If there’s a better songwriter than the Mountain Goats’ John Darnielle working in indie rock today, then we do not know about her or him. I just got stuck on Transcendental Youth’s second song, "Lakeside View Apartments Suite"—listened to it three times in a row, dumbfounded by the extraordinary detail and tenderness in his storytelling, and realized that Darnielle’s great power is in facing up to the awful moments we all have and most of us choose to forget. Many people would prefer not to be reminded of them, which is partly why the Mountain Goats aren’t the biggest band on Earth. But if they fearlessly dip into a variety of hells, Mountain Goats songs are not sad, really. Bloodied and wounded, perhaps, but as has been said, they are as much about the ecstasy of surviving, and Darnielle never fails to express these complex emotions fully. "Cry for Judas" is the most immediately striking tune here, at least for me: The line, "Some things you do / Just to see / How bad they’ll make you feel," set into a galloping rhythm brightened by horns and quickly strummed acoustic, is just so plain and true that—well, it’s another song I felt I needed to listen to a few times in a row to be certain it was real. (Check out the equally stunning video for it here.) As deep and rewarding as the songs are, the Mountain Goats’ sound is simple: quiet or loud melodic rock and pop, played with power and sensitivity, with Darnielle’s bracing tone unfurling these incredible tales. He’s an artist you can feel passionate about. Please do check this stuff out.

Not going to name any names, but perhaps you’ve noticed there’s been a proliferation of earnest male singer-songwriters among the indie ranks the past few years? Most of them are okay enough—you know, they’d have to be, or else they wouldn’t get to make records that’d reach our ears. But also, most of them fall short of a certain high standard that (going to name a name here) seems to crystallize in the albums by AC Newman. Newman does nothing too special—writes indie-pop songs, sings them and orchestrates the melodies—and he does it all exceptionally well. You know you’re in the presence of a quality songwriter from the first lyric: "No one wants to weigh things down, but they tend to fly away / And rescue teams will look for days." There’s a lot in that line, and it takes flight itself, born aloft by a sweet-bitter horn arrangement and a finger-snapping tune that recalls the Shins’ best work. The vocal hook in the brilliantly named "Encyclopedia of Classic Takedowns" is drop-dead awesome, thanks in part to backing vocals by his New Pornographer mate Neko Case. Basically, everywhere you look there’s a sharp lyric and a keen melody, and if you read the small print—as you should, because of my previous comment about Newman’s lyrics—you might notice that he’s dedicated Shut Down the Streets to the memory of his mom. What’s not to like about this guy?

A new Flying Lotus record is an invitation to get lost—hopelessly, beautifully, invigoratingly lost—in sound. And so Until the Quiet Comes seems much longer than its 46 minutes, and we mean that in the good way. You will lose sense of time in this album’s infinite folds, like a jungle constantly flowering out a few steps in front of where you are. "Heave(n)," cleverly named, opens with a broad brush of spirit-jazz moves: chimes and bells, a few bird calls worth of a Martin Denny record, an airy low-end theory (if that sounds contradictory, fine) and clipped harp flourishes that might just be more chimes. A stuttering electronic cricket on the next track, "Tiny Tortures," contrasts, but maintains its predecessor’s nocturnal swing, characterizing but not dominating the track. "Sultan’s Request" is Lotus’s nod toward dubstep, but again, the serrated synths are not given dominion over the all-important vibe of the track, and he leaves it idling—again, in the good way, just to evoke and excite. The flush "Electric Candyman" makes funhouse-mirror use of guest Thom Yorke’s soft vocal, shattering and refracting it across the skipping track of softly insistent electric piano and pulsing bass. There are 18 tracks in all, so the quiet won’t be coming for a while yet. This is a cooler sound anyway.

Despite the name of hot Aussie import Tame Impala’s new album, this is not a downer disc. It may be an insular one however—few songs stand out, and instead we’re left doused in guitar fuzz and noise, effects sending everything swirling up and around joyously, almost ecstatically. The band practically fades into some ambient radio signal (or something?) on album-opener "Be Above It," lending a literal bit to the song’s amplifying motion. "Why Won’t They Talk to Me?"—admittedly, it’s a downer song title—practically sparkles in its evocation of lonerism, a haze of guitars looming around squiggly synth chords and pew-pew laser sounds. Frontman and braintrust Kevin Parker comes to the fore on "Feels Like We Only Go Backwards," his lyrics largely unintelligible but the aching tone of his voice becoming like another instrument in this wave of melody. "Keep on Lying" is another tune with a classic, sunny (with a few clouds), ’60s-ish melody, and it too fades in with the band already playing. The whole album retains that just-out-of-reach feel: sun-bleached old photographs, missed connections, summers ended, lost romances, and the bliss of all the emotions that make us yearn. The vibes are strong here!

The best way to describe Moon Duo’s vibe might be: "infinite." The band—comprising Sanae Yamada and Wooden Shjips guitarist Eric Johnson—specialize in narcotically repetitive psych-pop jams that move in repeating circular patterns, and which seem to end only as a matter of necessity, due to the limits of records and CDs. It’s possible the trippy vibrations on Circles exist permanently out in the air, and Moon Duo simply coaxes them onto records for relatively brief snatches of time. Opening track "Sleepwalker" calls the proceedings to order with a brief beat, a click like snapped wooden fingers, and then it’s on: buzzing guitars and keyboards sway back and forth hypnotically, Johnson’s dosed vocals knifing through. This is the kind of music that makes almost anyone swing their hips around, a little (or a lot), and it’s on this track as much as any other that Moon Duo’s debt to Spacemen 3, Suicide and the Velvet Underground seems most pronounced. The title track stirs in a simple little melody—the way this band moves, it really does feel like some wizard just eye-dropping an ingredient into a cauldron—to give it a lighter-than-air spirit, even with its chugging rhythm and (as on every song) that hip-shaking impetus. It’s very simple, very stylish and immensely likable. Check it out!

Beth Orton kept us waiting more than six years for a new album, but she wastes no time displaying her singular magic on Sugaring Season: The picked strings on the opening "Magpie" immediately bewitch with an autumnal glow, recalling her heart-stoppingly beautiful guest spots on Bert Jansch’s final album, The Black Swan. The album proceeds simply on from there, mixing such minor-chord pulse-quickeners with plainer, if no less pretty songs such as "Dawn Chorus," "Call Me the Breeze" and "Last Leaves of Autumn." It’s on these songs that we glimpse the range of Orton’s interests and inspirations: "Last Leaves" suggests early-era Joni and even Nina Simone at times, its piano-and-vocal arrangement colored by strings that swell briefly and lay back smartly; "Call Me the Breeze" has a mellow giddyap and a close harmony that suggests classic mid-century country without recalling any specific artist, and an organ solo further muddies the tea. Orton is in prime form throughout, and when Sugaring Season ends you’ll want to go right back for seconds.