and half we were recording. The means by which it was achieved bore a striking resemblance to the travails, abandon and transformation of learning how to love and be loved; see and be seen. There: I said it. Blammo.” -Josh Tillman (A.K.A. Father John Misty) All LP versions are 45 rpm. All purchases come with digital downloads.

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.

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.

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.

Bold experimentalism is key for Californian Julia Holter. Her third album is a melange of thoughtful, alternative approaches to pop. “Feel You”’s harpsichord jauntiness and skittish drums provide the idea platform for the album’s textual tapestry. Syncopated jazz (“Vazquez”), hypnotic shanties (“Sea Calls Me Home”) and aching torch songs (“How Long?” and “Night Song”) all follow, but the tone—while opulent, rich and dramatic—never feels false. “Silhouette” is a gorgeously off-kilter, while “Betsy on the Roof” builds from barely a whisper.

Have You In My Wilderness is Julia Holter’s most intimate album yet, a collection of radiant ballads. Her follow-up to 2013’s widely celebrated Loud City Song explores love, trust, and power in human relationships. While love songs are familiar fodder in pop music, Holter manages to stay fascinatingly oblique and enigmatic on her new album. Have You in My Wilderness is also Holter’s most sonically intimate album. Here, she and producer Cole Marsden Greif-Neill lift her voice out of the layers of smeared, hazy effects, putting her vocals front and center in the mix. The result is striking—it sounds as if Holter is singing right in your ear. It sounds clear and vivid, but also disarmingly personal. The focused warm sound and instrumentation — dense strings, subtle synth pads — adds to the effect. Like Holter’s previous albums, Have You in My Wilderness is multi-layered and texturally rich, featuring an array of electronic and acoustic instruments played by an ensemble of gifted Los Angeles musicians. Have You In My Wilderness deals with dark themes, but it also features some of the most sublime and transcendent music Holter has ever written. The ten songs on the album are shimmering and dreamlike, wandering the liminal space between the conscious and the subconscious.

*Art Angels*’ opening trio of songs present a handy summation of Claire Boucher’s singular appeal. The operatic “Laughing and Not Being Normal” opens before making way for “California”. Ostensibly an irresistible country-twanged foot-tapper and easily the catchiest thing she’s recorded, its lyrics unload a bleak commentary on her industry’s treatment of female stars. Next up: the strident “Scream” featuring Taiwanese rapper Aristophanes and plenty of actual howling. Whether discordant and urgent (“Flesh without Blood”, “Kill V. Maim”) or dazzlingly beautiful (“Easily”, “Pin”), *Art Angels* is a Catherine wheel of ferocious pop invention and Grimes’ grandest achievement.

The most ambitious jazz album to arrive in ages, Los Angeles saxophonist/composer Kamasi Washington\'s debut clocks in at 174 minutes—with never a dull moment. While his flawless 10-piece band already packs a wallop, thanks to their doubled basses and drums, Washington embellishes them with a string section and angelic choir. Like his luminous playing on Kendrick Lamar’s *To Pimp a Butterfly*, Washington solos with power and grace here. Versions of \"Cherokee\" and Terence Blanchard\'s \"Malcolm\'s Theme\" nod to jazz tradition, but it\'s originals like \"Change of the Guard\" that signal his truly epic aspirations.

The story begins with a man on high. He is an old man, a warrior, and the guardian to the gates of a city. Two miles below his mountainous perch, he observes a dojo, where a group of young men train night and day. Eventually, the old man expects a challenger to emerge. He hopes for the day of his destruction, for this is the cycle of life. Finally the doors fly open and three young men burst forth to challenge the old master. The first man is quick, but not strong enough. The second is quick, and strong, but not wise enough. The third stands tall, and overtakes the master. The Changing of the Guard has at long last been achieved. But then the old man wakes up. He looks down at the dojo and realizes he’s been daydreaming. The dojo below exists, but everyone in training is yet a child. By the time they grow old enough to challenge the old man, he has disappeared. This is, in essence, both a true story and a carefully constructed musical daydream, one that will further unfold in May of 2015, in a brazen release from young Los Angeles jazz giant, composer, and bandleader Kamasi Washington. The Epic is unlike anything jazz has seen, and not just because it emanates from the... more credits released October 2, 2015 Recorded at King Size Sound Labs. Engineered by Tony Austin, Chris Constable and Brian Rosemeyer. Mixed by Benjamin Tierney. Mastered by Stephen Marcussen at Marcussen Mastering.

Health’s third studio album—their first since 2009’s *Get Color*—is a sharp turn from the wild, tribal psychedelia of their early days into futuristic, industrial-tinged pop. (Chalk it up to the influence of Nine Inch Nails, who took the band on tour in 2008.) Produced by the always-intense Haxan Cloak, *Death Magic* is a pretty, pummeling album that’s as reminiscent of Ministry’s buzzsaw aggression as the high-gloss club-pop of Rihanna.

Tame Impala may have been forged in the familiar fires of guitar-driven psych-rock, but Kevin Parker began expanding that brief almost immediately, shifting from dank, distorted solos to widescreen, synth-swept fantasias. By the time *Currents* arrived in 2015, the Fremantle home-studio whiz had made his grandest leap yet, offering his particular take on outsized, club-ready pop. That meant mostly sidelining guitars and ramping up the lead role of those synths. Parker had always made Tame Impala records as a solo endeavor, using a proper band primarily to realize songs in a live setting. Yet this third album saw him applying more painstaking control than ever before, not just playing and writing every single part but recording and mixing the entire thing as well. Even fans who had noticed Parker’s increasing pop sensibilities across 2012’s *Lonerism* were somewhat taken aback by *Currents*’ bravura opening statement, “Let It Happen,” an ambitious dance-floor epic that foregrounded glitter-bomb synths and alternately dipping and peaking rhythms. The band’s trajectory changed over the course of a single track, which stretches out over nearly eight minutes and indulges in remix-style record-skipping and lengthy stretches without vocals. Between the disco grooves, Parker still finds time for Tame Impala’s sonic signatures—floaty vocals, soul-searching lyrics, fleeting interludes. As lush as the production is (which you can hear in the joyous vocal layering and panning on “The Moment”), the increased scope of these songs is matched by the same rich emotional content, making it feel like Parker is sharing his most private moments. From the vulnerability displayed on “Yes I’m Changing,” which muses on growing older against unironic soft-rock motifs, to his interrogations of masculinity and romance on “\'Cause I’m a Man,” Parker is still committed to airing intimate, almost diary-like sentiments. Meditative album closer “New Person, Same Old Mistakes” says it all. Still, Parker doesn’t have to distance himself from formative heroes like Todd Rundgren and The Flaming Lips in the name of artistic growth. Evoking the mirror-ball dazzle of roller rinks and discos, here he continues to cherry-pick from the past in order to imagine a sophisticated musical future that’s appealing across multiple fronts but still strikes directly at the heart. And the risky decision to shelve guitars clearly paid off: *Currents* took Tame Impala to the big leagues, where he could now collaborate with Lady Gaga, get covered by Rihanna (a version of “New Person, Same Old Mistakes” appeared as “Same Ol’ Mistakes” on 2016’s *ANTI*), and headline Coachella. It also provided a natural progression to 2020’s *The Slow Rush*, an even more immersive and personal synth-funk odyssey.

Harpist and singer/songwriter Joanna Newsom’s idiosyncratic take on folk and Americana has always been a powerful—if polarizing—experience. Her fourth album strikes a balance between the ornate orchestral explorations of 2006’s *Ys* and the more stripped-down confessions of 2010’s *Have One on Me*. She blends labyrinthine wordplay (“Bleach a collar/Leach a dollar/From our cents/The longer you live, the higher the rent”) and obscure subject matter (the names of Lenape villages on what is now New York City) into songs that are passionate, sincere, and surprisingly immediate.

“Don’t remove my pain / It is my chance to heal.” Delivered in a wounded cry of desperation, this lyric—from standout track “Notget”—is emblematic of Björk’s profoundly vulnerable ninth studio album. Given sonic texture by her lush string arrangements and the skittering beats of co-producer Arca, *Vulnicura* was written in response to the dissolution of Björk’s longtime relationship with artist Matthew Barney. Following the cosmically conceptual *Biophilia* (2011), it’s disarming yet reassuring to hear the Icelandic icon’s stratospheric voice wailing bluntly about recognizable human emotions. In the vibrant album closer “Quicksand,” she sings of finding new life through heartache: “The steam from this pit / Will form a cloud / For her to live on.”

Drilling down on the extremes of the *Cassette* EP, the first full-length from Viet Cong (later to be known as Preoccupations) is an inspired mix of gritty and beautiful, pairing fractured blasts of noise with plush synths (“Newspaper Spoons”) and deadpan vocals with striking lattices of guitar (“Bunker Buster”)—a sound that shouldn’t make as much sense as it does. Best of all is “March of Progress,” which opens with nearly three minutes of industrial wheezing before ascending to a breathless (and surprisingly catchy) rave-up—a high point on an album full of them.

Recorded in a barn-turned-studio in rural Ontario, the seven songs that make up 'Viet Cong' were born largely on the road, when Flegel and bandmates Mike Wallace, Scott Munro and Daniel Christiansen embarked on a 50-date tour that stretched virtually every limit imaginable. Close quarters hastened their exhaustion but also honed them as a group. You can designate records as seasonal, and you can feel Preoccupations's bleakness and declare it wintry. But the only way you get a frost is when there's something warmer to freeze up. So yes, 'Viet Cong' is a winter album, but only until it is a spring record, then a summer scorcher, then an autumn burner, then it ices over again.

Consider the urgency with which Protomartyr has approached everything —three albums in three years, each more extraordinary and rewarding than the last. This music is inherently, unassumingly high stakes. This October marks the release of The Agent Intellect, their third and finest work to date.  Named after an ancient philosophical questioning of how the mind operates in relation to the self, it’s an elegant and often devastating display of all that makes Protomartyr so vital and singularly visceral an outfit.

Mini-album The Beyond - Where the Giants Roam picks up where 2013's Apocalypse left off, with Thundercat joined on production duties by longtime sparring partner Flying Lotus for six spiralling excursions to the outer limits of jazz-funk. The legendary Herbie Hancock pops up on keyboards on 'Lone Wolf & Cub' and there are contributions from fellow Brainfeeder family members Kamasi Washington, Miguel Atwood-Ferguson and Mono/Poly on sax, strings and production respectively.

group for her debut album on the highly credible indie Merge Records and her third under the name Waxahatchee. Bred in Alabama and currently living in Philly to avoid the distracting rents of Brooklyn, Crutchfield sings with the unselfconscious joy that comes with succeeding on your own terms, even when she’s confessing to feelings of worthlessness (“The Dirt,” “<“). She’s part indie pop and part concise troubadour, with a band that supports and never gets in the way. Lyrics feel dreamlike and other times quite sincere and concerned, but the minimalist approach feels freeing.

By their third album, Tribulation had completed their transition from a brilliantly talented Swedish death-metal band into something less easily classifiable. *The Children of the Night* saw the band fully embracing the gothic tendencies that began emerging on 2013’s *The Formulas of Death* while threading black metal and darkly infectious rock. Sinister and elegant, the album’s dazzling guitar acrobatics, eerie piano melodies, and mystical atmosphere—contrasted by the sepulchral vocals of bassist Johannes Andersson —helped the young Swedes become a unique entity.

Like Prince, André 3000, and Marvin Gaye before him, R&B pinup Miguel treats carnal love as a spiritual journey. His third album is a humid mix of new wave, psychedelia, and electro-pop whose moods flip from tender to funny to gloriously X-rated, often in the same song. Foul-mouthed, yes, but he’s also surprisingly well mannered—the rare male R&B singer who compares his private moments to porn one minute (“the valley”) and offers to bring you coffee the next (“Coffee”).

When Panda Bear met the Grim Reaper, they jammed. Noah Lennox, a.k.a. Panda Bear, a.k.a. one-fourth of the founding members of Animal Collective, has had a far-from-quiet few years since the release of his fourth solo record, 2011’s Tomboy. Since the breakout success of 2007’s universally-adored Person Pitch, each new Panda Bear release is a highly anticipated event, and with a high-profile Daft Punk collaboration later, that’s more the case than ever. But if the title of his fifth solo album as Panda Bear seems to portend certain doom, think again. Taking his inspiration from ‘70s dub duo albums like King Tubbys Meets Rockers Uptown and Augustus Pablo Meets Lee Perry & the Wailers Band, Panda Bear prefers to frame his latest work as less of a battle and more a collaboration. “I see it [as] more comic-booky, a little more lighthearted,” he says. “Like Alien Vs. Predator.” Panda Bear Meets The Grim Reaper finds our hero leaving the airy minimalism of Tomboy and unpacking his sonic toolbox again, rearranging the multitude of his disparate influences into the ever-morphing concoction he refers to as “the soup.” Old school hip-hop textures and production techniques meld with the intuitive, cyclical melodies he has become known for, for a sound that is at once dense and playful. The slithering beat of “Boys Latin” is topped with a campfire-ready chant that wouldn’t be out of place on an early Animal Collective record; on album centerpiece “Mr. Noah”, a pulsing swamp of buzzes and squeals blossoms into a rousing, immediately infectious chorus. “Tropic of Cancer” punctuates the album with a head-turning horn intro and an ethereal harp sample taken from, of all places, Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker Suite. He experiments with balladry even further on “Lonely Wanderer,” a dreamy piano haze laced with a foreboding synth growl. Noah has taken the effortless pop sensibilities he showed the world he was uniquely adept with last year’s Daft Punk collaboration, and gone back to the laboratory with them, twisting them into something darker and more tactile. It’s a layered, at times wholly unidentifiable soundscape, and so it may come as a surprise that Panda Bear utilized readymade sample packs throughout almost the entire record. “I got into the idea of taking something that felt kind of common — the opposite of unique — and trying to translate that into something that felt impossible,” he says. Breaking with his previous practice of largely creating each album in a fixed environment, Noah says the recording process was “really disparate, I was all over the place.” The textures for the album came together everywhere from El Paso, Texas, to a garage by the beach near his home in Lisbon, Portugal, where he has lived with his family since 2004. In a relationship that already proved fruitful on Tomboy, Panda Bear partnered again with Pete “Sonic Boom” Kember, this time in a more top-to-bottom production role. “He brings stuff to the table that I wouldn’t think of,” says Noah. “You not only go to [new] places, but you figure out things about yourself that you wouldn’t have otherwise.” Ultimately its dynamism, not death, Panda Bear is tackling. “Some of the songs address a big change, or a big transformation,” he says. “Meeting the Grim Reaper in that context I liked a whole lot.” Panda Bear Meets The Grim Reaper signifies a pivotal point for an artist who has proven he can continue to evolve while remaining at the top of his game. “It’s sort of marking change — not necessarily an absolute death, but the ending of something, and hopefully the beginning of something else.” Over the last year, Panda Bear has been touring with what is his most developed live show yet, featuring eye-popping, candy-colored visuals by frequent Animal Collective collaborator Danny Perez, ever complimenting his vivid sonic palette. Panda Bear Meets The Grim Reaper comes to hyper-real life in this live context, melding the emotional melodicism of the album with the dizzyingly affective light and video show, creating a deeply connective fan experience. Panda Bear meets the Grim Reaper in these live shows, and we are all witness.

Drake surprised everyone at the beginning of 2015 when he dropped *If You’re Reading This It’s Too Late*, an impressive 17-track release that combines the contemplative and confrontational with plenty of cavernous production from longtime collaborator Noah “40” Shebib. While Drizzy joins mentor Lil Wayne in questioning the loyalty of old friends on the woozy, Wondagurl-produced “Used To,” “Energy” is the cold-blooded highlight—on which he snarls, “I got enemies.” Later, amid the electrifying barbs of “6PM in New York,” Drake considers his own mortality and legacy: “28 at midnight. I wonder what’s next for me.”

On the heels of MYRKUR's universally praised debut EP, comes M, the Danish black metal phenom's highly anticipated first full-length album. Recorded in various locations of Oslo, Norway (including renowned artist Emanuel Vigeland's mausoleum) with co-producer Garm (the mastermind behind black metal legends Ulver) M finds MYRKUR achieving the grandiose heights that everyone hoped she would climb to. The melodies are lush and the brutality devastating--M is a highly developed metal masterpiece that blends second-wave black metal, Nordic folk music, classical instrumentation and haunting choirs. Rounded out on record by members of Mayhem, Dodheimsgard & Nidingr plus a guest appearance from Christopher Amott of Arch Enemy, MYRKUR has quickly established herself as one of the best and most intriguing acts in metal today.

Retreating from the garage snarl of 2013’s Monomania to the gauzy, melodic textures of 2010’s *Halcyon Digest*, Deerhunter have made their warmest record yet. The psychedelic swoops of “Breaker”, synth pulse of “Ad Astra” and lysergic funk of “Snakeskin” all expertly find the biting point between invention and accessibility. The gorgeous sonics are regularly just a salve for caustic lyrics though, and Bradford Cox’s outsider spirit rages with paranoia and self-laceration throughout.

Dense, uncompromising and utterly thrilling, this debut album is an explosive introduction to four (decidedly male) Dubliners who bring an unflinching post-rock eye and a crackle of dark wit to frontman Dara Kiely’s personal experiences with anxiety and depression. “In Plastic” sees Kiely, in his distinctive shamanic drawl, thrashing amid a maelstrom of swirling guitars while “Baloo” is an energetic showcase for their industrial dance influences. But it\'s “Paul”–with its rumbling surf licks and pogoing beat–that\'s probably the most potent reminder that, goofy moniker aside, Girl Band should be taken very seriously.

Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s third album filters the warped, psychedelic strangeness of 2011’s *Unknown Mortal Orchestra* and 2013’s *II* through the novelistic side of soul artists like Prince and Stevie Wonder. Named in part after multi-instrumentalist mastermind Ruban Nielson’s difficult foray into polyamory, *Multi-Love* explores huge themes (trust, love, family) with vintage synthesizers and analog haze, flirting with disco (“Can’t Keep Checking My Phone”), funk (“Necessary Evil”), and soft rock along the way.

The threads of our past never unravel, they hover like invisible webs, occasionally glistening due to a sly angle of the sun. On 'Multi-Love', Unknown Mortal Orchestra frontman and multi-instrumentalist Ruban Nielson reflects on relationships: airy, humid longing, loss, the geometry of desire that occurs when three people align. Where Nielson addressed the pain of being alone on II, 'Multi-Love' takes on the complications of being together. 'Multi-Love' adds dimensions to the band's already kaleidoscopic approach, with Nielson exploring a newfound appreciation for synthesizers. The new songs channel the spirit of psych innovators without ignoring the last 40 years of music, forming a flowing, cohesive whole that reflects restless creativity. Cosmic escapes and disco rhythms speak to developing new vocabulary, while Nielson's vocals reach powerful new heights. "It felt good to be rebelling against the typical view of what an artist is today, a curator," he says. "It's more about being someone who makes things happen in concrete ways. Building old synthesizers and bringing them back to life, creating sounds that aren't quite like anyone else's. I think that’s much more subversive." While legions of artists show fidelity to the roots of psychedelia, Unknown Mortal Orchestra shares the rare quality that makes the genre's touchstones so vital: constant exploration.

The second album by California-based singer/songwriter Jessica Pratt is also her first conceived as an actual album. Her 2012 self-titled debut fell together by happenstance, as enough songs were completed for a full release, while 2015’s *On Your Own Love Again* was deliberately written and recorded at home, in Los Angeles and San Francisco, over the previous two years. Though it’s tempting to refer to these gorgeous, gentle songs as reminiscent of the Laurel Canyon sound, only Judee Sill in the early ‘70s came close to this level of exquisite reflection and musical sophistication, as well as a few of Pratt\'s peers like Mia Doi Todd.

Seeing the world through a Pratt's eyes is a surpassingly beautiful thing. But subtly, oh so subtly, and with such sweet flakes of humor falling. Tunes and vibe to the max.

The Soft Moon’s Luis Vasquez didn’t plan on remaining a solo artist, but upon moving to Venice, Italy, his isolation forced him, well, *Deeper* inside himself. The Soft Moon’s third album sounds exactly like what it is: an angst-ridden work of inner turmoil that does everything it can to fight its way out of the corners. The single “Black” is merely an introduction that serves as a warning. The follow-up tracks—“Black,” “Far,” “Wasting”—deliver on the eerie promise and create beautiful but intensely draining soundscapes that make The Cure’s *Pornography* and Nine Inch Nails\' *The Downward Spiral* feel like mild introspections by comparison.

Luis Vasquez never intended for The Soft Moon to reach the public’s ears; for him, music has always been about self­-actualization rather than self-aggrandizement. Nevertheless, the bleak, hushed sounds he created years ago in his small Oakland apartment bubbled to the surface and 2010 saw his debut LP, The Soft Moon, released on Captured Tracks rise to critical acclaim. Pitchfork’s 8.1 review stated that Vasquez made “oblivion seems like an enticing prospect” and, indeed, listeners were immediately drawn into his murky musical wasteland, swathed in the moody atmospheres of jagged dark wave and wayfaring post­punk. For them, and for Vasquez, there was no turning back. The Total Decay EP and Zeros emerged soon after, and now Vasquez returns with The Soft Moon’s most introspective and focused album to date: Deeper. Following live line­-up changes and a lull in the The Soft Moon’s constant touring schedule, the year 2013 found Luis Vasquez lost in the void. Though he fatalistically stated that 2012’s Zeros would be the last album where he was the sole songwriter, Vasquez realized that The Soft Moon has always been one man’s vision. Over time, it’s been the one place where Vasquez can express himself, totally and singularly, on his own terms. Thus, in July of 2013, Vasquez decamped from Oakland, CA to Venice, Italy, unsure of where The Soft Moon would land. While Zeros was written and recorded between long days on the road, Deeper was begat from an almost primal urge to recoil from the world and experience total solitude. During the writing process, Vasquez pushed himself to discover the reality and nightmare of living with yourself, in entirely foreign surroundings with nothing and no one to fall back on. Stepping back and letting inspiration fall where it may, Vasquez only had one goal in mind for his third album: to pen his most emotional record yet. Between frequent visits to Berlin, Vasquez retreated to Venice’s Hate Studios, located in the mountains near electronic guru and spiritual anchor Giorgio Moroder’s hometown. At Hate, he worked for almost a year with producer Maurizio Baggio to piece together Deeper, only completing the album in August 2014. While maintaining the stark sonic formula so indicative of The Soft Moon’s music — that bass that reeks of chorus, those unrelenting, mechanized beats, that wailing synthesizer and those eerily, angular guitar lines that worm into your ears and never leave — Baggio also worked to refine the album’s gothic palette, leaving Vasquez to concentrate more intensely on songwriting and singing than ever before: “I’ve never worked so closely with someone before. Working with Maurizio felt right and I completely opened up to him during the entire process. I finally felt the urge to express myself more verbally with this record and I was able to focus more on songwriting rather than just experimenting with soundscapes.” The voice of The Soft Moon has never been more clear and honest than it is on this record. With eerie, immersive tracks like the dogged “Far” and slow, beautifully melancholic “Wasting” (the first track written for Deeper), the album is a penetrating portrait of Vasquez as he wrestles thoughts of suicide, vulnerability and what it means to heal. By facing the most hopeless parts of himself without illusion and putting his past demons to bed, the creation of Deeper was an intense personal exploration of existence for Vasquez — old wounds were forcibly opened, deep anger and paranoia were manipulated into song — and he did not emerge unchanged. Deeper may have delivered Vasquez back to the waking world, but it willingly drags us further into The Soft Moon’s dark, euphonic universe once more.

Don\'t be put off by sad-voiced crooner Dan Bejar\'s stage name: the only thing this enigmatically evocative Canadian songwriter is guaranteed to destroy is your preconceptions. The erstwhile New Pornographer\'s 11th album makes a sharp right turn following *Kaputt*\'s \'80s-jazz soft-pop. His dramatic fusion of rich, string-driven balladry (\"The River,\" \"Girl in a Sling\") and the saxophone-fueled rock fury of Bruce Springsteen & The E Street Band (\"Times Square,\" \"Midnight Meet the Rain\") transform New York bohemian despair into glorious rock epiphanies.

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.

*Surf* is the long-awaited collaboration between the unbilled Chance the Rapper, his band The Social Experiment, and musical ally Donnie Trumpet (a.k.a. Nico Segal). Chance gets his time to shine, spitting acrobatic rhymes throughout, but clearly this is a team effort focused on moving minds and butts. Flecks of big-band instrumentation lend sparkle, while folks like Erykah Badu, Busta Rhymes, Janelle Monáe, and Big Sean provide cameos. The vibe is reminiscent of Native Tongues or Soulquarians, a positive space to submit to creative freedom and unpredictable flow, just like the ocean itself.

The hiss of liquid poured over ice, an eerie Metro Boomin guitar line, and a hypnotic rhyme—“Dirty soda, Spike Lee, white girl, Ice T, fully loaded AP”—that sounds like an arcane magic spell: That’s how Future opens his exquisitely toxic third album, right before he casually drops the year’s most twisted footwear-related flex. *DS2* was released during the peak of summer 2015, back when the rapper’s buzz had never been bigger, thanks to the runaway success of his recent mixtape trilogy (*Monster*, *Beast Mode*, *56 Nights*). The triumphant *DS2*—announced the week before its release—would serve as the capstone of Future’s antihero’s journey, one that he spells out on the fiendish “I Serve the Base”: “Tried to make me a pop star/And they made a monster.” The paradox of *DS2*—short for “Dirty Sprite”—is that it’s an album of wall-to-wall rippers dedicated to all sorts of depraved pleasures, over the course of which one begins to suspect its protagonist is having very little fun. “Best thing I ever did was fall out of love,” Future croaks on “Kno the Meaning,” an oral history of his comeback year. And while heartbreak has clearly done wonders for his creativity, the hedonism seems to be having diminishing returns: Never before have dalliances with groupies or strip-club acid trips sounded more like karmic punishments. As a result, the lifestyle captured on *DS2* is better to listen to than to live through, thanks to massive-sounding beats from a murderer’s row of Atlanta producers—including Metro Boomin, Southside, and Zaytoven—that range from “moody” to “downright evil.” Still, whether or not Future sounds happy on *DS2*, he *does* have plenty to celebrate: After all, in less than a year he’d flooded the market with enough top-shelf music to sustain entire careers. As he points out during the conclusion of “Kno the Meaning”: “My hard work finally catching up with perfect timing.”

Holly Herndon's second album Platform proposes new fantasies and rejuvenates old optimism. Herndon has become a leading light in contemporary music by experimenting within the outer reaches of dance music and pop songwriting possibilities. A galvanising statement, Platform signals Herndon's transformation as an electronic musician to a singular voice. For More Info: shop.igetrvng.com/collections/all/products/rvngnl29

Rapper Earl Sweatshirt’s third album is a dark, fascinating trip to the bottom of the self. Lyrically, Earl is a singular talent, capable of dense, expressive lines that flip back and forth between humor and pain, despair and resolve. “My days numbered, I’m focused heavy on making the most of ’em/I feel like I’m the only one pressin’ to grow upwards,” he raps on “Faucet,” over beats as hazy and fragmented as the words themselves.

The London experimental producer crafts ethereal dancefloor sounds for any time of day.