The Kranky label’s pedigree is such that, when appropriate, this fact will always have to be pointed out first: >b>Disappears is a rock band, not the latest laptop-gear-sine-wave-manipulating droneriffic outfit. As such though, this Chicago outfit falls right in line with the Kranky M.O.: Lux is a beautifully simple, sumptuously mesmerizing album, the kind of Velvets-worship that lesser bands (like, say, The Warlocks) spend their entire career trying to get right. Damn if Disappears don’t nail it on their first try. This is a smoky record, awash in vibrant black and gray with steady beats and perfectly calibrated guitar effects (fuzz, delay, etc.—nothing fancy). And saying much more than that would be doing the music a disservice. If you’ve ever felt yourself slipping into an elevated mind-state to “Sister Ray” (or for that matter, Suicide), give this scorching slab of magma a try. (M.L. Thrope)

To be honest, the voice will be the dividing line. If Kristian Matsson doesn’t set your teeth on edge with his nasal, Dylanesque vocals, then you might just love The Tallest Man on Earth (who, our intelligence says, stands under six feet tall). So, Mattson’s a liar, but also an ace songwriter, actually landing somewhere between Dylan and maybe John Darnielle (without the hyperliterate lyrics though), singing earnest songs about life and love in a nervy, high register that also makes us think of Devendra Banhart in the way he ends a line. Despite the above stylistic similarities, you won’t feel like Matsson is a pastiche artist; he’s so engaging, with his firm acoustic strums and impossible to ignore vocals, as to be sui generis. (Vinyl includes free digital download.) (M.L. Thrope)

Making musical non sequiturs work together is the big achievement by Dosh on Tommy, his fifth album (which is named for his late soundman, Tom Cesario). But then that could be said about the bulk of this Minneapolitan artist’s catalog—in fact it is the peculiarly graceful way he drifts among sounds, making everything seem logical, that distinguishes this warmly mercurial album. Working from a base of keyboards and electronics, Dosh successfully avoids the Anticon label crew’s tendency to disrupt beats and sabotage grooves in the name of some higher-minded modern prog-indie impulse; tracks like “Airlift” and “Country Road X” (adjacent in the middle of Tommy) let a rhythm unfurl and breathe, as Dosh layers and ribbons various sound patterns around the beat without hijacking it. Like other Dosh efforts, Tommy is a tricky thing to try and pin down, and that might not even be the right approach. Thinking less and listening more—that&rsquos what this one&rsquos for. Dig. (M.L. Thrope)

Delicate yet confident, Freelance Whales is set to be one of the summer’s bigger indie breakouts. The Queens quintet (ah, rare alliteration, luv it) have an idiosyncratic pile of music-making objects (things to pluck and strum and bang and coax tune and rhythm from) and championship-caliber melodic yearnings. Weathervanes is their debut album (though the group’s been building a cult of fans both in town and on the road), telling a story of sorts about—what else?—difficult love. This love apparently needs to reach across the great divide, as in, the great beyond. But with songs as indefatigable as “Generator” (in two versions), the softly clattering “The Great Estates” and the achingly sweet “Ghosting”—all bound together with classic group harmonies and hooks—the story of Freelance Whales has clearly just begun. (Cesar)

At the beginning, when she emerged on the scene early last decade, Sharon Jones was “just” (not to be dismissive) a good soul singer with an interesting back story. Upon the arrival of her fourth album, I Learned the Hard Way, the former corrections officer at Riker’s has clearly transcended her (admittedly cool) influences; instead of playing within a style mapped out by past greats, Jones and the band she’s grown alongside, The Dap-Kings, have now become great artists in their own right, thoroughly retro for the modern age and with high-test songwriting to match the chops they’ve always shown. They really haven’t done anything but be good, and play a lot, with themselves and plenty of others (the Dap-Kings quietly made Amy Winehouse’s breakthrough album, Back to Black, so great, for example), on their path to defining themselves as more than just excellent stylists. You won’t find a dud here, but everything that makes I Learned the Hard Way the first necessary album of the warm season can be found on the title track. (Vinyl includes digital download and there’s a free 7-inch with each purchase while supplies last.) (M.L. Thrope)

Smaller. For some reason that’s the word that comes to mind when trying to contextualize how Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi Birgisson’s first solo album compares to his main band’s frequently epic stabs at epic post-pop epicness. By reining in some of those impulses, Jónsi is free to simply be pretty throughout Go, a chiming, charming nine-song effort filled with energy and light. Of course, Go is really no more a solo work than was Riceboy Sleeps, Jónsi’s 2009 collab with partner Alex Somers (who plays and coproduces here): neoclassical wunderkind Nico Muhly, no stranger to the Icelandic set, plays keyboards and arranged the tasteful string, brass and woodwind instrumentation. So if Go seems to reflect much more earthly states than what Sigur Rós is best known for, the album’s lush pleasures (check out the sumptuous “Kolnidur”) will come as little surprise to longtime fans. (Vinyl includes digital download.) (E. Bruntlett)