Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs
Alkaline Trio
Alkaline Trio feels reenergized on Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs. The group's best album since 2005's Crimson features an array of extremely hooky melodic punk choruses and emotionally frayed lyricism. Despite what the album title might suggest, this is the least deliberately macabre album from Alkaline Trio in ages (though the very catchy title track nails that vibe), which is welcome since that aspect had been overdone on other recent records. Instead the trio returns to more of its dark and scrappy hopeless romanticism for lost souls origins with standout tracks like "Bad Time" and "Hot for Preacher." The past couple years have seen an array of pop punk vets release their best albums in decades (Sum 41, Green Day, Blink-182, ect.), and the huge riffs and soaring "whoa" choruses of Blood, Hair, and Eyeballs make sure Alkaline Trio ranks among the best of them.
Daniel
Real Estate
Part of growing up with any sort of grace is finding contentment in not always being the center of attention. That sense permeates Daniel, the sixth album by indie pop group Real Estate. While playlist-algorithm-chasing "chill vibes" songs have become a scourge of the music industry, there's still space for carefully crafted, casually carefree tunes that don't agonizingly sweat over trying to forcefully grab a listener's attention. Real Estate frontman Martin Courtney's soft tones guide this collection of lean and polished '90s-hued relaxed jangle pop. Whether unpacking his songwriter brain ("Water Underground") or difficult to pin down anxiety ("Market Street"), he guides listeners with a gentle hand that allows for a laid-back air which invites repeat visits simply through its unobtrusive warmth.
Golden Age of Self Snitching
Revival Season
In an era when overlong hip-hop albums seem to be routine, Atlanta duo Revival Season's Golden Age of Self Snitching is a blisteringly kinetic breath of fresh air. There's no snoozers on this tight 14-song LP, which combines the snarling afro punk freneticism of rapper Brandon "BEZ" Evans and the rock-leaning production of producer Jonah Swilley. Evans revels in spitting spite at social failures, calling out rap posers, and generally being an unrestrained delight with a consistent explosive punch that mixes Southern hip-hop and the always-on energy of a group like Run the Jewels. He's given a popping canvas to play on with Swilley's production mixing funk, rock and reggae sounds, finding a sonic headspace akin to early Dust Brothers (without being nearly as sample-dense). Tracks like the you-reap-what-you-sow jam "Boomerang" and the bouncing block party swagger of "Pump" crackle with a vigor that's gonna sound killer blasting out of speakers from cars with their windows rolled down this summer.
Hole in My Head
Laura Jane Grace
An exercise in throwback folk punk simplicity, Hole in My Head succeeds because it is aware of its scope and never tries to overshoot it. While punks may be clamoring for another Against Me! album, this is the closest Laura Jane Grace has come to matching the full band edge on a solo record since 2008's Heart Burns. She blisters her way through 11 tracks in under 30 minutes while managing to never hit an insincere note, whether she's singing about love and quoting Cheap Trick ("Mercenary"), reminiscing about early punk days ("Punk Rock in Basements"), venting the overwhelming angst crammed in her brain ("Hole in My Head") or finding comfort in a ratty Adidas hoodie when gender dysphoria hits hard ("Dysphoria Hoodie"). Hole in My Head gets to the point, rocks out and never comes close to overstaying its welcome.
Prelude to Ecstasy
The Last Dinner Party
Opening your first album with an orchestral overture is certainly one way to set expectations from the jump. The Last Dinner Party is a band that goes for it. The extremely buzzy fem group revels in grand baroque pop on Prelude to Ecstasy, each note dripping with an extreme high school theater kid-level of gesticulating drama. There's an air of Queen's rock regality to the arty package, which extends to singer Abigail Morris' gender-upending queer lyrical cleverness. There's a decadent deliciousness to the jaunty rock sleaze of "Sinner" and the epic screaming biblical desire of "My Lady of Mercy." The band's glam bombast can feel a bit too refined and buttoned-up at moments, but when things peak like on the jubilant crescendo of "Nothing Matters" all the indulgences seem worth it.
People Who Aren't There Anymore
Future Islands
Future Islands' special sauce has always been the contrast between its danceable '80s-influenced synthpop and singer Samuel T. Herring's intensive emotive vocal delivery and stage persona. The cacophony of his feelings is at the forefront of People Who Aren't There Anymore, an album detailing his internal turmoil over his cross-continental long-distance relationship falling apart during pandemic times. But rather than a pure breakup album, this collection of songs touches on the highs of love before wallowing in the crushing lows. Letting Herring explore the light on tracks like the soaring "The Tower" then makes the heartbreak hit harder. And when it hits... ooof. Closing things out with "The Garden Wheel" — which uses the metaphor of deeply cared for but overworked land that can no longer bear fruit — is the hard-to-swallow cherry of sadness on top. But Future Island's synthpop backing prevents things from ever feeling too dour to take, allowing the album to be a safe space where Herring can sing and dance his tears away.
Tigers Blood
Waxahatchee
While she's been elite since 2013's Cerulean Salt, it's great that the larger music world is finally realizing that Waxahatchee (aka Katie Crutchfield) is a generational American songwriting talent. Perhaps the most stunning thing about the indie folk rock grace she displays throughout Tigers Blood is the pure casual ease of the songs' effervescent warmth. Crutchfield possesses that certain je ne sais quoi that makes everything she crafts feel timeless and universal — these songs would land whether played at a hip rock club or a divey honky-tonk... circa 1974 or 2024. The Alabama native boasts a true Southern poet's sense of humid melancholy and sticky sweetness. Just lay back and bask in the sunny sonic rays of Tigers Blood and let it melt away your problems for a bit.
Utopia Now!
Rosie Tucker
Late-stage-capitalism fatalism isn't supposed to sound this f—ing fun. Utopia Now! doesn't trade in soft-peddled subtlety, instead nonbinary indie rocker Rosie Tucker attacks the bleak state of the world with blunt force brainiac lyrical dexterity. Opening lines like "I hope no one had to piss in a bottle at work to get me the thing I ordered on the internet" ("All My Exes Live in Vortexes") and "They're gonna turn the moon into a sweatshop / Like none of these f—ers ever even heard of Gil Scott / Heron more like albatross" ("Gil Scott Albatross") set the tone for the album early, as does the cutting metaphor of a musician being another commercial good with planned obsolescence ("Lightbulb"). But the album isn't all devilishly clever lecturing. The crafty musicianship on display gives a host of tunes a wonderfully bouncy pep, and tracks like "Big Fish/No Fun" and "Suffer! Like You Mean It" tap into a loving human heart with fragile tenderpunk vulnerability. Tucker's earnestly sweet vocals make you believe them when they holler, "I want nothing but unending bliss for my enemies!" ("Unending Bliss"), and when they carry a softly hopeful but heavy weight on the existential closer "Eternal Life."
What an Enormous Room
Torres
While nobody wants to listen to an album that's a disjointed mess, being all over the place can be a good thing. Case in point: Torres' What an Enormous Room. The sixth album from singer-songwriter Mackenzie Scott delightfully never settles into a single sound while still feeling interconnected. A large part has to do with the production by Scott and Sarah Jaffe, which gives each track an enlarged sense of scale without ever feeling imposing upon the listener. Scott's typically advanced songcraft feels so fully composed no matter what sonic water she's dipping her toes into on a given track. Whether slowburn guitar brooding ("Artificial Limits"), singing delicately over synthy stomp beats ("I Got the Fear"), ruminating in Tom Tom Club-like interludes ("Jerk into Joy"), stripping things back for sparse piano meditations ("Songbird Forever") or riffing with Garbage-esque alt-rock swagger ("Collect"), What an Enormous Room lives up to the enormity of its name.
Where's My Utopia?
Yard Act
Yard Act takes big conceptual swings on its sophomore album, Where's My Utopia?. Frontman James Smith's talk-sung self-examinations feel both cutting and apathetic while the rest of the band locks into more upbeat grooves on this chaotic post-punk collage of dry Brit wit. The album sort of feels like The Streets filtered through Pulp. Sure, things can get a bit pretentious at times, but for the most part the big ideas land. It takes a lot to have Macbeth samples and reflections of one's own bullying past ("Down by the Stream") mesh seamlessly with tongue-in-cheek mythmaking about one's own band, but Yard Act's playful cynicism shines on dance-away-your-crushing-nihilism jams like "We Make Hits" and the disco-infused "Dream Job." ♦
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Harm's Way - Ducks Ltd.
Heaven :x: Hell - Sum 41
I Got Heaven - Mannequin Pussy
Keep It Goin Xav - Xaviersobased
Live Laugh Love - Chastity Belt
Package Pt. 2 - Gustaf
Polaroid Lovers - Sarah Jarosz
Saviors - Green Day
