Graceful as the suave legends of mid-’80s UK pop that he clearly fetishizes (from Felt and frontman Lawrence to Prefab Sprout), Jack Tatum, the still quite young sole creative force behind Wild Nothing, sidesteps the sophomore jinx by merely refining his already fine sound, and if it doesn’t result in the album of the year, the pop style on display is coolly stunning. The title track has everything a vintage (well, ’80s-gazing) pop fan’s aching heart could want: wrist-flick ease on the glistening guitars that open and back Tatum’s new-nu romantic vocal work, a simple beat that could keep the high school prom of your mind moving along, and the soaring lyric "Oh, you can have me oh ohh." The guitar lick on "Disappear Always" balances neatly against the clicking rhythm, and if you train your ears on such details you realize just how hard it is to make pop sound so easy. One more distinct guitar figure opens "The Blue Dress," a softly rumbling beat suggesting some of the lounge-pop of the Factory bands relegated to the famed label’s Benelux imprint. Front to back, a better version of the Wild Nothing we already liked is a cool thing indeed.

Taken in the context of his move to Domino, not to mention all the implications of titling an album America, Dan Deacon’s new album both shows his growth as an artist and validates everything that comes with things like a new label, new outlets composing for So Percussion and orchestral ensembles in Canada, and so forth. Not to say Deacon has abandoned his party-igniting moves—the first three tracks on America all rip and rumble with his trademark antsy percussion (much of it—perhaps all of it played by humans, not programmed on machines) and crashing-glass melodies that tumble up and around the songs’ architecture. It just means that when "Crash Jam" begins in a howl of machine buzzing, and even when that vents into another thumping beat and Deacon’s tightly measured vocals, you’re still thinking about the sweetly minimal melody of the preceding "Prettyboy," a flowering-keyboards piece that shimmers from piano to electronics. The second half of the album is taken up by a four-movement piece called "USA" that shows so many facets of where Deacon has been and where he is—everyone tries to foresee where an artist is going, but if the artist is truly an artist, we shouldn’t have the slightest idea!—that to try and dissect it here would be silly. Suffice to say the party-monger is (and has been) smitten with the likes of Philip Glass, and by the structured woodwinds, keys and strings on "USA III: Rail," he’s showing his own quality in the tradition.

Bedroom-pop shaman Ariel Pink leaves his broken-down keyboards behind on Mature Themes, his latest opus of melodic twists and turns. The biggest twist here is the album’s relative cleanliness, and it was indeed produced in a professional studio, not some dark corner of his attic. But if in different ways than on his previous eight albums, the production only continues to serve his cracked songwriting skills, which display more distinct and idiosyncratic vibes: Both "Driftwood" and "Early Birds of Babylon" sound birthed from the same bass-y cauldron of creativity that sourced the best of the mid-’80s pop underground, covering map points from Hoboken and Lawrence, Kansas, to Sheffield and Dunedin, New Zealand. And don’t take the studio setting to mean he’s done away with his trademark murk -- or mirth: The former continues to be employed as if it were its own instrument, while the latter remains one of Mr. Pink’s (heh) primary weapons, as on the synth-goofy "Is This the Best Spot?" Meanwhile, the title track does that trick of almost copping a famous melodic turn, making you think he’s covering "Cruel to Be Kind" before ducking in the other direction completely. And for arch-silliness, look no further than the distorted romp "Schnitzel Boogie," which I certainly hope needs no additional explanation. As someone who’s always found a couple of gems among a mess of trash (if interesting trash) on Ariel Pink’s past records, I can say that Mature Themes is going to be the most fun album of his for me to pick through.

Great choogly-moogly, our brain circuits done gone fried over for the new Six Organs! Though the band on Ascent could be truthfully called Six Organs and the Comets on Fire, since major Organ Ben Chasny—himself a former Comet in good standing, also currently sunlighting in the amazing trio Rangda—has enlisted his old bandmates to get behind him this time. So in contrast to the reverent and primarily acoustic-based psych-folk of Chasny’s past few releases (the ones on Drag City, at least), Ascent is a squalling, wigged-out blast of electricity and spirit. With the passage of time comes an even greater sense of freedom and unity to this group of comrades, heard blasting out of the gate on the opening "Waswasa," an instrumental with a great hook and Chasny’s mind-blowing solo that seems to last much longer than the song’s five and a half minutes. Vocals enter on the following "Close to the Sky," which derives great power from its deliberate pace and Ben Flashman’s loping, knowing bass line. "They Called You Near" finds all three guitarists emitting chiming harmonics, creating a mass of sound somehow both gentle and heavy, as well as deeply affecting, once it unfurls into a filigreed acoustic lead. "One Thousand Birds" duplicates the escape-velocity of the opening pieces, intense in its airiness and sense of freedom, which explodes yet again on "Even If You Knew." Ascent simply features the prettiest rock music being made right now, and the vibes can be yours as well, it’s that easy.

Matthew Dear is not exactly obscure, but given his talents, "not exactly obscure" isn’t good enough. He should be selling out clubs, releasing gold records, turning down Kesha because he’s too busy—that kind of famous. Born in Texas, he honed his craft in Detroit and now resides here in Brooklyn, creating electronic music with the intensity, melodicism and structure of rock, rock with the beats and warm synths of electronica. He’s been toiling for over a decade now with a bunch of labels, and now he’s out with Beams, his fifth full-length, and it’s a typical mix of smoldering, vibrant electronic music, full of hooks and hypnotic beats. The tracks are not long—they typically hover around the five-minute mark—and he sings throughout, a Bowie-esque glamness that goes perfectly with the cool vibe of the record. The opening track, "Her Fantasy," is a compelling, anthemic march with a driving intensity—vintage Matthew Dear. "Earthforms" has one of his most memorable basslines, while "Do the Right Thing" softens things with a cowbell and a melodica. The closer, "Temptation," features one of his warmer hooks and is even upbeat at times. You get the full range of Dear’s talents in Beams. He’s one of electronic music’s top talents at the top of his game.

Bill Fay’s first studio album in about 40 years is such a humble and mellow sounding affair that it could be a few listens before you start to realize, if you’re not already of his cult of fans, that you’re in the presence of a master. But the vintage UK singer-songwriter, whose two albums from the turn of the ’60s into the ’70s set his slow-burning legend alight (with demos and scattered new songs keeping the fire warm), has the unmistakable hand of a true genius, with songs of potent warmth, anger and grace and an earned avuncular presence that’ll hold you rapt even as his soft singing and piano-playing move into ever more spare spaces. At times the spartan arrangements on Life Is People evoke Leonard Cohen, if that old master smoothed his delivery a bit and dallied with a more varied musical palette. Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy, a big fan, joins Fay on the just shy of boogieing single "This World," while Fay deepens the Wilco original "Jesus Etc." But it’s songs like "City of Dreams," with an astral spirit so profound it damn near approaches a Goth-caliber noirishness, and the reverent and glowing "Cosmic Concerto" (one of many songs to draw on gospel influences) that make Fay’s long-awaited return one of the year’s best and most humbly understated albums.

Swans’ new album makes me wish I had done something rather than idly stand by and watch as the meaning of epic was crushed to death in the gaping maw of the common vernacular. For "The Seer" is epic in its epicness, a single 32-minute opus that moves from clattering quasi-minimalism to galloping tension drawn out over some vast, desert-dramatic avant tapestry. It’d make one lean statement of an album by its lonesome, but I’m talking about just the title track of the album, which itself is more epic by a factor of 10. "The Seer" the song—the piece, the rock opera as delivered with clenched fist (and/or through gritted teeth)—is merely the longest of many long, artfully grand and affecting pieces on this double-length album, on which Michael Gira’s career strikes yet another high point (with assists from guests including old comrade Jarboe, Karen O, and members of Low). The 10-minute "Mother of the World" is even more insistent, its first half relentlessly taut, its second bittersweet and dusty, elegant and something like bluesy. The shorter "The Daughter Brings the Water" could be a great side of a split single shared with Om or Six Organs, the following "Song for a Warrior" feels like it’d do better on a double-A-side with a lost Opal song. "Avatar," the moderately brighter "A Piece of the Sky" and the 23-minute "Apostate" each represent differing expressions of grim forcefulness in rock music (which may be what people are dancing around when they toss out the term "post-rock"). It could take months to sift through, but any way you look at it, The Seer is a must.

Fragrant World is both Yeasayer’s most consistent album and its brightest, each song a measured cacophony of synth collisions and beats that propel and shimmy. Which is to say it’s also the band’s most plainly danceable record, even if you’d dance a lot differently from one track to the next. "Longevity" brings in a soft glaze of something like Autotune on the vocals (though it isn’t nearly so slick) while the syrupy beat nods toward both R&B and dubstep, giving the gently wailing synths a spacious backdrop. "Blue Paper" turns it up without resorting to anything like bombast, a fresh and sprightly pop-dance tune with Anand Wilder leading the band through one of the album’s best melodies as well. "Henrietta" reflects how Yeasayer has always plied a sort of chillwave vibe without neatly fitting alongside bands like Washed Out and their ilk. "Reagan’s Skeleton" mixes the ominous tone of its title into a jubilant quasi-disco template. Another dazzlingly mercurial album from these pop magicians.