Best of 2015 (So Far)
Belle and Sebastian, Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance
Girls in peacetime want to dance… and, apparently, so does Belle and Sebastian. “Jump to the beat of the party line,” they urge. And we do, of course. On yet another solid release from the always-dependable Glaswegian sextet, they’re more “weeee” than twee. Producer Ben H. Allen shimmers their sound while still maintaining the band’s trademark melancholy and hopefulness. Escapist vibes run throughout "Girls in Peacetime Want to Dance," as frontman Stuart Murdoch finally addresses their album’s motive on Belle's most quintessential track, "Ever Had a Little Faith?," a jangly little daydream: Basically, don’t be sad. And, you know, dance.
Madonna, Rebel Heart
Major misfires—oh, religion and sex meet again? (Is she really sampling herself?)—kept it from breaking into the Essential Madonna Echelon, but these days, when it comes to Our Girl, you take what you can get and just hope and pray it’s not another MDNA. We made it out of the wilderness, then, didn’t we? Rebel Heart is not another MDNA; rather, and thankfully, it’s the sonic equivalent of Madonna picking herself back up after that Brit Awards fall. She stumbles a bit here, but the difference? Those mishaps are quelled by some of Madge’s most innovative, trend-bucking cuts in years. “Living for Love” rouses with “Like a Prayer” realness, “Ghosttown” works itself into a welcome moment of tenderness, and the title track is more in touch with Madonna than Madonna’s been in years.
Kendrick Lamar, To Pimp a Butterfly
Even T. Swift has a thing for Kendrick Lamar, the urban innovator featured on the pop star’s No. 1 “Bad Blood” radio remix. If you have lost yourself in his thought-provoking brilliance, you understand what Taylor sees in him. The musician du jour’s To Pimp a Butterfly sits impressively outside the box, the accumulation of various genres—spoken word, hip-hop, jazz, funk, etc.—to create a cultural touchstone that grapples with heavy of-the-zeitgeist matters. Big moments abound, but it doesn’t get more ambitious than “Mortal Men,” a moving 12-minute, posthumous conversation he has with Tupac.
Susanne Sundfør, Ten Love Songs
Do you know Susanne Sundfør? You don’t? You should. The ultra-talented Norwegian songstress’ sixth release is a captivating caper through and through, reveling in brokenhearted synth-pop and orchestral detours that conjure cinematic magic. An ethereal 10-minute behemoth, “Memorial” takes a drum-slapped torch song and caps it with a stunning orchestra outro, a wistful wind-down that lingers even after its last haunting note. Her pop sensibility is equally as sharp on the soulful “Fade Away,” an enveloping synth song, and on “Slowly,” an evocative, pure gold, ’80s-shimmered wallop produced by fellow Norwegian duo Röyksopp. And just when you think Sundfør’s achieved Robyn-caliber pop genius, there’s the biting “Delirious,” which builds into a crushingly brilliant beat after a John Carpenter’s Halloween-esque preface. It’s one genius move among many on Ten Love Songs.
Marina and the Diamonds, FROOT
After record execs tried to turn her into Pop’s Next Big Thing—a position, she later confessed, wasn’t for her—Welsh singer-songwriter Marina and the Diamonds gets back to basics on FROOT. Awash in the left-of-center sound that launched her career, FROOT feels like an artistic manifestation rather than a business fulfillment. Both musically personal and powerful, it begins with a paean of self-expression that suggests a newfound professional freedom. “I sang a hymn to bring me peace / And then it came, a melody,” she sings on “Happy,” boldly easing into the album with this raw moment of piano-led minimalism. On FROOT, it only gets sweeter.
Sufjan Stevens, Carrie & Lowell
“You’ll never see us again.” And just like that, Sufjan Steven rips your heart open with his seventh studio album, a gut-punch of grief-stricken emotions inspired by his mother’s passing. One such blow is “Fourth of July,” the kind of personal experience—a play-by-play of a parent’s final moments—rarely set to song. And for all its harsh truths, what a beautiful lullaby-like tune it is. That graceful appeal extends throughout Sufjan’s wrenchingly stunning tribute to his mother, Carrie & Lowell. The lulling melodies leave their mark. Sentiments drawn vividly from the past are stark and real and relatable. But there’s light in the dark, and by the time he gets to the penultimate “No Shade in the Shadow of the Cross,” you’ll want to give Sufjan the biggest hug. You’ll also need one of your own.