It should come as no surprise that Divine Fits' debut is the product of some very beloved indie-rock vets -- there's just such an effortless coolness to it. Splitting vocal duties are Spoon's Britt Daniel and Wolf Parade/Handsome Furs' Dan Boeckner, as New Bomb Turks' Sam Brown works the rhythm and Alex Fischel adds crunchy keyboard to sculpt a sound that seamlessly blends Daniel's funky falsetto and sharp guitar pop ("Flaggin a Ride," "Would That Not Be Nice") with Boeckner's quaking howl and eerie synth rock ("My Love Is Real," "For Your Heart"). It's a fit that's simply, well, divine.
The Portland duo gets truly retro on their fifth release, swapping digital equipment for ribbon mics and analog delays and synths. The vintage gear translates stunningly, their crystallized reverb-pop nearly crackling with the organic sound of classic vinyl. Negotiations is filled with the sort of old-school romanticism that bands like The Last Shadow Puppets and The Walkmen do so well. Every track feels like it naturally expands; spacey synths, glistening guitar and skittering beats gather around Brandon Summers' melancholic croons, which make even heartbreak sound as soothing as a lullaby.
"Take it down/ Take it all the way down," frontman Joey Burns slithers out on "Para"; and his band heeds that advice on their seventh album, among their softest and subtlest to date. On Algiers, Calexico ease their blistering mariachi-infused Americana down to a light simmer: The trumpets blow with a gentler vigor as delicate strums of acoustic guitar guide the band's every move, from devilish desert blues on "Sinner in the Sea" and Shins-like indie pop on "Fortune Teller" to dusty instrumental rock on the title track and James Taylor-tinged folk on "Hush."
These coed Canadian dream-pop warriors are the only indie band with the precise combination of braininess and squishiness necessary to get away with naming a song "Do You Want to Die Together?" And it's pretty great, buoyed as always by the sweet vocal interplay between Torquil Campbell and Amy Millan, a doomed-romance double helix both heartening and heartbreaking, the intricate chamber-pop around them sighing and stomping in equal measure. Thesis: "The world won't listen to this song/ And the radio won't play it/ But if you like it, sing along/ Sing 'cause you don't know how to say it."
A spacey trip of layered electronic fuzz and icy synths, Sun makes a sharp left turn from the elegant trajectory of Cat Power's catalog. But despite the fact that tunes like "Ruin" (an electro-infused Montuno number) and the title track (which opens with laser-lit mega-club synths) are odd ducks alongside the earthy tunes of her past, Marshall's dusky voice -- passionate, alert, sometimes utterly joyful -- is as emotionally powerful as ever. A Radiohead futurism makes "Manhattan" a highlight, but the 10-minute "Nothin But Time" -- dressed in square-wave synths and sitar -- is an epic triumph.
The xx's debut conveyed staying curled up under the duvet on a cold morning, holding the world at bay with feathers and heavy lids. Here, it sounds like the band is loath to let bare feet hit the cold floor. Bad news for listeners hoping to hear more of the bewitching beats of Jamie xx's solo productions, perhaps, but a boon for fans content to wrap themselves up in Romy Madley and Oliver Sim's hushed vocal interplay and spare bass-and-guitar arrangements, all tidy as a cat's cradle. Their voices are fuller this time out, and the drums a smidgen louder -- like pebbles dropped into pillows.
Centipede Hz, Animal Collective's ninth, is, at least by name, an apt metaphor for the band's gift at piecing together myriad sounds into odd yet seamless creatures. The quartet drives in hyper-mode, miles away from the lush pop of Merriweather Post Pavilion: Synths bubble like active mud pools as rickety beats, organs, guitars and sneering, distorted yelps (mostly from Avey Tare) run in feverish circles ("Monkey Riches"). "Today's Supernatural" rides a decaying global-punk carousel, "New Town Burnout" is Radiohead translated by Martians and "Amanita" is named after toxic mushrooms. Eat up.
"I'm never too old to contain my rage," snarls Bob Mould on the marvelously profane title track to his umpteenth collection of vicious, exuberant power-pop. He's convincing. For those who prefer his sweeter, hookier, exceptionally well-named '90s outfit Sugar to his critic-beloved Hüsker Dü, Silver Age is your jam: The divinely distorted guitars roar, and so does our host, with a winning combination of nostalgic reverie and forward-thinking ardor. "The Descent" is a bright, catchy, instant career highlight; throw in a couple trademark unhinged guitar solos and this'd be just about perfect.
If there were a film to coincide with Love This Giant, it'd be something like a Disney movie made by and for philosophy PhD candidates. In other words, the collab between former Talking Heads frontman David Byrne and ethereal singer-songwriter St. Vincent is as cerebral, eccentric and fantastical as you'd hope. Musing on nature, space, time, matter, beauty and TV, the two trade vocals, her sweet, gossamer sighs an excellent foil for his commanding tremble. Big blasts of brass and funky rhythms underline every track, most vibrantly on "Weekend in the Dust" and "The One Who Broke Your Heart."
Like everything Vegas-bred, The Killers keep getting bigger, bolder and flashier. Just look at the production credits for their fourth album: Steve Lillywhite, Damian Taylor, Brendan O'Brien, Stuart Price, Daniel Lanois. Dang! And, so, Battle Born doesn't gallop along like that horse on its cover; no, it storms the heavenly gates of stadium-shaking balladic rock with references to hell's fires, life's brevity, Elvis and "burned-out halos." And since synths make everything seem more magical, there are plenty here to help make this Springsteen/Journey/Meatloaf/"November Rain" juggernaut sparkle.
Grizzly Bear have an incredible ability to balance grand beauty with stark eeriness. The quartet's fourth album weaves intricate melodies into a plush quilt that has the power to change colors, shapes and textures with each listen. Throughout, myriad sounds -- droning synths, distorted guitar, acoustic picks, off-kilter beats, horns, strings and those cavernous choir-boy croons -- clash, then mingle, then waltz together. The arrangements feel more based in free jazz than anything in the rock canon; just see "Yet Again," which starts like Coldplay before falling headfirst down the rabbit hole.
Finally critics' darlings after all these years (took them even longer than kindred soul Nick Cave), the ex-noise misanthropes pull out all stops: Two hours' worth of exotic instruments (bagpipes!) and indie cameos (Karen O!) in service of crawling, tintinnabulating, incrementally evolving clangs and monotone mantras. Some horror effects, some heaviness, some freak folk, some frying bacon or rain on a tin roof, lots of droning á la Krautrock but more rhythmically inert -- at least until the final 10 minutes, when tension's released and drum fireworks go up, in case you dozed off along the way.
The Danish duo's sixth album is all sorrow swathed in the band's usual static-y hum, but everything feels a little lighter and smoother this time around, like they've scrubbed off a few coats of distortion. In effect, their simple guitar-pop melodies stand out even more, mostly at the top of the album, with ballad "Young and Cold," which ends in touches of sleepy piano that grow eerier on the dark and psychedelic "Observations." Things pick up in the second half, with the upbeat jangle of "She Owns the Street" and "Downtown," and the fuzzed rock of "Till the End."
With Dinosaur Jr.'s 10th album, frontman/guitarist J Mascis lets loose with his signature fury of electric fuzz, but he's smart enough to mix things up a little too. A smear of keyboards overlays the opener "Don't Pretend You Didn't Know," and bandmate Lou Barlow offers up lead vocals in "Rude" and "Recognition." Though purists might still gravitate to their earlier records, there's something between the big choruses and enjoyable whine of guitars that feels like a band who has hit their late-career stride: Just go to highlight "Almost Fare," a breezy tune driven by a bouncing guitar riff.
