Lorde/Courtesy

I’m kind of over getting told to throw my hands up in the air,” sneers the teen singer-songwriter Lorde on the track “Team” from her wildly hyped debut Pure Heroine. Unimpressed with what her youth culture offers, the 16-year-old from New Zealand seeks to be an adrenaline shot to the currently comatose female pop industry.

On her debut, Lorde conveys the persona of an industry outsider who tears apart pop music from the inside out, pulling the curtain on all of its hollow luxury and fantastic delusions. Her sound makes her come across as a radio ambassador of the indie world without dulling its fresh bite — a rare feat. Her influences range from The xx to the Replacements. In songs such as “Tennis Court,” Lorde sings in a blase drawl meshed with brooding yet elegant synths, while sparse claps echo with ballroom grandeur. No one has ever expressed poker-faced dissatisfaction so sharply through a sonic landscape.

Her sound is hauntingly opulent at its highs but a bit derivative of Lana Del Rey at its lows. Yet Lorde’s lyrical prowess transforms an already strong debut into a mesmerizing tour de force. The songstress is blessed with a lyrical, razor-sharp wit. Her world is surreal, a bit dystopian and one in which the masses are ominously sedated. In “Buzzcut Season,” Lorde croons of “(living) in a hologram with you” while drinking “cola with a burnt-out taste,” feigning happiness as she silently suffocates in the emptiness of her modern culture.

Despite all the derision, Lorde is keenly self-aware that she’s a pop artist herself, which is what makes her persona so engagingly complex and strikingly deconstructive. She’s the perfect poster child of the post-digital era, in which everyone is painfully conscious of the personal brand he or she has developed in the public sphere. Pure Heroine packs the explosiveness of a cannon fired against lofty castles in the sky, presumably where the kings and queens of pop reside. A few years ago, Kanye and Jay-Z cautioned the world to watch the throne. Examining the charts, Lorde seems to have already taken a seat.

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A lot has changed in the past two years of Danny Brown’s life. After the release of his first studio album, XXX, in 2011, the 32-year-old Detroit native’s unique vernacular and quirky image have appealed to crowds across the country. He has moved on from drug deals and jail time to tour with rappers such as Schoolboy Q, A$AP Rocky and Childish Gambino, in addition to playing at festivals including Coachella and SXSW.

Tracks such as “Wonderbread” and “Clean Up” describe the violence he witnessed throughout his life and how, despite the past three years of international recognition, the torments of his past continue to haunt his sleep, keeping him up at night. Brown’s honest lyrics in Old reveal what troubles him and how he copes with life’s insecurities.

Similar to Brown’s changing identities, this album is two-sided. Side A brings some of his darkest moments alive in his solo tracks, whereas Side B reminds us this is still the flamboyant and eccentric Danny Brown who loves sex, Molly and smoking blunt after blunt. He even admits in the track “Lonely” that he is “a hipster by heart, but I can tell you how the streets feel.”

Brown recognizes the paradox of growing up. His youth has aged him. His drug-dealing past encourages further drug use, and now he is partying and acting young. In “Float On,” Brown slows down his verses and admits getting old for him doesn’t mean getting sober. He says, “And no matter how it gets I hold on / Rolling up this dope to cope I float on.”

Throughout the 19 tracks, we experience the old Danny sitting on his porch in Detroit selling dubs, the new Danny who enraptures festivals and the Danny who feels pressure to make honest and introspective music. Old relays an aura of complexity, not confusion. This album is dynamic because he is dynamic, and it encompasses who he is with full disclosure. Danny Brown may be old, but he still likes to party.

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Miley Cyrus is the living embodiment of a well-formulated “fuck it,” and so is her new album, Bangerz.

Here’s the thing about Bangerz: It isn’t a great album, but it definitely has a few good tracks. Aside from the infectious “We Can’t Stop” and the already contagious “Wrecking Ball,” you shouldn’t expect another “Party in the USA” from Cyrus’ fourth studio album.

Musically, Cyrus is certainly no Beethoven — and she’s never claimed to be — but she is still supremely talented. She shines brightest on tracks such as “Wrecking Ball” and “Adore You,” in which one can hear her voice’s unbelievable power, but is weakest on songs that shy away from a focus on vocals and lean toward a focus on production — “Love Money Party,” “4×4” and “SMS.” These producer-heavy tracks are unimpressive across the board — a big disappointment considering they feature some pretty impressive stars such as Big Sean, Nelly and Britney Spears, respectively.

Beneath the disappointing guest spots and consistently over-the-top production from Mike WiLL Made-It, Bangerz is, at its core, an album created by a grown-up Hannah Montana who has “popped a molly” one too many times and gives one too little fucks about anything. “So don’t you worry about me — I’ll be OK,” Miley raps on “Do My Thang.” “I’ma do my thing, ’cause I’ma do my thing.”

But throughout Bangerz, Cyrus doesn’t find her voice to actually do her own thing. While experimenting with a variety of styles, she fails to display any confidence in what her new persona sounds like, aside from other pop stars. “Adore You” might as well be a slow Rihanna love ballad, and “Maybe You’re Right” is almost another upbeat Katy Perry pop anthem.

The creme de la creme of the new Miley Cyrus can be summed up in the chorus of Bangerz’s worst song, “SMS” (featuring Britney Spears): “I can strut that strut, that strut, that stuff / Fucking bangerz.” Yes, Cyrus’ desire to strut her stuff is on full display throughout Bangerz.

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After disappearing from the Billboard 200 for half a decade, Justin Timberlake isn’t quite ready to let go of the limelight yet. Waiting a mere five months since his last release, the Prince of Pop has given his fans an entirely new suite of decadent pop, whose high notes hit the operatic, on the imaginatively named The 20/20 Experience 2 of 2. Yet, this isn’t a collection of B-sides that didn’t “make the cut” or the Amnesiac to JT’s Kid A but rather an album that stands ambitiously on its own. In Part 1, JT showed us a new mature side of him, completed by his other half, Jessica Biel. However, in Part 2, JT wants to remind us that he is still the casanova who brought sexy back in FutureSex/LoveSounds.

If Part 1 welcomed us back to Timberlake’s pop music kingdom, Part 2 has taken us on a neon-lit groovy tour of its nightlife district. Taking cues from Thriller, JT and Timbaland deliver slightly darker beats in an infectious, champagne-popping fashion. The heavy, gothic synths and funk guitar riffs in “True Blood” and “Murder” are ripped right out of “Billie Jean.”

Following suit, JT’s lyrics in songs such as “Cabaret” are much more wild and sensual, and the Hollywood dream girls of Part 1 are now seductive femme fatales, the kind with a price for the night. Both Drake and Jay-Z rock solid guest verses, detailing their hard-to-get temptresses, which are vast improvements from Jay-Z’s sluggish contribution to “Suit & Tie.”

Striving to be legendary, Timberlake refuses to be a Michael-emulating, one-trick pony. Toward the end of the album, he takes more musical risks, though with varying degrees of success. In “Drink You Away,” JT channels the inner Tennessee kid in him that we often forget about. The song is a hard-stomping southern rock anthem fueled by Jack Daniels. However, the album takes an unexpected odd turn on the final track, “Not a Bad Thing,” a boy band-esque love ode that belongs more on a Jesse McCartney comeback album. While The 20/20 Experience 2 of 2 attempts to be JT’s most thematically unified album, it ironically ends as his least cohesive.

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CHVRCHES created viral exhilaration in the world of music blogs with singles such as “The Mother We Share” and “Recover.” After that, the electro-pop trio from Scotland became one of the most anticipated acts of 2013.

However, with their first EP released in March and their first LP released now, six months later, one has to wonder if the hype rushed the release. The verdict? It certainly feels like it. All four of the singles they had prior to this album were within the first seven tracks, separated by one song each. The good news is that the first eight tracks are fantastic and absolutely worthy of the praise they have been given.

The bad news is that the rest of the album does not follow suit, perhaps with the exception of “By the Throat,” suggesting that a bit of front-loading happened.  “Science/Visions” kicks off the second half of the album and comes off like a bad attempt at being The Knife or Crystal Castles. “Lungs” continues the suffocation, with a sound comparable to The Naked and Famous’ recent sophomore effort. To end the album, “You Caught the Light” is an anthem that would have played for the homecoming king and homecoming queen at an ’80s dance or maybe from the boombox in “Say Anything” (not that there’s a problem with that — it’s just not worth calling a visionary record). Anyone venturing to listen to the deluxe edition is punished with two more mediocre offerings, with “Broken Bones” in particular breaking The Bones. Ultimately, a bait-and-switch.

The energy suddenly becomes half-assed, like the remnants of a karaoke bar as it is collectively sobering up.

That same energy seems to be missing from their live performances. Perhaps this is in part due to the fact that the album was mixed masterfully by the legendary Rich Costey (whose credits include The Shins, Muse and Nine Inch Nails). Lauren Mayberry’s voice and the surrounding instrumentation are in unison throughout the album, but there have been issues replicating that in concert (and one quick YouTube search will confirm it).

Despite that, they are still a promising band whose songs will undoubtedly find plenty of radio time. There are moments where CHVRCHES deliver divine intervention to an otherwise overpopulated, repetitive electro-pop genre.  Regrettably, the hype may have rushed them into debuting with the bones of what you believed would be a full-bodied, cohesive album.

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OVO Sound/ Young Money/ Cash Money/ Republic Records/Courtesy

When Nothing Was the Same leaked online last week, Twitter broke down in 140-character tears, and rumors that the deluxe version would include a box of tissues emerged. Jokes aside, Drake’s third studio album is a heavy hitter in every sense. Radio favorite “Started from the Bottom” gave us an initial glimpse at what the album would be about — after the Grammy-winning success of Take Care, Drake has all the bragging rights of an artist who’s made it to the top. The second album single, “Hold On, We’re Going Home,” is a sweet serotinal jammer that paired a new sound with the same starry-eyed lines about a hopeless romantic named Aubrey. The rest of NWTS channels much of that same energy.

Using samples from Whitney to Wu-Tang to Ellie Goulding, Drake, producer Noah “40” Shebib and collaborators like Majid Jordan and Hudson Mohawke craft a richly minimalistic sound. Low-end synths and heavy percussions highlight brooding hooks and verses that linger in the air long after their initial play.

Lyrically, NWTS is Drake’s strongest yet. As he goes from “something between psychotic and iconic” on “Furthest Thing” to name-dropping ex-girlfriends Bria, Summer and “Kourtney from Hooters on Peach Street” on “From Time,” his lyrics flow seamlessly, melting tracks together. Everything unfolds as he delves into a history of family troubles, career struggles and toxic relationships. If the record wasn’t personal enough, note Drake doesn’t really bring in additional artists, except for up-and-comers Jhene Aiko and Sampha as well as El Padrino himself, Jay-Z, on the grand finale.

It’s hard to pick the better album between Take Care and NTWS, but having exemplified what it takes to be a rapper who makes the pop crossover as easily as he crosses national borders, Drake’s still sitting on his pillow-soft throne, and he’s not coming down any time soon.

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London Grammar, fronted by songwriter and vocalist Hannah Reid, have drawn comparisons to indie behemoths such as Florence and the Machine and The xx. Certainly, there are similarities in elements of their music, but the young trio from the U.K. have ultimately improved on the aforementioned acts’ weaknesses. Reid’s voice has the power of Florence Welch’s but far more control in hitting higher notes. She also possesses the ethereality and vulnerability of Elena Tonra (Daughter) and touches of Victoria Legrand’s (Beach House) serenity.

The backing music is reminiscent of The xx’s minimalistic yet atmospheric guitar and percussion with the bonus of masterfully placed piano that at many times serves as Reid’s duet partner. With an appearance on Disclosure’s album in the song “Help Me Lose My Mind” and the release of several entrancing singles and covers, they have already gained a substantial fan base, but If You Wait may be what makes them colossal.

Beginning with their hit single “Hey Now,” the ebb and flow of the album create an experience that should not be broken up. One highlight is a cover of Kavinsky’s magnum opus “Nightcall,” from the movie “Drive.” The first half of the song exemplifies the band’s ability to complement Reid’s impassioned vocals and eventually progresses into a percussion-heavy sound, evoking trip-hop comparable to Portishead or Massive Attack.  If anything, “Strong” is the standout song, but that is not much of a statement in such a cohesive album lacking misplaced or underwhelming tracks.

Every once in a while, an album completely redefines one’s musical ideals by completely dethroning some of your favorite albums, rekindling forgotten emotions and demanding repeat listens. With their debut, London Grammar have established themselves not only as artists to watch but ones to revere.

https://soundcloud.com/londongrammar/hey-now

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Is the MGMT heard on their self-titled album really the same band that released Oracular Spectacular six years ago? Obviously, yes, in terms of name and band members. But regarding sound, it’s harder to say. Their debut LP was mainly an exercise in standard psych pop with progressive rock embellishments, but the follow-up Congratulations was a more self-conscious effort to defy danceability and avoid being pigeonholed as Urban Outfitters-store playlist fodder. With MGMT, however, they’ve smoothed their transition into pure neo-psychedelica, finding themselves in an increasingly distinct niche that feels less belabored and more natural than their previous release.

Amog the most noticeable and welcome features of this album is track length. Here, songs clock in around four or five minutes without coming close to their clumsily sprawling wannabe-epics such as “Metanoia” (the 14-minute 2008 single). These songs had moments of greatness, but they were full of disjointed ideas. On the contrary, tracks on MGMT flow with the sort of conviction that shows they actually had a song arranged when they pressed “record.”

Take the opener, “Alien Days.” Labyrinthine chord progressions prevent the song from feeling repetitive while bouncy bass lines and dreamy vocals keep it recognizable enough to lose anyone along the way. The chirping synths of “A Good Sadness” come across like an aural head rush. Later, the chaos-soaked production of “Plenty of Girls in the Sea” is grounded by the song’s surprisingly whistle-worthy catchiness.

Their evolution has been heavy-handed but worthwhile. As such, the best advice to give to former fans unhappy with their changes since “Kids” would be: Go listen to “Kids.” It’s not going anywhere. While MGMT’s original intent may have been to “shoot some heroin and fuck with the stars,” it seems they got sidetracked dropping acid with the Flaming Lips, which suits them better, anyway.

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Three years ago, The Weeknd was an elusive mystery. Aside from a couple of songs posted on a YouTube account under the name The Weeknd, which went viral through various music blogs and artists’ Twitters (such as Drake’s), no one exactly knew whom he was or when an album was dropping. This anonymity was engaging — and not simply because everyone was on a race to discover his identity. His anonymity made his songs about addiction, drug abuse and lost love all the more personal as he stood as a shadowy figure in contrast to a world that attempts to capture and record every moment.

A lot has changed for Abel Tesfaye (also known as The Weeknd). With his anonymity gone, a critical part of Tesfaye’s aesthetic is slowly disappearing. His new album, Kiss Land, acknowledges his evolution into a public figure. And although Kiss Land is his debut studio album, it faces the inevitable challenge of overcoming the sophomore slump after Trilogy, a compilation of critically acclaimed mixtapes that came out last year.

Kiss Land overcomes this slump by maintaining the perfect balance of change and stagnation. Tesfaye’s voice work is still incredible, and his production is still immensely elegant. But interwoven is a distinct off-kilter, almost dystopian Japanese aesthetic that defines much of the album, as seen in the music video for “Kiss Land.” In “Kiss Land,” Tesfaye is in a foreign place aesthetically different from Quebec, and its culture as shown in his mixtapes, but his narcissistic, self-abusive lifestyle is ever present. Even with the veil of anonymity gone and his image reconstructed, Tesfaye remains the same tragic figure, no matter where he goes.

Kiss Land is more of the same high-quality R&B expected from Tesfaye. But it’s the production of Kiss Land, mixed with the retention of the themes central to Trilogy, that make Kiss Land an intense debut studio album. No matter how Tesfaye evolves, he is still the same self-destructive, brilliant character.

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Five albums in, and British indie-rockers Arctic Monkeys have undoubtedly established themselves as one of the most consistently creative and genre-defining bands of the last decade.

The Sheffield lads burst onto the music scene in 2005 with their debut single, “I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor,” and have since become an establishment in British music. Their latest effort, AM, is a commanding, psychedelic synthesis of everything that worked so well on the band’s previous albums, combining the arena-filling dance anthems of Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I’m Not with the biting wit of Favorite Worst Nightmare and the melancholy maturity of the back half of Suck It and See.

Although the album fits cohesively into the rest of the band’s catalog, AM takes on a boozier, more confident tone and toys with a seductively sinister sound. On opener “Do I Wanna Know?,” frontman Alex Turner provocatively asks, “Have you no idea that you’re in deep? / I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week.” The track’s stomping beat and swaggering guitars demand attention, while the taunting falsettos of Matt Helders and Nick O’Malley on “R U Mine?” have an air of sultry urgency.

The centerpiece of AM is, undoubtedly, Turner’s inspired lyricism. On the hip-hop-infused ode to a cheetah-print-coat-wearing, Mexican Coke-sipping Arabella, Turner sings, “Arabella’s got some interstellagator skin boots / And a helter skelter around her little finger and I ride it endlessly.” On the deceptively named “No. 1 Party Anthem,” Turner continues the lonesome search for his “Cornerstone” mistress, bemoaning, “It’s not like I’m falling in love / I just want you to do me no good.”

Despite Turner’s several side projects and the year-and-a-half-long gap between the release of AM’s first single and the album itself, the Arctic Monkeys show no sign of slowing down. AM is their best album to date, but it’s not the work of a band at their peak. It’s the work of a band on the rise.

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