This is the kind of music that'll have you holding up a jukebox for your true love. M83's sixth album runs like a relentless reverie set in an '80s cinematic wonderland where synths wiggle, wobble and billow to hair-raising levels. The two discs are meant to act like siblings, and each parallel track does seem to share threads of DNA -- the horn blasts of "Midnight City" and "New Map," the acoustic strums of "Wait" and "Splendor," the seductive female purrs of "Reunion" and "OK Pal." Plus there's the ambient interludes, which come as welcome flashes of serenity amid such cathartic intensity.
Bradford Cox's third release as Atlas Sound luxuriates in velvety dream-pop. His compositions are complex -- layers of acoustic and electric guitars are rendered weightless in a sea of woozy electronics -- yet it all comes off so simple and serene. No song travels in a straight path: A perky piano opens "Te Amo," then morphs into undulating synths, while "Terra Incognita" starts like light '70s rock, then dissolves in a whirling helicopter of noise. Cox is poignant as always ("I know a place called love/ No one bothered me there/ No, I was all alone"), but he makes it feel like paradise.
If you've ever been terrified, perplexed or just mesmerized by the onscreen work of David Lynch, Crazy Clown Time should come as no shock. It opens at an ominous gallop, as bluesy slide guitar snakes its way into an abyss wherein Karen O seductively hollers. From there, Lynch grabs a vocoder for creepy robotic mantras that wrap around electro-pop loops and trembling, Chris Isaak-flavored guitar. He also whispers with unhinged aplomb, warbles like Tom Waits and wails like Neil Young, which only makes his Kafkaesque musings and stalker tales that much more unsettling. Good luck sleeping tonight.
After blowing up with debut Lungs, Florence Welch holds nothing back on Ceremonials. Every song has a similar setup: Welch tiptoes in like it's a haunted house -- quietly, innocently, almost tentatively -- before she bursts through, a reckless siren of Kate Bush descent, boldly battling with rolling piano, huge bass, glistening strings and choral echoes. She works the romantic drama with gut-twisting grandiosity like fellow Brit belter Adele trapped in some sort of Transylvanian echo chamber. This is the kind of woman who will haunt your dreams -- and you can't help but like it.
With bro Liam and the rest of Oasis comparing themselves to "Beatles and Stones" as Beady Eye, Noel takes a seemingly more modest approach with his solo debut. "Hang in there love/ You gotta hold on," he proclaims on the opening track, and he very much keeps this "Love is all you need" attitude throughout. The music, however, is anything but humble: More symphonic rock than Britpop, it bursts with Sgt. Pepper brass ("The Death of You and Me"), bold strings ("Record Machine"), punchy piano ("AKA...What a Life!") and lots of choral backup. It all culminates on grand finale "Stop the Clocks."
Real Estate's sophomore album begins with "Easy," an aptly titled opener given the breezy beach pop to follow. A listen to Days may leave you checking your shoes for remnants of coastal sand: Jangly Yo La Tengo-ish guitar is touched with reverb for optimal sun-dazed wooziness as frontman Martin Courtney maintains a positively wistful disposition. He craves the careless days of "floating on an inner tube in the sun" -- there's also a song called "Wonder Years" -- and even his hazy vocals sound trapped in a long-lost daydream. Reserve this for your next drive down the Pacific Coast Highway.
R.E.M. has dropped several anthologies over the years, but Part Lies, Part Heart, Part Truth, Part Garbage is the first to feature selections from the band's albums for both the I.R.S. and Warner Bros. labels. As a result, it allows listeners to follow the group's full evolution from jangle-pop brats to alternative superstars of the '90s to elder statesmen flying the flag for dads everywhere who still crave fairly hip rock music.
As Radiohead venture further into electronic experimentation, remixers find themselves utterly giddy with possibilities. TKOL RMX focuses on the band's 2011 release, The King of Limbs, which was already quite the playground of bloops and loops wrapped around butter-smooth melodies and Thom Yorke's phantom croons. Though the result here has a seemingly haphazard order, it generally keeps the fluid vibe of the original material, whether it's sculpted with Caribou's funky plops, Harmonic 313's churchly robotics, Four Tet's trippy drones, Objekt's throbbing bass or SBTRKT's moody beats.
Don't let those dainty songbird chirps and high-flying operatic trills fool you -- My Brightest Diamond's Shara Worden is one tough cookie. On her third release, she's quite outspoken, whether it's with an innocent statement of love -- it "binds the world," she moans -- or a playful metaphor for greed ("There's a Rat") or an astute analysis of socioeconomics ("When you're privileged, you don't even know you're privileged/ When you're not, you know"). Her vocal theatrics, meanwhile, float along a river of gorgeous instrumentation. Play "I Have Never Loved Someone" for your sweetheart. Now.
The Breaking Dawn soundtrack appropriately coats your ears in a Forks-like mist of plaintive, moody sound, dipping into a wide stylistic palette, but somehow coming up with only a deliciously morose collection of grays. There's plenty of pensive indie rock, of course, but Bruno Mars, Theophilus London and Christina Perri (as well as Twilight actress Mia Maestro) also jump on the woe-is-me express. The rare ray of sun is welcome: The Belle Brigade and the Noisettes offer a sassiness we wish Bella would adopt more often, while Iron & Wine recaps his sweet entry to the first soundtrack.
Long Live the King features tracks recorded during the same sessions as 2011's The King is Dead. And though it's ostensibly a jumble of extra songs, it still manages quite a seamless flow that's mostly folk in nature, with a few touches of sleepy horns in "Sonnet" and slide guitar in "Foregone" and the Grateful Dead cover "Row Jimmy"; there are even two tracks about laying a man in his grave. One of them, "Burying Davy," is the absolute highlight here -- a ghostly acoustic number that slowly gathers into a psychedelic dust storm of electric guitars, all grounded by Colin Meloy's deadpan howl.
On Deer Tick's fourth release, Divine Providence, the quintet sounds positively rambunctious from the get-go: "I got a lust for life/ and a dangerous mind" is John McCauley's first guttural utterance in the pub-rockin' sing-along "The Bump." "You f*ckin' douchebag," he then mutters at the top of The Stones-ish "Funny Word," which is followed by a Hendrix-like mangling of "The Star-Spangled Banner" in "Something to Brag About." Soon, though, the booze-fueled antics wind down, and slow-burning ballads (including the strings-touched "Electric") start to reveal Deer Tick at their most reflective.
The Dø have incredible ambition -- maybe too much. On the duo's sophomore album, Finnish singer Olivia Merilahti and French multi-instrumentalist Dan Levy tackle everything from glitchy dream pop ("Dust It Off") to Cardigans indie rock ("Gonna Be Sick!") to fantastical symphonics to alt-dance ("Slippery Slope") to Joanna Newsom lullabies ("Leo Leo") to ambient ("Moon Mermaids") to jazz ("No Clue") to experimental. Merilahti often seems caught in an identity crisis of her own -- sometimes she's a comforting siren, other times a spunky pixie. A little more focus may just do wonders.
