Is it as good as 2008‘s Rook? Don‘t be greedy— albums as good as Rook just don‘t come along that often. But it‘s a tad better than Palo Santo, the first Jonathan Meiburg-centric Shearwater album, and finds him continuing his intense focus on nature and humanity‘s interaction with it, and on the bloody cruelty from both sides. This time the focus is on islands, partly informed by Meiburg‘s father‘s military service in the Pacific. Musically, it‘s an album of extremes: “Corridors” rocks as hard, and as loudly, as anything in the Shearwater catalog, but elsewhere the quiet bits are even more hushed and intricately orchestrated than in the past, with turn-on-a-dime shifts from pianissimo to fortissimo. Extending the dynamic dichotomy, Meiburg‘s falsetto is a riveting whisper and his whooping full voice an inspiring war cry. Note that the vinyl includes two bonus tracks not on the CD and comes with a free download of the album, while the CD (at least for now) includes a deluxe booklet expanding on the themes found in the songs (LP buyers get this as a PDF file). (Steve)

This is our last earthly transmission from Jack Rose, a master of the guitar who‘d been granted access to the instrument‘s ancient book of secrets, only to be taken from us— all of us, everyone who makes the effort to get up every day because of music like his— this past December, far too young by any standard. There are no fateful messages on Luck in the Valley, of course— just the jaw-dropping, land-swapping power and versatility of his acoustic guitaring, which has taken in every lesson set down by Fahey and Bull and Basho, and Dock Boggs and Mississippi John Hurt, every last note spun between Appalachia and the Delta and from there to India and back. And he‘d only just begun untangling it all for himself, and for us. Given the time he should‘ve had, there‘s no telling what doors he could have unlocked with the key already in his hands. All of them, maybe. You cannot hear Luck in the Valley, its commingling of nerve-tweaking ragas (“Tree in the Valley”), back-porch revelations (“Lick Mountain Ramble”) and the places where they intersect (“Moon in the Gutter”), all bound together by incredible joy, and think otherwise. For willing initiates, this is also a fine place to begin exploring the music of Jack Rose. There‘s no time like right now. (M.L. Thrope)

Absolute highest recommendation possible on this one, folks. It‘s impossible to fully capture what Chris Knox means to the music and arts scene in New Zealand— a ’70s punk legend who opted out of the fame game to make music his own way (at home on a 4-track), some of the most arrestingly beautiful and honest pop songs anywhere on Earth. Along the way he‘s also produced, encouraged, criticized and inspired the majority of good NZ artists to follow him, produced heaps of art in many forms, and helped make NZ‘s premier indie label Flying Nun what it was. He also had a nationally syndicated comic strip, hosted a TV show, and covered film in print and on-screen. Now in his mid-50s, he‘s still vitally active on all fronts— at least he was until suffering a major stroke last June. Just the lineup on Stroke, a two-disc compilation-cum-benefit album, speaks volumes about Knox‘s influence and importance: Yo La Tengo, Will Oldham, Stephin Merritt, Bill Callahan, Jeff Mangum (yes! The lost Neutral Milk Hotel genius making an extremely rare appearance!), The Mountain Goats, Lou Barlow and Lambchop all offer gorgeous and/or moving renditions of Knox‘s songs, alongside tons of his peers and friends from NZ. Stroke is all the more poignant for leading off with Jay Reatard in one of his last recordings. The music throughout is mind-blowingly good, and all of the money goes to Knox and his family as they bravely navigate the next chapter of his brilliant, multifarious life. Buy this and feel good about it forever. (M.L. Thrope)

Keyboardist Sarah Barthel and guitarist Joshua Carter of Phantogram (formerly called Charlie Everywhere) may live in Saratoga Springs, N.Y., but they‘ve got none of the Americana twang or bedroom preciousness you might expect from small-town lifers. This indie rock is straight cool purring vocals (from both of them) over slick beats and driving chords, evoking images of asphalt roads and rain-speckled windshields. At times, the arrangements approach M83‘s recent new wave lushness, and the more pared-back moments, especially on the Barthel-voiced “10,000 Claps,” recall Feist at her moodiest. This album collects the four tracks from last year‘s excellent debut EP, along with seven brand-new recordings. (Abby)

Matthew Cooper‘s musical adventures as Eluvium (a geological term) have always differed slightly from album to album, but who ever thought that on the first Eluvium full-length since 2007 he would start singing over his ambient electronica and processed piano licks, and craft not just gorgeous soundscapes but actual songs? But his low-key vocals fit perfectly into the gauzy textures of his music, his structures are more organic than verse-chorus, and he has abandoned none of the things that made him great. Presumably this will all provoke more comparisons to Eno, but while there‘s a certain kinship of concept, Eluvium is unlikely to be confused with Eno in a blind test; Cooper‘s evolved his own distinctive style. It‘s easy for ambient electronica artists to get in a rut, to have their albums blur together and have new releases seem redundant; Cooper has completely avoided that trap, which makes him one of the most interesting acts in the genre. (Steve)

Sweden‘s Shout Out Louds may never change— like, ever; I mean, when you look up “indie rock” in the dictionary, there‘s a picture of their Chuck Taylors— but they also maintain a level of quality and consistency like few others. If they take the title of their third album to heart and diligently ply their craft, keep in mind that their Work is your pleasure: easy and achingly breezy guitar lines, Adam Olenius‘s copper-toned vocals and songs that thrum-thrum-strum their way forward, all in crisp yet warm production. The one element I‘d like more of is keyboardist Bebban Stenborg‘s backing vocals, which set off Olenius‘s so nicely when we do get to hear them (she also sang the female part of Peter Bjorn and John‘s “Young Folks” at Coachella in 2007), such as on “Throwing Stones” and “Fall Hard.” But Shout Out Louds make such a concise whole that it‘s hard to find fault at all. (Vinyl includes free digital download.) (Junior N.)

To quote Donnell Rawlings from The Chappelle Show: “AFRICA Africa?!” Yes friends, the continent that begat a whole lot of everything also had some pretty happening rock bands in the ‘70s, once drips and dribbles of US/UK and European psych-rock had permeated Zambia, where Amanaz recorded this mellow smoker of an album in or around 1973. If the lessons that reached the lead singer Keith Kabwe and his four mates (at least a couple of whom take some lead-vox duties, I believe) were of the more intense variety, then credit them for slowing things down and smoothing it all out; Africa, Amanaz‘s lone album, is vibey like cigarette smoke in a dimly lit room, sweet as anything to come out of the modern psych-folk-puh-whatevah scene. Killer hill-climbing bass lines, the flame of a few blazing leads in the dark (check out “History” and “Khala My Friend”), a smattering of fuzz, the occasional nod to place (the title track— just, wow) and an atmosphere that could not be re-created all add up to the latest vital reissue from the sprawling psych-rock diaspora. (M.L. Thrope)

Even though they‘ve had two songs featured on “The OC”, it isn‘t easy to find out a lot about Jacksonville duo Electric President. Not that they‘re reclusive or anything, it just seems strange that a band this winning and accessible would have such a low profile. On their third (I think) album, Alex Cooper and Ben Kane approach indie pop with a sort of dreamy Death Cab classicism: They‘re instrumentally aggressive but melodically gentle, whispering lullaby lyrics over swaths of hypnotic guitar and electronics. Even the most forceful shoegaze barrages advance carefully, like a wave you can see swelling in the distance long before it crashes over you. (Abby)

This ever-changing Montreal collective hits all its avant-maximal-rock high points on album No. 6, the threateningly titled (and vaguely Neubauten-sounding) Kollaps Tradixionales. Singing more than ever now (after establishing his band a decade ago as a mostly instrumental art-rock group), frontman Efrim Menuck smears a plethora of modern-age counter-cultural complaints and politico-social viewpoints into his band‘s shape-shifting sound. The album‘s centerpiece is a three-song suite, with each piece tweaking the spelling of the album‘s title and wherein Thee Silver Mt. Zion amplifies the sort of mutated Balkanisms associated with Beirut into spires of prickling guitar, guaranteed to rouse the fringe-dweller in your soul. (E. Bettis)

Richard Skelton‘s second album for Tompkins Square under his A Broken Consort guise (and he does have several) is a masterwork of psychogeography. Skelton, who lives in County Lancashire, dreams the area‘s landscapes and seascapes into shimmering swells of acoustic instruments, a plot of violins, piano, guitar and other stringed things that bring to life every contour and mood of this distant but emotionally accessible place— at least, as far as we know. But isn‘t that the idea? After settling deeply into the plush surroundings of Crow Autumn, I‘m not sure I‘d ever want to go there, unless you could promise me that walking along the coastline and through the hills would draw out the same wordlessly potent emotions. Step into “The River” and wake up early to see what the “Day Reveals,” and explore the Old World the new way. (M.L. Thrope)