The Best Albums of 2023 So Far 

In her stunning debut, one of pop music’s most promising stars sticks the landing in more ways than one. Proclaimed as “Gen Z’s melancholy maven” in a Rolling Stone feature earlier this year, Abrams harnesses the emotions of the rising generation into a unique sound full of soft-spoken, simple melodies that are steeped in sadness but still pack a punch. Abrams might have a delicate voice, she might even sing about blocking an ex on the internet, but the way she can deliver seething lines in an angelic whisper sets her apart from her bedroom-pop peers. —M.G.

Amaarae has been wild and thorough since her excellent 2020 breakthrough, The Angel You Don’t Know, featuring the luxurious and lusty “Sad Gurlz Love Money,” which quickly went viral and attracted a remix with the similarly decadent Kali Uchis. On Fountain Baby, Amaarae doubles down on the thrill and amps up the danger, pulling influences from Afro rhythms, Asian standards, and punk-rock rage for a brooding adventure through her world. —M.C.

Anohni and her band, the Johnsons — named in honor of gay-rights activist Marsha P. Johnson, who graces My Back’s cover — has carried the weight of her worries for decades. Every track on My Back Was a Bridge for You to Cross feels like a Greek statue frozen in some tragic visage of horror. Anohni’s voice sounds delicate, angry, and exhausted, as she grieves track by track — for the unfulfilled promises of civil rights, for friends lost to drugs and depression, for the immolation of a world succumbing to ecocide. You feel the burden she’s carrying as it crushes her back, and quite often it is beautiful.–K.G.

Love In Exile is not jazz, despite featuring pianist Vijay Iyer, a heavy in that world. Nor is it “global music” — whatever that means — even though it showcases Urdu vocalist Arooj Aftab, who won a Grammy in that category last year. Instead, listening to Love in Exile, which also features Shahzad Ismaily on bass and Moog, is more akin to visiting some sort of beautiful, strange sonic landscape made from strings, keys, and breath. Their first album together is a masterclass in space, with the musicians trading off and darting around one another like “a school of fish,” as Aftab describes it. —B.E. 

Less than a year since his highly acclaimed debut, Mr. Money With the Vibe, the Nigerian singer-songwriter has delivered his sophomore LP, Work of Art, which is easily the most important music he’s made to date. Amapiano drums and basslines, shakers, and synths coupled with guitars, saxophones, and violins permeate the album. Asake’s blend of amapiano and Afropop (created with his go-to producer-engineer Magicsticks) has placed him at the forefront of Nigerian artists who have adopted a similar stylistic approach. Asake has already proved that his breakthrough was more than earned. With Work of Art, he solidifies his status as a street-pop superstar.–M.M. 

Barbie the Album has something for everyone (Brandi Carlile’s loving bonus track cover of the Indigo Girls’ “Closer To Fine” is an especially sweet, sincere touch), and it neatly ties together the playful feminism of the film into an enjoyable musical experience. A Barbie album without Nicki Minaj simply wouldn’t make sense, and “Barbie World,” her track with Ice Spice, effortlessly brings Aqua’s classic “Barbie Girl” from the Nineties to 2023. Dominic Fike shows a brighter, summery side than usual on “Hey Blondie.” Gayle plays a grungy Barbie on “Butterflies.” Billie Eilish’s “What Was I Made For?” mirrors the existential, tear-jerking moment Robbie’s character goes through in the film.–T.M.

Gina Birch became a punk-rock legend with the Raincoats, the feminist London art-rebel band she started in 1977. But what could be more punk than making your first solo album at 67? I Play My Bass Loud has that same revolutionary spirit, one of the year’s freshest, funniest rock statements. “Sometimes I wake up and I wonder, what is my job?” she sings in the title jam, answering with a shout: “I play my bass loud! I turn it louder!” —R.S.

Countless artists try to revive the Nineties, but few do it better than Sabrina Teitelbaum, whose self-titled debut is a stunning mess of emotional fury and female outrage à la Live Through This and Exile in Guyville (Teitelbaum is even touring with Liz Phair this fall). Six of the nine tracks were released as singles (the excellent “Salad” and “Joiner”), but listening to the album in full is crucial to understanding Teitelbaum’s genius: She’s not just evoking another era, she’s reinventing it. —A.M. 

The very existence of Blur’s first new album since 2015 feels nothing short of miraculous. “St. Charles Square,” is a sharp-toothed, Bowie-esque rocker (“I fucked up/I’m not the first to do it”). Elsewhere, songs like “The Narcissist,” the album’s first single, and the deceptively bouncy pop bummer “Barbaric” are striking in their open, emotional tone. Some songs on The Ballad of Darren call back clearly through the band’s history — perhaps none more than the opening track, “The Ballad,” which is based on a 2003 solo demo by Damon Albarn and dedicated to the band’s longtime head of security, Darren “Smoggy” Evans. Twenty years after that demo, there’s still no one who does a bittersweet mope quite like Blur.–S.V.L.

There’s never been a supergroup like boygenius, which is why the label doesn’t do them justice. They’re simply a world-beatingly great band, with three of the most brilliant singer-songwriters in the game. Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus all came into boygenius with their own totally distinct styles. But the power of boygenius is how something weird, unpredictable, and slightly dangerous happens when these three musical minds meld. All over The Record, they prove they’re a band that can do it all, hitting peaks together that can’t be reached any other way. —R.S.

Detroit hip-hop maximalist Danny Brown and rap-electronic eccentric JPEGMAFIA explore a radical, perhaps slightly unhinged, form of honesty. “Lean Beef Patty” rides a pitched up sample of Diddy’s “I Need a Girl (Part 2),” warped into Gen Z oblivion before a staggered synth pulse coaxes a rhythm out of the clashing components. Meanwhile, the ever referential JPEGMAFIA opens with what might be the best line of the year, opting to declare “Fuck Elon Musk” as if it were simply the first thought his mind could muster. It’s the album’s unpolished edges that rope you in. —J.I.

Six years after his debut, Freudian, notched three Grammy nominations, Daniel Caesar remains an egnimatic character, consumed with wanderlust. Never Enough began as a folk record before Caesar’s longtime production partners wrangled it toward more traditional R&B, but the phasing guitars and wide-open spaces still evoke the space westerns of Daniel Lanois and Brian Eno as much as any of the singer’s R&B fellow travelers. —C.P.

In the decades since he co-founded the Velvet Underground with Lou Reed in the mid-1960s, the adventurous Welsh singer-songwriter, producer, and composer has had a historic run. Mercy, Cale’s first album in a decade, is one of his most compelling. Full of swirling sounds, sincere crooning, and shimmering rhythms, Mercy can’t help feeling like a summing up, if not a willful finale. But even as he glares into the void, Cale demonstrates his optimism by hanging out with younger musicians and often centering the album around contemporary rhythms. —J.G.

The trap-infused spin on the traditional Mexican folk song known as corridos tumbados has become one of the biggest genres of the year on a global level. And a large part of that success is due to the music of Natanael Cano, who has largely been responsible for establishing the subgenre’s place in the world of música Mexicana. For his new album, Nata Montana, Cano has assembled an all-star cast of corridos stars like Peso Pluma, Junior H, and Gabito Ballesteros, and the result is a feisty, disruptive collection that that further spotlights the corridos takeover.–L.V.

The most-dazzling accomplishment in Carrión’s latest opus is not that he managed to secure an all-star cadre including Future, Lil Wayne, and Quavo. What’s especially uplifting is how seamlessly these collaborations flow next to Latin duets with Myke Towers, Bad Bunny, and Carrión’s solo numbers. The rapper’s tireless work ethic and sheer ambition have generated an expansive work. “I’m human/I have my own flaws,” admits Carrión. And yet, the deep grooves of “Si Salimos” — with lifelong idol 50 Cent — and the kinetic grace of “Coco Chanel,” with an inspired Benito, are anything but flawed. —E.L.

It takes 97 minutes to listen to Christine and the Queens’ moving, three-act pop opera, Paranoïa, Angels, True Love, but you need months to understand it fully. On the album, the French artist (let’s call him Chris for simplicity) summons celestial bodies, pays tribute to his late mother, flirts with 070 Shake, navigates acid-rock and dubby detours, samples Marvin Gaye and Pachelbel’s canon, and divines some of the catchiest melodies of his career. Releasing Paranoïa, Angels, True Love in all its grandeur is a bold move since attention spans for pop music couldn’t be shorter. But the album is a full statement and requires a time commitment to appreciate it. —K.G.  

Throughout Clarkson’s 14-song pop spectacle, she expels her angst of her recent divorce by channeling the fierce alt-rock ethos of her 2007 breakup opus, My December — as well as swelling “Kellyoke” covers like Billie Eilish’s “Happier Than Ever” and Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun” — and the R&B through line of 2017’s Meaning of Life. But while the album is rife with cinematic choruses flanked by big guitar riffs, much of the record hinges on Clarkson’s emotive vocals and soul-baring lyrics, turning Chemistry into her most vulnerable project since My December.–I.K.

New York singer-songwriter Keba Robinson has her own style of experimental DIY rock cool. She began Crosslegged in an indie-folk spirit, leaning on her voice and guitar, but on her breakthrough, Another Blue, she expands her sound with synth waves and electro percussion. Yet the songs are anchored in her powerful singing, especially the irresistibly openhearted “Only in The,” where she pleads, “I ride on or I die with you/It’s in my blood.”  —R.S.

Cyrus has had hits with purgative power ballads and candy-coated odes to America; she’s made forays into synthpop, psychedelia, country, and art-rock; and she’s played with the public’s idea of what someone in her position owes the world. Cyrus’ eighth album Endless Summer Vacation, which was teased by the coolly resilient statement of independence “Flowers,” feels like a recap of her career’s 15-plus years, with Cyrus breezing through genres with the ease of a well-seasoned tourist. —M.J. 

Last summer, Afrobeats star Davido told Rolling Stone he had nearly finished his fourth album, his new era ushered in with a stirring gospel-tinged single on overcoming hardship. Then, after a lifetime of loss, he faced an unthinkable one — the death of his three year-old son. Persevering through the grief and lifted by supporters, Davido redid the album entirely. The outcome is Timeless, miraculously unshrouded in despair. It pulses, swoons, and shakes, an emotive mix of defiant amapiano, confident club anthems, jazzy afrobeats, and sensual love songs. It’s a party — and it feels purposeful. —M.C.

The core of Ocean Blvd is Del Rey trying to get a closer look at herself, flipping the story as we have come to understand (and maybe even misunderstand) about what she’s trying to tell us. Through stories of her family, a failed relationship, her conflicting desire of being both seen and hidden, Del Rey exposes more than just who she is, but why she is who she is. Songs like the excellent “A&W” — named in reference to the phrase “American whore,” not the root beer — and “Fingertips” are two sides of the same life-storytelling coin. Each ponders sexual development, an estranged mother, and the harrowing reality of carrying trauma deep into adulthood. —B.S.

The 62-year-old singer-songwriter has spent her life in song, striving toward a sacred sense of purpose in a modern world intent on the exact opposite. DeMent’s latest  is a survey of her reignited sociopolitical inspiration and desperation, set to a country-gospel palette firmly within her wheelhouse. DeMent has emerged from the past half-dozen years of global turmoil and communal rot with a message to convey: She is working on a building, and the work has only barely started. —J.B.

Melancholy has long been an important part of the Depeche Mode experience. So it’s not surprising that the group, whose two members are now in their sixties, named their 15th album Memento Mori, a title they picked before the death of founding member Andrew Fletcher. Acknowledging mortality defines much of Memento Mori, but it never feels heavy-handed or even all that sullen. Some of the tracks even sound upbeat. As always with Depeche Mode, everything counts in large amounts, and on Memento Mori, the stakes feel bigger than ever. —K.G.

​​The second album from Robert Glasper, Terrace Martin, and Kamasi Washington’s supergroup blends electro, jazz, and R&B in effortless fashion. Enigmatic Society’s chilled-out vibe doesn’t take away from the musical virtuosity on offer, both from the band and their rotating cast of vocalists. Take the swooning closer “Love Love,” a gentle devotional made utterly affecting by Arin Ray’s sweetly firm croon: “I love you/ For who you are/ And not who they want you to be,” its refrain goes, a simple, simply delivered sentiment that puts a sweet finishing touch on the affair. —M.J.

The studio recordings of the songs that appeared in Dylan’s 2021 streaming special Shadow Kingdom have been collected for this album. The material here skews toward the 1960s, with three exceptions: “Forever Young,” from 1974’s Planet Waves, “What Was It You Wanted?,” from 1989’s Oh Mercy, and a new instrumental closer, “Sierra’s Theme.” But the powerfully understated arrangements seem to come from somewhere in time between the two World Wars, if not from before the 20th century began. These new versions of classic songs stand totally on their own. —M.M.

French collective En Attendant Ana crafts chiming indie-pop with shimmering guitars, crisp harmonies (courtesy of singer-songwriter-bandleader Margaux Bouchaudon and multi-instrumentalist Camille Frechou), and the occasional peal of brass. On their second full-length, their hooks remain potent, but the songs have gotten knottier; the moodily taut “Same Old Story” pivots on a post-punk-y bass line, while the churning “Wonder” uses the wow and flutter of analog synth to underscore Bouchaudon’s anxiety over the idea of being “a good human being.” —M.J.  

Fuse is Ben Watt and Tracey Thorn’s first collaboration since 1999’s underrated gem Temperamental, which topped off the amazing Nineties trilogy they began with Amplified Heart and Walking Wounded. Everything But the Girl’s trademark style of ghostly electro-pop hits home, with Thorn’s melancholy voice floating through the glitchy beats. Fuse picks up right where Temperamental stopped, as if they’re hitting play on a cassette they’ve kept on pause for 24 years. But they keep it fresh, using the latest digital effects to warp, filter, and mutate Thorn’s voice into a deeper, more dolorous instrument, which suits the adult tone of the songs. —R.S.

Fall Out Boy have had their share of growing pains in the process of building a name outside of a scene. For their eighth album, So Much (For) Stardust, they return to Fueled by Ramen, the label known for its all-star roster of emo and pop-punk heavyweights, for the first time since their 2003 debut. In doing so, they pinpointed what made them such an enduring standout in the first place (and what they may have lost in their effort to redefine their sound): a type of bold, incisive, emotional theatricality that places them among rock’s most-endearing misfits. —B.S.

This Pittsburg band creates sweet, violent little sound worlds on their second full-length LP, mixing bright noise and tense, tender twee-pop to create a sense of comfort and dislocation that makes every song feel surprising. On “Sweet” the guitar static is almost symphonic, and tepid breakbeats rise up out of nowhere, while “Pocket” is a fragile power-pop tune that even comes with a playful rap interlude of sorts, before it evolves into bleary wailing worthy of an old Dinosaur Jr song. —J.D.

The first Foo Fighters album since the death of drummer Taylor Hawkins sorts through the fallout of what happens when things get completely unpredictable. It possesses a vitality that in a sense is expected given the events that transpired before its release, but its refusal to take the easy route around grief makes its drum fills (played by Grohl in his first return behind the kit on a Foos album since 2005) land with more intensity and its guitar slashes hit harder. Even the more-subdued tracks like the swirling “Show Me How,” which is leavened by Grohl’s daughter Violet’s lilt, have an urgency to them that makes But Here We Are an immersive listen. —M.J. 

Puerto Rican singer GALE made a name for herself in Miami writing hooky hits for Christina Aguilera and Selena Gomez. Her debut album aims for a deeper catharsis — a breakup record so candid and vulnerable that it almost feels as if no one had written about such turmoils before. Sonically, GALE limits the expected urbano influence to a faint undertone. Instead, her ruminations on freedom and self-love inhabit a musical comfort zone anchored on hyper-pop choruses, grungy guitars, and oceanic electronica. On delicately crafted gems like “Triste” and “La Mitad,” her voice sounds gorgeous and triumphant. —E.L.

On their 2021 debut, these Brooklyn indie-rockers showed off a beyond-their-years mastery of New York rock history, from Television to No Wave to the Strokes, as well as a more expansive Radiohead-ish side. On 3D Country, the band goes big. The sound here can bring to mind anything from Parquet Courts to King Krule to Let It Bleed to Deep Purple to spaghetti Westerns. Geese sound like they’ve also spent equal time dipping into the Steely Dan side of the Seventies, with bongos, synth, strings, and smooth backing vocals faded way up in the mix.–I.B. 

The second album from actress and wayward pop star Glüme (a.k.a. Molly Marlette) is as grandiose as its title might imply, with earworms like the anthemic “Do Me a Favor” and the twitchy “Dangerous Blue,” cameos from the likes of Rufus Wainwright and Sean Ono Lennon, and a string-laden intermission in which Glüme instructs listeners to enjoy the show. But it’s hardly indulgent; its songs are kept vibrant by Glüme’s playfulness, which is apparent on tracks like “Wedding Cake Shop,” a fever-dreamy collaboration with indie fantasists Of Montreal. —M.J.  

Cracker Island — originally begun as “Season Two” of Song Machine before being reworked as a traditional album — is the easiest-going and most purely pleasurable Gorillaz album since their opening one-two punch, 20-some years ago. Guests feel purposeful, filtered into the indie-funk melange with ease. Thundercat gets to uncork some walking bass lines over a Daft Punk-worthy mirrorball groove, and Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker trades verses with the Pharcyde’s Bootie Brown on a synth-pop scorcher that’d be at home on, well, a Tame Impala record. —C.P.

When Ellie Goulding told Rolling Stone that Higher Than Heaven was her “least personal album” yet, pop music fans rejoiced. And for good reason: In recent years, artists have opted for introspection, but Goulding decided to just make fun, escapist pop. And it sure worked. Songs like the upbeat “Cure for Love” and the synth-filled “Temptation” remind listeners of Goulding’s pop prowess. —T.M.

Musically, Gunna is able to remind us of the real reason why we appreciate him in the first place: the way his velvety-smooth, mellowed-out approach to rapping about the finer things in life works in tandem with a glitzy, exciting sound that’s all his own. He knows how to make the drip feel like it’s in you rather than on you. The five-track victory lap between “Ca$h $hit” and “P Angels” is by far the best sequencing of songs on a hip-hop record this year, especially the transition from the Dunk Rock-produced “fukumean” to the exhilarating “Rodeo Dr,” in which Gunna makes a wild night on Rodeo Drive feel like a deep-space ride on the Millenium Falcon.–M.B.

 The 12 songs on I Inside the Old Year Dying began as poems, so they don’t translate to verse-chorus-verse pop songs at all. Instead, Harvey, who has been working on score music for plays and TV series in recent years, composed folky mood pieces that capture the essences of her words, which she sings in unusual and often beguiling ways. Some of the songs are harder to digest easily, which is likely Harvey’s point on the album — to make people listen closer.–K.G. 

“The trick is not getting cynical,” Craig Finn warns early in the Hold Steady’s excellent ninth album, The Price of Progress. The Brooklyn rock savants celebrate their 20th birthday as one of the all-time great New York bands, stretching out with a fresh sense of adventure in tough tales of gamblers, junkies, and fugitives. Pick hit: “Sideways Skull,” about a recovering metalhead in a halfway house, keeping her dreams alive by belting “We Are the Champions” with “a hairbrush mic and a fantasy band.” —R.S. 

One Direction’s Irish bard has always been the soul of warmth and charm, always ready to bust out his acoustic guitar and make a stadium feel like a rowdy pub. But Niall Horan elevates his game with The Show, his third and finest album yet. He gets emotional as he heads into his thirties. He wrote many of these tunes on piano, since his beloved guitars were stuck in tour storage—an especially cruel fate for this guy. It’s full of laid-back Laurel Canyon-inspired ballads, heavy on the mellow, full of feelings about looking for sanity in a time of personal turmoil. As he confesses in “Must Be Love,” “I’m a specialist at overthinking everything.” —R.S.

Last year, Ice Spice went viral with “Munch (Feeling U),” a coldly efficient putdown of the opposite sex that earned her a million-dollar deal with 10K Projects/Capitol Records. Since then, the Bronx rapper has generated headlines ever since. Lyrically, her debut EP, Like..?, serves as a testament to the politics of attraction, and Ice Spice expresses it all with preternatural confidence. She has a smooth, deep voice that glides over RIOTUSA’s beats, and her chopping delivery feels effortless. If these tracks seem a bit too sympatico, their raw quality also makes her performances visceral and exciting. —M.R.

The songs on Isbell’s brutally beautiful ninth studio album tremble with anger, desperation, and fear; characters wrestle regret and unhealthy appetites, struggling to cut losses in the wake of bad choices and cascading consequences. Isbell’s stories glint with memoir and headlines as they put human faces on head-count epidemics: mass shootings, opioid addiction, Covid-19. Even the love songs are bruised and weary, chilled by cold truth. Inextricable from all this is the 400 Unit, as essential here as Crazy Horse or the Heartbreakers to Neil Young or Tom Petty’s great moments. —W.H.

Chicago-area singer-songwriter Kara Jackson is a former National Youth Poet Laureate who blends country-folk, Seventies chamber pop, and sparse folk strumming on her stunning and adventurous full-length debut, the grief-stricken Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love? Jackson’s writing is both immaculately crafted and deeply funny: “Every man thinks I’m his fucking mother,” she sings seconds later, on “therapy.” With its series of five-to-eight-minute songs, Jackson’s LP is the most daring singer-songwriter statement you’ll hear this year. —J.B.

On … So Unknown, the Philadelphia band blasts 10 hardcore, groove-metal, and metalcore tracks in less than 30 minutes, but Jesus Piece avoid any repetitive and rough aspects by growing exponentially as musicians. The band really thrives when singer Aaron Heard gets personal. On “The Bond,” he contemplates the disintegration of the relationship with his brother, and on “Silver Linings,” Heard hollers an ode to his three-year-old son: “You’re a part of me/My other half/When days get bleak/You’re my silver lining.” —I.B.

The solo debut from BTS’s Jimin starts off with something unexpected — horns that sound like they’re coming from an energy-depleted carnival band, bleating out a few jaunty notes before completely falling into a heap. It indicates that Jimin is willing to have fun with the image he’s cultivated over the decade-plus that he’s been in the global spotlight. And while FACE does at times dwell on the existential what-ifs that plague twentysomething men who have the world’s gaze turned squarely toward them, for the most part it’s a compelling showcase of the silky-voiced singer-dancer’s pop strengths. —M.J.

A feeling of bucolic self-acceptance is at the emotional center of the sprawling Mañana Será Bonito, Karol G’s strongest effort to date. The album begins in epic, post-breakup mode. She finds a supportive sonic partner in producer and compatriot Ovy on the Drums, a digital architect able to inject a sense of purpose into the most-tired reggaeton backbeat. The autobiographical “Carolina” floats in a honeyed layer of Afro-beats smoothness, and the brief, encyclopedic musical references throughout the LP add context to her innovations. —E.L.

Beloved dance DJ and producer Kaytranada is not new to rap collabs — in fact, he’s an ardent hip-hop head, having made whole projects with low-key MCs Buddy in 2017 and IDK just last year. However, he seemed particularly pumped about his union with Aminé, even fusing their names for a debut album. Kaytraminé is top tier for both artists — Aminé is rapping at his coolest and most charming, Kaytra is tapping into the perfect balance of groove and grit, and both stars attract and gel with a bevy of the games’ best names, including Pharrell, Snoop Dogg, and Freddie Gibbs. —M.C.

Kelela took six years to release her sophomore LP, Raven, and while the title suggests something skybound, in practice the record sounds more interstellar. Over the course of an hour, the singer visits planetoids of subterranean breakbeats (“Missed Call”) and traverses grand chasms of warping ambient space (“Holier”). Songs suggest R&B mutated over millennia of evolution; the title track is Björk-tier melodrama, volcanic in its intensity. Kelela can take as long as she wants on a third LP. —C.P.

On her fifth LP, Kesha is tired, angry, and vicious. There’s a lot she still can’t say, but she unspools as much of her feelings as she can across 13 scorched-earth tracks that present an artist pulling herself back up from the brink of madness. The most-striking element of Kesha’s latest is the sound; working with producer Rick Rubin, she has found a psychedelic middle ground between the sleazy synths of her 2012 breakthrough, Warrior, and the rootsy Southern rock of her past two, 2017’s Rainbow and 2020’s High Road. —B.S.

The third album from British composer-singer-producer Labrinth only clocks in at about 28 minutes, but it’s a megadose of mood. The LP’s darkly hued tracks about love and loneliness come wracked with so much tension it often seems as if like they — and Labrinth himself — can fall apart at any moment. Labrinth puts forth intense lyrics that reflect his apocalyptic take on romance, surrounding his wail in opulent music — complete with synth squiggles and 23rd-century Greek choruses — that suggest he might have time-traveled here from a bleaker future. —M.J. 

Electropop traditionalists Ladytron drew their sound from New Wave, dance pop, Italo disco, Kraftwerk, Abba, and even a little arty prog-rock (their band name comes from an Eno-era Roxy Music album), and they’ve never looked back. And that’s a good thing. Their seventh full-length, Time’s Arrow, overflows with chilly robotic dream-pop — from the Giorgio Moroder-style dance-floor banger “Faces” to “Misery Remember Me,” a sort of a disco-prog hybrid that never sounds too nerdy or too cool for school. —K.G