Tramp, Sharon Van Etten’s third album and first for major indie Jagjaguwar, is one of the more feverishly anticipated records from a local artist in some time—and it does not disappoint. That said, all Van Etten does on Tramp is be herself (yay!), or at least, a version of herself that builds on previous versions of herself, specifically the one we loved on Epic. On Tramp the songwriting is that much more experienced and affecting (though it’d be hard to say that her incredibly moving vocals were any less so previously): "Give Out" is a nerve-ticking exercise in tension and beauty, the singer wending her around a strummed acoustic like an explorer moving through trees in a forest; the single, "Serpents," builds to a ringing and sustained climax, taking your heart rate along for the ride. Even with the noticeable talents of guests like Beirut’s Zach Condon, Julianna Barwick and the National’s Dessner brothers (Aaron also produced Tramp), Van Etten’s glorious, full-throated vocals and heart-baring songwriting are at the center of each of these 12 songs.

A Place to Bury Strangers come strong off of two great full-lengths with their newest EP, Onwards to the Wall. Longtime fans will likely find nothing especially new to coo over here, but the material is still solid, and a slick gloss of studio paint makes the Brooklyn band sound like the second coming of the Jesus and Mary Chain. One aspect of APTBS’s sound I really like is their fearlessness, especially insofar as texture is concerned. They make their music the way Monty Python’s Mr. Creosote takes his dinner: in a bucket, with the eggs on top. True, the vocals are closer to the surface this time than on any other previous outing, but Oliver Ackermann still sounds like he’s drowning under an ocean of feedback. "Nothing Will Surprise Me" opens with what sounds like whales dying (these guys can do anything with their guitars), and the propulsive closing track, "Drill It Up," is a kaleidoscopic joyride through ray-gun guitars and wailing pathos. Highly recommended for the disaffected 16-year-old in you.

Whether or not you know it, chances are good you’ve seen parts of the 1902 silent film Le Voyage Dans La Lune, made be film pioneer Georges Méliès (a key figure in the new Scorcese film, Hugo). At the very least, the cover of Air’s new soundtrack to it should look familiar, with the iconic image of a space-capsule lodged in the moon’s eye. So, what we have here musically speaking is something that might’ve been just a nice little addition to Air’s catalog, yet it’s more than that—a really nice addition, capturing some of the wonder that must’ve greeted the magical film in its day while freely mixing sci-fi moods from across the decades. "Seven Stars," which features guest vocals from Beach House’s Victoria LeGrand, is a sparkling joy of a tune, with a countdown to liftoff and everything. The other notable guests are local faves Au Revoir Simone (see, you should be somehow a little bit French if you want to get a call from Air), who add sweet mystery to "Who Am I Now?" Elsewhere, Mssrs. Dunckel and Godin cast spells of typically exotic allure, making this one casual release you’ll keep going back to. (The deluxe CD/DVD version includes the restored color version of the film itself.)

Restless as ever, the Twilight Sad break out into new stylistic ground on No One Can Ever Know, their third album. Enlisting the aid of producer and techno-wizard Andrew Weatherall, the band has crafted a distinctly Scottish kind of dark synth-pop (well, what’s distinctly Scottish is James Graham’s vocals, at least), calling to mind a more exotic, less-detached Interpol at times. "Sick" is a downcast winner—when those Joy Division synths wash in behind Graham, fans will be goosebumping like mad. Even with the emotionally cool musical settings, Graham leans into his lyrics with impressive warmth, and its that contrast that makes otherwise chilly pieces like "Nil" come to life, his voice poking through the veils of synth and cymbals. And then, clouds part to reveal "Don’t Look At Me," which, despite the title, surges upward into some emotional altitudes, still anchored in beds of synth but with Graham turning in his most affecting (and tender) performance. A beguiling whirl of contrasts, No One Can Ever Know is a record we want everyone to know about.

Perhaps music’s most commanding presence, Leonard Cohen drifts back into the foreground of our consciousness with his twelfth album, Old Ideas, and proves that not only is his magic undiminished, it’s continued to grow more potent with time. Spare and elemental, the 10 songs here often feature little more than a bit of guitar or keyboard, a smattering of strings, the choir that seems to accompany Cohen through life, and the lead instrument, that essence of smoke that pours out of this poet’s mouth. He’s never lacked for self-awareness, but still, a lyric that appears throughout opening track "Going Home" stands out in a career of great lines: "I’d love to speak with Leonard / He’s a sportsman and a shepherd / He’s a lazy bastard living in a suit." I mean, damn. The song seems to mean something a little different on every listen—which is the mark (one of them, at least) of a great writer. You can’t help but think of Tom Waits on "Show Me the Place," as Cohen navigates his own gruff voice through elegant backing, and sharp ears will note Cohen’s sense of timing, so important in setting a mood. Musically, the album hits its high mark with "Darkness," pivoting around a diabolically cool five-note guitar figure as a full band (drums, piano, organ, backing voices, everything) comes together in sumptuous glory. Nothing here but grace, emotion and class, old ideas all.

My, they grow up fast. Dr. Dog’s up to their seventh album already! And the roots-rocking band is at its ramshackle best on Be the Void, sounding both looser and somehow also more polished: "These Days" sounds like the Strokes (really!) if they had never been under any pressures from fans or labels to be something specific (as in like, a band trying to produce radio-friendly hits). "How Long Must I Wait" is a weird one, showing off the breadth of how this band conceives of itself: If I’m not mistaken I hear melodica and possibly even a steel drum (??) in its shaded confines, all while co-lead vocalists Scott McMicken (guitar) and Toby Leaman (bass) lead the tune through a singalong-caliber march. "Warrior Man" springs out of burbling electronics and settles into a bit of T-rextasy, a deliberately paced glammy number that you can imagine all the cats and kittens in the room shimmying around to. Easygoing and fun, Be the Void shows Dr. Dog at its casual-partying best.

CYRK, the second full-length from the Cardiff-based Cate Le Bon, is a fine survey of surreal and cerebral pop styles, anchored with a talent for stylistic shifts and an eye for detail. The influence of (or simply a stylistic overlap with) her occasional collaborator Gruff Rhys (of Super Furry Animals) can be heard on opener "Falcon Eyed," which loosely shimmers through three minutes of cheeky, cartoonish pop. Le Bon’s vocals—soothing, with precise enunciation—take the forefront after this brightly colored blast, taking CYRK into more controlled territory. At times (such as on the stark "Julia"), there’s a similarity to the early work of Broadcast; at others ("Ploughing Out Part 1"), Le Bon opts for a gentle, pastoral sound. And yet the transition into the accelerated second part of "Ploughed Out," the drunken horns that close "Greta" or the spiky guitar solo that runs through "Fold the Cloth" each suggest that Le Bon isn’t averse to a touch of dissonance where appropriate. That aesthetic helps make this an album that endures in unexpected ways.

The eleventh installment of Kevin Barnes’s unpredictable, borderline untraceable evolution as Of Montreal is a...is a...well gosh, Paralytic Stalks is surprisingly listenable. That’s not meant to sound like faint praise; it’s just that Barnes is so fully, internally involved with his muse that at times his music can almost seem like it would only make sense to him. Not the case here: Opening track "Gelid Ascent" is a cracked technicolor-pop rager, presenting his brand of glam-rock in dramatic and cool fashion. From there, the twists and turns hardly cease, but tunes like the lightly baroque pop gem "Malefic Dowery" and "Wintered Debts," which sounds very much like a classic in the Elephant 6 mold, keep Paralytic Stalks as rooted as it needs to be.

Sign of the times: A best-of Cocteau Twins collection that came out on CD in 2000 gets a luxe reissue treatment...on vinyl. And you just don’t see a lot of Cocteau Twins in used-vinyl bins, so it’s a welcome move from 4AD. The music itself remains peerless, in my estimation (and many others’). Cocteau Twins epitomized the 1980s 4AD aesthetic fully: ethereal and haunting, Goth but in darkly bright colors, and at times even hard-edged. Spanning their pre-Capitol years, Stars and Topsoil is an excellent survey of the band’s best work, with handfuls of the right songs—"Sugar Hiccup," "Lorelei," "Aikea-Guinea" and the glistening jam "Carolyn’s Fingers," among 14 others—that’ll make converts of everyone who hears them. And words fail to describe the magic of Liz Fraser’s vocals, just as she transcended language in them. Do yourself and your turntable a big favor.