With No Mythologies To Follow, MØ has established herself within an emerging circle of powerful pop dominatrixes but with her own distinct sound full of versatility and vitality.

What was once an instrumental electronic project has now, in the hands of Joseph Mount, become an inventive, layered, modern pop act, perfectly capable of standing on its own and defending its place among the genre’s very best.

These songs are Polaroid snapshots of friends, families, lovers, cul-de-sacs and empty highways. Some are perfectly, sentimentally fuzzy, and some don’t quite make it into the scrapbook.

Confidence and a greater level of comfort can be felt all throughout Cosmos.

The home stretch of the album is where the band really opens up, unleashing haunting melodies and intricate movements that create a soundtrack for a virtual fever dream.

It’s not that Schoolboy Q is the best lyricist; and there’s not an immediately profound life lesson here; there are no mind-boggling internal rhymes; but Oxymoron is amazing mostly because it attempts to heal past bruises with more bruises. Schoolboy hides nothing and everything leaves a mark.

If you can get past the (New York-ishly cynical?) temptation to corner this band into an indie frame, you can revel in the depth and intricacies that the band has managed to unearth from and on Manhattan.

With her experiences and experimentation, she has combined and refined her sound to make it something that is similar and yet totally separate from anything she’s done before. St. Vincent isn’t afraid of being different or taking risks, and thinks we shouldn’t be either.

In addition to featuring some creative tongue-lashing, You’re Gonna Miss It All expands on the musical ideas and tendencies that made Sports such a hit.

Gendered pronouns do not appear on the album, thus the record feels distant, as if Rostron is isolated from the listener, a tactic that makes the album intriguingly impersonal yet universal.

Their latest album, Voices, showcases more maturity and focus than their previous work.

Listening to Galore kind of feels like growing up, as it perfectly balances a combo of bittersweet nostalgia, hopeful optimism and an impending sense of something bigger and better to come.

If you were someone who felt stood-up by Yuck’s follow-up to their self-titled debut, Cheatahs will follow through on the promise that great rainy Saturday afternoon shoegaze isn’t all gazing into a rearview mirror.

Despite the loftier academic allusions, the band’s music is most affective when dancing on the peppier side.

There might appear to be a hodge-podge mish-mash of genres here, with artist credits ranging from U.K. funk producer Lil Silva to hip-hop’s heady Ghostpoet (who’s Season Change with Doucoura is another album stand-out), but the blending of these somewhat disparate sounds is seamless.

While Divine Ecstasy may not satisfy all your experimentally complex tastebuds, it will satisfy some of them, mostly because it does so much.

While the production and moodiness of the record are strong, the emotion that made much of their previous records such a pleasure has been a bit sapped.

July’s strongest points come when Nadler has the most room to stretch her vocal muscles.

Altogether, it’s some irresistible glitter-on-the dancefloor delirium.

On record, there is an irresistible sprightliness in the songs that says these guys haven’t worried once about their near-tribute sound.

Even though After The Disco lacks some boldness and experimentation, the record most definitely has its strong moments and, like its predecessor, it’ll please fans from either party who will most likely feel content from the first listen.

Thee Silver Mt. Zion Orchestra’s proto-punk only gets better with age and maturity, but Fuck Off Get Free We Pour Light On Everything believes that today’s youth are everything for tomorrow.

Through it all, the energy and attitude is unchanged. And although the band’s themes seem even more specifically focused, this album is really for anyone who’s ever felt held back.

Painted Palms’ strength is in their balmy, unhurried melodies. But even such melodic virtues are no match for the sexless nothingness that permeates this record.

The Dap-Kings prove once again to be an almost mind-bogglingly crisp backing band, with tickingly taught percussion, sticky bass lines and sweat-inducing brass. But it’s Jones, of course, who holds together every song with her now-classic vox.

Haze proves that she can write, rap and sing really well.

For all the cutesieness that can subsume this sub-genre, it’s refreshing to see a band that can play it with a little R’n’R swagger and not just as a set-up for condescending kvetching and pink-hued album covers.

Much as it is a thrash-and-burn album, the self-titled release also hints at subtly sensitive undertones.