No one has ever accused Animal Collective of taking an easy route, or making things easy on their fans, or really, of doing anything the predictable way. And so we have Centipede Hz, the follow-up to the iconic New York-gone-global band’s greatest commercial success, Merriweather Post Pavilion, and it is not an easy record. Nervy, mercurial and bristling with an energy that dedicated fans (and there is hardly any other other kind) will recognize, Centipede Hz is digitally bright and bouncy, with difficult arrangements that nonetheless take logical form as the work of these restless self-recreators. And don’t get it twisted, there is joy here, plenty of it: "Applesauce" is—well, first off, it’s a song called "Applesauce," but also a bashing tune where keyboards flutter to the surface of a relatively lean mix, and Avey Tare (we’re pretty sure) runs up and down vocal hills that follow the contours of a smashing rhythm (Panda?). "Pulleys" offers perhaps the most convention song on the record, its steady clapping beat a comfort in a way. At the other end of the spectrum, "Today’s Supernatural" kind of has everything, and it kind of has it all at once: Vocal effects go skittering across digital floors while the beat chops its way through a dense jungle of vibrating melody, breathless lyrics as if Avey is caught between running and running away from something. And then suddenly, what sounds like a buzzing synth doing an impression of an electric razor on safari, and then the machines take over and the song ends. What on earth are we talking about? It’s the new Animal Collective record.

Silver Age, indeed. Whether Bob Mould named his new solo rock album as a matter of some self-deprecation or to acknowledge that he’s, y’know, made a little bit of quality music already (check out Merge’s recent reissues of Sugar’s early-’90s work or any old Husker Du disc you happen to come across), is anybody’s guess. Or perhaps my first thought was right, the evidence being his lyrical play in the title track, the second of three completely awesome songs that open the album: "I’m never too old to contain my rage / A silver age, a silver age." For fans of Mould’s unique and unmistakable voice-and-guitar pairing—such a sweet and brutal noise!—the good times are back: Silver Age compares favorably to Sugar’s work, and the comparison is more apt than standing the new album up against his past few solo releases, too. Those first three jams—the prowling "Star Machine," the title track and the even more upbeat (title notwithstanding) "The Descent"—all rush headlong into each other, as Mould has more or less dispensed with any gaps between tracks, a simple device that keeps the album’s energy level flowing, even when he takes his foot off the pedal a bit. For the most part though, Silver Age is a sustained roar of melody and guitar, and tunes like "Fugue State," "Angels Rearrange" and "Keep Believing" hold to the promise made by the album’s explosive start. Can’t wait to hear Mould’s bronze age, it oughta destroy!

Swedish indie star Jens Lekman first shows us that he knows what love is—or maybe the better word for the way his first full-length in years begins is romance: The opening song is a delicate minute and a half piano bit with the tender name "Every Little Hair Knows Your Name" (aww) and it’s followed by "Erica America," which begins with softly strummed acoustic guitar and a swell of strings along the periphery. Yep, love is on Lekman’s mind for sure, and as "Erica" unfurls in a graceful mix of croon and swoon (a lady on backing vox sure helps) the warmth just spreads outward. "Become Someone Else’s" follows in the velvety cocktail-pop style that defines the sound of I Know What Love Isn’t: spare instrumentation with piano and even strings to the fore; quirky, clicky percussion that relies as much on handclaps and scraped or knocked wood as a drum kit; and Lekman’s soft voice delivering timelessly affecting lyrics on the many tangential feelings of love, from yearning to spurning. He’s a fairly straight shooter too, so while comparisons to indie wits such as Stephin Merritt and Stuart Murdoch make sense, Lekman doesn’t care to be so coy. When he sings the title of "She Just Don’t Want to Be With You Anymore," a steel guitar harmonizes up with him, bittersweetly, and there’s not an iota of the feeling left out or obscured. I Know What Love Isn’t may not change anyone’s opinion of Lekman, but it’s guaranteed to burnish his rep as one of indiedom’s leading romantics.

Richard Hawley has always been a favorite here at Sound Fix land, and he doesn’t disappoint on his latest LP, Standing at the Sky’s Edge. On his seventh solo album, the former Pulp guitarist radically changes directions and, in the process, has quietly delivered one of the year’s hidden gems. His previous albums have put his trademark velvet baritone front and center, often backed by lush acoustic or string arrangements, but here Hawley goes for a jagged, psychedelic sound, and the results are spectacular: think Pink Floyd meets Mark Lanegan. The opener, "Before," beautifully sets the tone, a smoldering and passionate dirge that builds to a frenzied climax. "Down in the Woods" and "Leave Your Body Behind You" come with a crunching, ferocious guitar attack, while "Seek It" has the more vintage Hawley sound, with his mellifluous voice crooning in true balladeer fashion. The songs are longer, unexpectedly jam at times, and go deep into psychedelic territory. Hawley sounds surprisingly at home with these Summer of 67 arrangements, putting out an album that will please his longtime fans and win a few new ones too.