If there’s one thing Bradford Cox is singularly obsessed with, it’s making music; since 2005 his output has been ceaselessly prolific. However, it’s been almost three years since Halcyon Digest, the last full Deerhunter release, and though Cox recently found time for a solo outing as Atlas Sound on Parallax, Deerhunter’s full return on Monomania is both welcome and long-awaited. They’re back and louder than they’ve been in recent times.

Thumping drums cocooned by cavernous thrashing guitars opens up the noise-drenched ‘Neon Junkyard’, thrusting Cox’s shouts to the forefront and submerging the listener into a den of garage-rock. A far cry from the intricate sonic explorations and warbling tones ofHalcyon Digest, Monomania begins with a bang and doesn’t ease up, cascading into the even louder ‘Neon Jacket II’, which comes complete with a seductively catchy riff and abrupt mid-track breakdown.

Discarding the spectacular astral projections of Halcyon Digest in favour of a rougher direct feel wasn’t what was expected, though given that Cox has the chutzpah to play ‘My Sharona’ on loop for a whole hour during live sets, a slight subversion of expectations isn’t as calamitous as it could’ve been. Instead, we’re left with a rare treat, a record that initially shocks, yet grows in strength and ultimately awes. Where Halcyon Digest was a fantastical dream, Monomania is an all too real awakening.

A penchant for pop hooks and subtle tracks hasn’t left the Atlanta rockers, with ‘Dream Captain’ and ‘T.H.M’ harking back to some of the finer moments of Deerhunter’s ambient forays. Title track ‘Monomania’ encapsulates the whole record wonderfully; it’s not lacking in classic sensibilities, demonstrating Cox’s unquestionable prowess for a strong hook, yet is shrouded in reverb and descends into a tantalising explosion of noise as Cox’s repeated drawls of ‘Monomania’ refuse to fade or die.

Cox’s response to lines of questioning regarding his virtuoso rendition of ‘My Sharona’ was to claim that his ‘job is to simply sodomise mediocrity’. There’s no question over whether or not Cox is ordinary (he clearly isn’t), whether Monomania is evidence that his talent is extraordinary is open to question. One thing’s for sure though – it’s anything but mediocre.

Doldrums wouldn’t be my first choice of word with which to associate the musical stylings of 23-year-old Canadian producer Airick Woodhead. For one, the sample-driven experimental pop on Lesser Evil is about as far away from dull, drowsy low-spiritedness as I can imagine. If anything, the record’s the complete antithesis of the state of being ‘down in the doldrums’; comprising an energising visceral thrill that grips you by the throat and refuses to let go until the journey through Woodhead’s fragmented psychedelic soundscapes is over. It’s perhaps appropriate then, that Airick’s moniker is inspired by fantastical children’s novel The Phantom Tollbooth rather than the dictionary definition of the term.

Created by the light of the cracked screen of a Mac (featured on the album’s artwork) borrowed from friend and fellow Montreal-dwelling electronic creative Grimes, Lesser Evil quite literally forms an exploration of the point at which technology begins to break down. Woodhead’s muted lonely cries on ‘Intro’ give way to the thumping drumbeat of ‘Anomaly’, shifting perspective from a growing ambient opener to the subtly unsettling track that sets the tone for the rest of the record. Layers of reverberating noise, wavering bass and glitchy production fail to shackle the anthemic beat into which Woodhead’s bouncing yet melancholic vocals inject a disturbingly hypnotic sense of purpose and drive. It’s a veritable tumble down the rabbit hole, and though it feels acutely strange and almost riddled with contradiction, it’s utterly compelling.

We reach our breaking point of overstimulated fury early on; ‘She Is The Wave’ is where it becomes rather evident that Lesser Evil is a difficult record. Where frenzied blips begin to pit themselves against intense firing samples to produce an overwhelmingly disorienting blanket of noise, the regular listener will likely be repelled. It’s rather jarring and quite possibly the last point at which you can revert to the comfort of normality via the blue pill. But it’s worth persevering through. Not only is it strongly evocative of the sense of exhilarating uncertainty that makes this an irresistibly intoxicating record, but its audacity in aggressively challenging the listener early on smoothes the path for later greater reward.

The marriage of ingenuity and noise core with more conventional dance elements is where the record finds its highlights. Experimentation continues throughout the record, but later on fails to have the same unsettling effects, which leads to the appreciation of some uniquely stunning moments. Such as the dreamy spaced-out ‘Egypt’, where Woodhead’s androgynous vocals glide over a synthesised marimba melody layered with the usual noise trappings, resulting in an exotic pop track effortlessly dripping with style. Or the otherworldly ‘Live Forever’, where synthesisers combine expertly with pitch-distorted samples to forge a melody that seems capable of making intergalactic transportation possible. Despite approaching the crafting of Lesser Evil from the leftfield, Woodhead clearly hasn’t suppressed any pop sensibilities.

It would be unfair to paint Lesser Evil as being primarily experimental. It’s irrevocably so, but its scope encompasses so much more. Although concerned with testing the ultimate thresholds of technology, it gets down to crafting sumptuous pop melodies from a cocktail of noise, samples and synthesisers. Airick Woodhead has meaningfully engaged with seemingly distinct concerns yet produced an uncompromising cohesive record that stands as testament to his creativity and ingenuity. Lesser Evil ultimately comprises a raw thrill that excites just as much as it challenges, firmly placing Woodhead as an exciting talent, not just with regards to Montreal, but anywhere.

After quite a wait LongLiveA$AP is finally here. It’s not quite Detox in terms of continual delay and postponement, but there’s only so long a fledgling artist can sustain the attention Harlem’s A$AP Rocky has received without a full release proper. There’s good reason as to why LongLiveA$AP has been so hotly anticipated, with 2011 mixtape LiveLoveA$AP setting a high standard; immersing the listener into a world of spaced-out slowed vocals and Clams Casino produced hazy beats over which Rocky’s not-so-sweet nothings concerning drugs, sex and money were stylishly delivered, paving the way to a multi-million dollar record deal.

Expectations were raised further still when the list of collaborators on LongLiveA$AP was released. Not only had Rocky managed to unite the best of hip-hop’s ‘new school’ with features from Drake, Joey Bada$$ and Kendrick Lamar amongst others, but he’d also made concerted attempts at mainstream crossover with ‘Wild For The Night’ being produced by Skrillex and ‘I Come Apart’ featuring Florence Welch. In the end, it feels a little like A$AP Rocky was trying to do too much at once and lost sight of what brought him success initially. Clams Casino produced ‘LVL’ stands as an early highlight, providing a luscious reverb-drenched beat for Rocky to glide over. The problem really is that there isn’t enough of Clams Casino on this record, because as a whole it lacks the cohesion his beats lent to LiveLoveA$AP.

Instead of a Clams-produced paradise, we’re objected to an absolute abomination of a beat on ‘Wild For The Night’, with Skrillex providing a Street Fighter button-mashing combination of shrill beeps and bleeps that has no place on this record, or anywhere for that matter. Same goes for ‘Fashion Killa’. Sandwiched between these tracks however is Hitboy-produced ‘1Train’, on which A$AP Rocky commands the mic alongside pretty much every notable rising rapper and isn’t outshined. There’s very strong single material in ‘Goldie’ and ‘Fucking Problems’, but that alone can’t propel the record from good to great. Frustratingly we’re left with a fragmented record which expends too much energy on courting the commercial and cementing A$AP Rocky’s personal brand, as opposed to providing a platform to display his full potential as a rapper.

“I’m a martian with an army of Spartans sparring with a knife in a missile fight” – more clearly than I could, Joey communicates on ‘Survival Tactics’ that he goes about his business a little differently to other young rappers. Unlike Chicago’s trap-rap Chief Keef or Odd Future’s militantly aggressive Earl Sweatshirt, New Yorker Bada$$  and his Pro Era collective hark back to the ‘Golden Era’, demanding lyricism and honesty, delivered by the boatload on 1999. Taking beats from MF Doom and stylistic cues from fellow Brooklynite Nas, 17 year old Joey builds on intimidating influences and somehow makes well-trodden ground sound like new pathways crying out for exploration, showcasing his unquestionable potential by showing emotional maturity and delivery more incisive than contemporary confessional rappers like Drake on ‘Pennyroyal’. Rap nostalgia hasn’t sounded quite so young, fresh or exciting in a long time.

The question of ‘what kind of songs does Dave Longstreth make best?’, which had previously been an open one, has finally been resolved. The answer is simple: pop songs. Flirtations with avant-garde R&B on Bitte Orca have been ended, with Dirty Projectors hopefully settling for the conventionally-structured quirky pop found on Swing Lo Magellan. From start to end, the record engulfs the listener in warmth; almost as if it were a film score reflectively soundtracking the embers of a dying summer. Alien-sounding harmonies combine seamlessly with traditional instrumentation to produce a collection of songs that sounds familiar yet compellingly unique. Pulled along to unprecedented levels of joy by the sheer sense of fun and self-aware humour present, on ‘Unto Caesar’ singers Amber Coffman and Haley Dekle mock one of Longstreth’s more obfuscated lyrics as he croons “Down the line/Dead the martyr’s morbid poetry”. Like a record you’ve been fondly acquainted with for years, yet somehow being like nothing you’ve ever heard before, Swing Lo Magellan ties together a vividly beautiful journey of the irrepressibly human themes of love, anxiety and elation.

The path taken by James Ford and Jas Shaw on Unpatterns can be succinctly described as a second brave foray into the world of techno, though that would be understating the scope of their third full album release. But this record is all about understatement, or at least wielding the refined power derived from taking a subtler approach to electronic dance music than their previous outings.  Dispensing with high-profile collaborations that shaped the pop-electro-crossover which defined 2009’s Temporary Pleasure; big names like Beth Ditto and Damon Albarn come nowhere near the credits on Unpatterns. In fact, the feel of the record is antithetical to the title of Temporary Pleasure’s lead track ‘Audacity of Huge’. This doesn’t try to be huge; refusing to pander towards the commercial, but may well mark an audaciously shrewd step for Simian Mobile Disco.

Shunning the mainstream for more underground influences, at its best Unpatterns takes clear influence from Futuregarage productions, with the tropes of Rustie and Sepalcure making it onto the likes of ‘Seraphim’. Simian Mobile Disco are clearly separate from that scene, yet are able to use the familiar sounds to provide perspicacious reflection upon current underground trends, whilst maintaining a fresh perspective. The influences on the record are varied, with Cerulean opening in a manner oddly reminiscent of WHY? on ‘A Sky For Shoeing Horses Under’, before giving way to squirming synths and an unstoppable drumbeat fashioning a solidly geometrical tune. It stands out as a highlight alongside ‘Interference’; a track which surely soon be gracing dancefloors worldwide, with noodling synths reverberating over unrelenting rhythmic whirring to create a smooth showstopper worth shouting about.

To have utilised the sounds of the underground and continued with scholarly dedication to advancing the genre of electronic dance music without courting the commercial is admirable. However it’s lacking the hard-hitting punch that previous records have held with standout hits like ‘Hustler’; the moments of understated brilliance perhaps don’t vindicate the record as a whole. Requiring more punch to entice the casual listener, it feels like it’s exhausted its capacity for a hit on ‘Interference’. Not a record that will have many but the most dedicated listeners reaping its full rewards, though with the growing popularity of artists such as Burial, a more refined approach may breed success.

Although four years have passed since The Shins last released a record, the stark directional change on ‘Port of Morrow’ may have come too soon for many fans. James Mercer is the sole remaining member of the original line-up and re-assumes the role of sole creative force, using this clean slate as a basis for greater experimentation. The injection of background layers of noise, distortion and whirring initially distract from the timeless Pet Sounds-influenced pop vibes which previous Shins outings exude by the bucketload. However taking on a fuller form hasn’t made ‘Port of Morrow’ any less enjoyable than previous records; the characteristic essence of The Shins remains intact, and hasn’t splintered during this Mercer-driven metamorphosis. 

Enlisting producer Greg Kurstin to create a more refined sound when compared to the lo-fi production on previous records has paid dividends for The Shins. Amplifying the self-confident poetic poignancy of Mercer’s lyrical wit above powerful soundscapes lends his voice unprecedented directness, no longer being obscured behind more rustic textures. This power is reflected in the booming delivery of the first single ‘Simple Song’, as warmth gradually envelops the listener as Mercer compares being overwhelmed by love to feeling “like an ocean being warmed by the sun”.                                                

Perfectly paced, the peaks and troughs of Mercer’s emotional path are laid out and fleshed out in a fashion that prevents this record being merely confined to a ‘sunny day’, as attempts to pigeonhole previous The Shins’ records have done so. The retention of the intimacy synonymous with The Shins despite new bolder sounds is what picks this record out as extraordinary amongst its contemporaries; balancing new-fangled eeriness and contemporary production with lyrical simplicity and emotional depth allows them to achieve this distinction with flying colours.

Despite ‘Port of Morrow’ being an experimental change for The Shins’ sound, all that is achieved is marrying archetypal Shins with contemporary musicianship and greater expansiveness. Which is no mean feat, but perhaps this record may not ‘change your life’ (in the words of Natalie Portman in GardenState), but this cannot detract from the fact that ‘Port of Morrow’ is exceptionally well-crafted and an early contender for record of the year.