Last year brought us Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago and Collections of Colonies of Bees’ Birds — both among the year’s best, but not artists who’d seem like likely collaborators. And yet that’s what Volcano Choir is: Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon making music with the members of Collections of Colonies of Bees. At times, the effect is to push Vernon’s vocals into more free-flowing places (think of side two of Bon Iver’s Blood Bank, or Vernon’s collaboration with Aaron Dessner from the Dark Was the Night compilation); at others, the abstraction feels impenetrable (as on “Mbira in the Morass”). At its high points (“Island, Is,” “Seeplymouth”), this collaboration blends Vernon’s heartache with Collections of Colonies of Bees’ transcendent volume control and reaches a blissful end. (Toby)

Rain Machine is a project of TV on the Radio’s Kyp Malone. His solo performances at Glasslands have had many of his fans waiting years for something like this, and he doesn’t disappoint. Certainly it’s impossible to listen to this album and not be reminded of TVotR at various points, not least because Malone’s voice (creatively and vocally) is such an integral part of that band, but if a solo project is to have a reason for being, it must provide the artist with room to stretch out into areas unexplored in his band setting, and Malone certainly does that here. In a way, most of this record is a folk album disguised with electric guitar, beautiful and personal in its expression. There are many highly individual songs that could only arise away from TV-land, delicately intimate moments that find Malone’s wonderful falsetto soaring unfettered. The arrangements are often far more stripped down than on his other gig, which allows the full variety of vocal timbres at his command to be easily enjoyed. The songwriting is superb as well, full of riveting imagery and phrases and memorable melodies. You don’t need to be a TVotR fan to enjoy this album; it’s much more than a footnote. Even non-fans should find much of this album attractive and compelling. (Steve)

Strikingly different from Alopecia, Why’s Eskimo Snow skews more towards the shimmering pop of the They Might Be Giants and the Zombies than the avant hip-hop the group has been known for. Not that that’s a bad thing, as it finds Yoni Wolf, a master wordsmith, creating what even he describes as “song songs.” The epic “Against Me” is a choice example, with piano and harpsichord high above bass and drums, while Wolf spits stream-of-conscious verbiage like a pop-culture obsessed scholar. Worried Why? fanatics needn’t worry; though a big departure from the group’s prior work, Eskimo Snow is a worthy addition to the group’s already acclaimed catalog. It might just be their best yet. (Mike)

The group’s name and album title seem like some sort of postmodern tip of the hat: take archetypes and reduce the rock album to its essence. It’s a fake-out, though: at its best, this is as emotionally taut and compelling as rock records get. There’s more than a hint of early Elvis Costello to the music made by Christopher Wilson and JR White, but with segues elsewhere: the surreal, distorted interlude in the center of “Summertime” and the slow-burning heartbreak of “Hellhole Ratrace” both come to mind. Its moods move from blissful summertime pop to hard-earned epiphanies, and the end result is both eminently listenable and richly resonant. (Toby)

Yes, they’ve got the shoegaze guitar sound down perfectly, but what makes this band interesting is the magnitude of their ambition (this is a 22-track opus) and how much more than guitar they occasionally throw into the mix: electronic loops, ukulele, skirling keyboards, Krautrockish beats. But it’s the ethereal vocals of the twin sisters up front who give this band its greatest identity, and for sheer beauty of sound it’s hard to beat their second full-length. (Steve)

Any time a Kranky promo arrives in the mail, our ears perk up, but even those high expectations were exceeded when we heard the latest from To Kill a Petty Bourgeoisie, a Minneapolis-based duo who create long, atmospheric songs drawing from a number of influences, equal parts psychedelia, post-rock, electronica, pop and shoegaze. Lead singer Jehna Wilhelm’s ethereal vocals both soften the music and add a sinister undertone, her half whispers and chants signaling trouble around the corner. Mark McGhee’s electronics bring layers of dense, heavy sound that nicely complement Wilhelm’s guitar work and vocals. It’s a long record, beautifully sequenced and balanced between shorter pop-friendly pieces and the more lush, spacious tracks that nearly reach the 10-minute mark. An experimental record with hooks — who’da thunk it? (James)

Tyondai Braxton’s second solo album is a series of confident, erudite, and powerful experimental compositions that mix classical orchestration with modern guitar and electronics into what could be the soundtrack to a Fantasia 3000 vignette. Classic and modern elements converse seamlessly, as heavily treated vocal cries harmonize with the brass section and (yep) kazoo plays call-and-response with strings. Fans of Battles may recognize some of the musical techniques Braxton employed as singer and guitarist of that band (particularly in the dark, labyrinthine final two tracks), but don’t expect any chipmunk-voiced pop hits to play at indie dance parties. This listening experience is far more challenging, but also deeply rewarding. (Abigail)

This continues the style shift heralded on North Star Deserter, Chesnutt’s first album on Constellation, using a similar mix of musicians including Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto, Frankie Sparrow’s Chad Jones and Nadia Moss, and labelmates Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra. Like its predecessor, it has stormier musical outbursts than his previous work usually contained, including the outright anthemic “Chinaberry Tree,” but still consists largely of acoustic guitar-centered songs full of self-deprecation and soul-shattering personal details delivered with off-handed wit. “It Is What It Is” opens, “I am a monster” like Quasimodo / or Caliban, the natural man / ’giving wild Ripostes to my reflection’” and continues, ”Like the Invisible Man directing traffic / I’d be Ineffective no matter How enthusiastic,” which is simultaneously funny and poignant. The song starts quietly but eventually builds, bit by bit, in density and intensity, its dramatic arc and the climactic fiddling recalling classic Van Morrison ruminations as Chesnutt builds to his grand iconoclastic declaration “i don’t Need stone altars / To help me hedge My bet / against the Looming Blackness.” And then, since Chesnutt likes to undermine grand pronouncements, he follows it by closing the album with a little ditty about his grandmother and her false teeth, but even that takes a sudden turn to sweet sentimentality at the end. If the sub-par quality of last year’s Chesnutt/Elf Power collaboration had you worried, well, he’s back at the top of his game here. (Steve)