Pond—not to be confused with the great grunge-era group of the same name—share a few members with Tame Impala, and that fact alone probably gives you a few (safe) assumptions. Indeed, this stuff is soaked in the same psychedelic sunshine; the same throwback, compression-heavy recording flavor; and the same fuzz guitar as their Perth, Australia sister band.

Bowerbirds’ third record stays the familiar course set by their first two albums: pretty, pastoral neo-folk and heartfelt, poetic lyrics are still generally their rule of thumb, softly sung and largely unplugged.

The Men’s Leave Home, gracing many a Top 10 list last year, was a wonderful mess. The band boasts three separate songwriters, and a conscious no-particular-focus ethos that lets them explore whatever direction they damned well please, with in-the-red gusto.

Welcome to Andrew Bird’s nineth solo outing—an album of surprisingly unfussy folk compositions augmented with his trademark layers of violins, slurred vocals, and multi-octave whistling.

Those unfamiliar with the work of the Australian violin/guitar/drum trio could be forgiven for misguided perceptions of what such a gathering might generate. Then again, on their first studio album since 2005’s Cinder, the band seems so intent on newly exploring their capabilities that they just might strike a chord with almost any fan of instrumental music.

Now a duo after the departure of keyboardist/vocalist Claudia Deheza, one would assume that School of Seven Bells entered their third album Ghostory at a disadvantage. As it turns out, having one less member barely makes an impact on the band’s sound.

Those averse to brooding skulk rock shouldn’t let the album art put them off; the bloated Goth on the cover of TRST is probably a bit too misleading. The music contained within belongs less in a candlelit cathedral than it does on a pulsing dance floor, sounding more in line with a dark, haunted Cut Copy than Bauhaus or The Sisters of Mercy.

The title of Perfume Genius’ second album may suggest exertion, and the first sound you hear when you listen to it is a deep, labored breath, but the music’s execution and emotional impact feel more like letting go.

Over its last two albums, Montréal trio Plants and Animals grew from lush, folk-inspired songwriters to more experimental, rock ‘n’ roll animals. For as light, airy, and nuanced as 2008’s Parc Avenue was, 2010’s La La Land was in equal measure in your face and electrified. Plants and Animals’ latest album largely splits the difference between those two albums.