It’s all a bit of a hazy dream, with rainbow colours drifting lazily across the subconscious as the music swirls on. It’s the definition of a bedroom project, warm and fresh and utterly comfortable.

The Year Of Hibernation, the first album from Trevor Powers AKA Youth Lagoon, feels familiar and exciting all at once, a deft mix of reverb-drenched instrumentals, androgynous vocals and poppy electronic sounds. While opener Posters begins as a peaceful swirl, Powers’ voice almost a whisper, it soon morphs into a catchy electro-pop blip that’s propelled by a mixture of sounds, without needing to consistently rely on vocals. His voice never explicitly takes the fore, so covered in fuzz that it often simply becomes another instrument amidst all the other stacked lo-fi sounds.

Cheerful whistles are coupled with a thumping bass line on Afternoon, while 17 and July trade in the dance-ready rhythms for a more sentimental and emotion-based approach, with more traditional instruments, like piano and guitar, introduced as Powers tones it down a notch. The atmosphere especially
builds on Montana, where sounds continually pile onto each other as the motif, starting very humbly, grows into
something much bigger than itself by the end, but retains its heart as Powers’ vocals remain unassuming.

There’s something very personable about The Year Of Hibernation that allows it to stand apart from other dime-a-dozen chillwave and electronic acts. You can see Powers hunched over in his bedroom as you listen to this album – it’s modest and yet utterly enchanting, equally suited for parties and lazy afternoons.

Out now on Fat Possum/Spunk

Carrying on from the pop-leaning electronic sound introduced on 2008’s Saturdays = Youth, Frenchman Anthony Gonzalez’s offers a double album influenced by two-disc wonders like Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness and The White Album.

Signature M83 moves are retained – the whispered utterances on Intro, in French on Echoes Of Mine and the ostinato-driven OK Pal; slowly built layers introduced separately on Another Wave From You; relaxed atmosphere on Fountains – but he really plays up his pop sensibilities on this album, best explored on the explosive single Midnight City, which combines his echoing vocals with a synth riff that dances its way through the track, joined by an ‘80s-tastic sax solo approaching the end.

Claudia Lewis and Steve McQueen see some electronic acrobatics that evoke overjoyed feelings of freedom and height, while Wait and Splendor allow Gonzalez to create harmonic layers and slow the pace, as do spacey instrumental interludes. The adorable Raconte-Moi Une Histoire builds from clicks and a repeated key pattern to a child recounting an encounter with a magical frog, sounding quite like a G-rated psychotropic experience and inciting a real sense of freewheeling childlike wonder. He even echoes entirely dissimilar groups like Fleet Foxes on tracks like Year One, One UFO, where electronics are used in a more pastoral, lush way.

Hurry Up… is bursting with unique ideas that are executed beautifully, proving that a double album isn’t redundant in an age when attention spans are probably otherwise dwindling. Every second is a revelation and, when all sewn together, the tapestry is a dazzling dream world of its own.

Out now on Pod/Inertia

I used to be strictly a winter person. Summer was my idea of hell – semi-naked brown bodies everywhere, sweat, singlet-clad bogans and beer spilled all over me? Yeah, I don’t think so.

Maybe it’s because this year’s winter has been particularly cold, but I find myself more and more disenchanted with the cold season and, inexplicably, craving the summer warmth. I was okay with this until I heard the new Memory Tapes album, Player Piano – this track in particular. It’s a lovely little slice of electro-pop with a dazzlingly infectious chorus and synth-led ostinato that makes me want to dust off my bikini and drive to the beach with it on repeat. When have I ever wanted to go to the beach before? THIS IS NUTS!

Player Piano is an album that’s got cuts suitable for summer, like this one, but also some that are perfect against the chilly backdrop of the current season with their experimentation and generally chilled out sound. A lot of it sounds like The Postal Service in their poppier moments, and it’s got a real air of continuity about it, whether that’s the almost-bookends Musicbox (In) and Musicbox (Out) or the similarity in vocal inflections between tracks.

It’s out now through Pod/Inertia, and is a serious forerunner for my top ten albums of 2011.

No Sleep/Shock

In a world where ‘emo’ is a dirty word, the sound of Balance & Composure is incredibly refreshing. While Jon Simmons’ voice and introspective lyrics don’t completely nullify the genre, their debut album is startingly mature – as they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. Or a band by its members’ fringes, glasses and flannel shirts.

“Found out everyone is shallow,” Simmons croons against a simplistic electric line on opener Void, before carefully added vocals and drums allow the song to steadily peak. Separation is an exercise in meticulous control – while I Tore You Apart In My Head is direct in its blistering anger, tracks like Stonehands and Echo show the band’s proficiency at penning effective slow burners, the latter focusing on vocals with minimalistic accompaniment. Simmons’ voice is often doubled and restrained, offering space to the guitars so carefully constructed around it as they screech and meander in equal measure. The guitars appear in so many guises, rapidly down-stroking throughout Galena and taking on a post-rock lilt as More To Me slides into being, the voice gliding in a lower register before raising into a focused guttural high. Even when Simmons is screaming about hatred and hurt, behind it there’s emotion so palpable that angsty teenagers won’t be the only ones to relate.

This album is heavier than anything the young Pennsylvanians have recorded before, but they’ve kept their penchant for melody and topped it with infectious energy. Don’t be put off by the E word – this is one of the best alternative releases this year, and that’s coming from someone who put the black eyeliner away years ago.

Every song is a city, and every city is a song. The opening guitar-led refrain of Perth heralds the arrival of gentle rolling drums and that voice, that gently shaking falsetto that has provided catharsis for many. That catharsis, on 2007’s For Emma, Forever Ago, sounded like a barely breathing thing, so fragile in its hurt that it could only whisper through sparse instrumentation, but on this album it’s a stronger beast with more flesh to spare.

Finding strength in its new confidence, the music dips into a deeper vocal register on Minnesota, WI and Hinnom, TX (the contrast is effective and truly staggering), flirts with brass elements across the album and even dives into ‘80s-esque synth, sax solos and auto-tune (which has been used sparingly in the past, notably on 2009’s overall average Blood Bank EP) on Beth/Rest, an intoxicating oddity of a song that makes more sense in the context of Justin Vernon’s involvement in Gayngs. Barely any tracks here are as nude as those on For Emma… – the likes of Calgary are beautiful in their deep, luscious layers – with the exception of Holocene, heaped vocals dancing on a simple guitar line, an emotional rawness so painfully honest that it stings to listen to.

After mediocre at best side projects and a hit and miss EP, it was a matter of great worry whether or not Vernon could follow For Emma… with anything nearly as moving. Those concerns were unnecessary, because this album is an experience that not only equals but surpasses its predecessor, soundtracking pure and intense emotion in a way that is always redeeming, no matter how much it might hurt.

Out now on Jagjaguwar/Inertia

Unlike other Elephant 6-associated bands like Neutral Milk Hotel and of Montreal, Brooklyn’s The Ladybug Transistor has remained virtually unknown, a brief shot of a concert poster in the film High Fidelity as close to breaking mainstream consciousness as they’ve ever come. Hopefully much deserved attention will come with this, the band’s seventh album in 16 years of consistently impressive work.

While originally they played orchestral pop in a sparse, baroque style, it’s now more fleshed out and sprinkled with delightful flourishes, including a divine double oboe line on Oh Cristina. Gary Olson’s lyrics are bubbling with clever pop culture references and are always suited to the sweetness they lie against, his voice often partnered with a sweet female vocal (Light On The Narrow Gauge) for that perfect balance. Clutching Stems is more rooted in a positive major disposition than the band’s past output (the exception with the only marginally more somber Caught Don’t Walk, gorgeous string and brass arrangements abounds in a piece that starts serious before floating away). As such it’s sometimes difficult to differentiate between individual songs, but if it sounds like one long song it’s a very joyous one indeed.

In the past The Ladybug Transistor’s tunes didn’t quite have the polished finish to gain serious momentum in the world of modern, ultra-glossy indie pop. 2007’s Can’t Wait Another Day saw them cautiously test new footing, and Clutching Stems sees them find it. No new ground is broken in the grand scheme, but it’s beautiful all the same – sitting comfortably alongside luminaries like Belle & Sebastian, this is a great place to start if you’re just discovering this incredibly underrated band.

Out now on Merge

Like many other bands these days, London’s Yuck has taken the best parts of a past era and thrown them into 2011 – vintage spruced up with the joys of modernity. Stephen Malkmus would be proud of the band’s debut album, sounding remarkably like Terror Twilight-era Pavement in all its DIY slacker glory.

The guitars – recorded in guitarist Max Bloom’s bedroom – revel in their distortion to create the lo-fi fuzz that’s seen a recent resurgence, and on opener Get Away it’s teamed with a synthy guitar punch and rough vocals from Daniel Blumberg. The vocals are an integral part of Yuck’s sound – there’s often a muted edge applied to them, like on The Wall and Operation, so that they take on the same jagged aesthetic as the rest of the sound. The slower tracks on the record are a real treat, throwing back to Spit On A Stranger – Shook Down and Sunday allow Blumberg’s voice, completely smooth in these cases, to shine through against even guitars and harmonies, singing heartfelt (and often heartbreaking) thoughts. The also downbeat Suicide Policeman, littered with percussive flourishes and muted brass, introduces Ilana Blumberg’s voice, making for a beautiful counter (also heard in Georgia, which features absolutely heavenly guitar melodies). Closer Rubber brings that heavy distortion back in both guitar and voice for seven minutes of glorious, messy noise.

There’s not much on Yuck you won’t have heard before. It’s very much derivative, but in spite – or maybe because – of this, it’s a ripper from start to finish, for those who rocked out in the ‘90s and those who wish they could have. Put your Chucks and flanno on and bliss out to this.

Out now on Fat Possum/Mercury

At the end of Empire Records, Renee Zellweger and Coyote Shivers perform the latter’s song Sugarhigh on a rooftop. It’s a ripper of a tune – a perfect blend of raw garage and polished melody, mixing brutal honesty with a gentler musical edge that makes for arresting listening. That’s the same kind of feeling that emanates from this album’s first single Ghosts – it’s full of high energy, yet pays close attention to crafting a memorable melodic line that sits perfectly against its rawness.

This is the first album from the quartet, hailing from the north coast of NSW, and Ghosts is a fairly good indication of what you’re in for. Melody is a strong focus, guitar lines often complementing those of the vocals well (on opener Hey Hey the contrast is just right) and garage fuzz dominating a fair amount of tracks, too (A Series Of Sighs and [Other], in particular, crank up the distortion to delicious levels). Choruses here are committed to memory constantly, especially on Shattered Alright – after a few listens of the albums, you’re guaranteed to be mouthing, if not screeching, along.

Unlike a lot of other albums, there’s not really a slow moment here, no ballads or introspective emotional pieces – it maintains palpable and infectious dynamism from the word go. The quartet’s sound is certainly not one that hasn’t been touched on before – in a lot of ways it’s pretty similar to early Vines, right down to expat American frontman Mark Spence’s voice – but this is a solid release that cuts the crap and goes all out in delivering balls-to-the-wall rock that’s both well-crafted and catchy.

Out now on MGM

Blending the understated guitar sounds of post rock with a playful punch, Brisbanites Tin Can Radio’s debut album toes that line carefully to create a release catering to two primal music listening needs – to dance like a maniac and to sit silently, absorbing every nuance.

The upbeat tunes, like A Deafer Silence and the sax-and-string-tinged Best Kept Secret, take the stop-start style of Two Door Cinema Club and Antidotes-era Foals, especially the tinny, frantic drumming, creating palpable and infectious urgency. Skeletons flicks from luscious female vocals bathed in an overpowering electronic buzz to an excitable danceability lathered in sharp synth rhythms.
Then there are ambient drifters, delicate post rock guitars aplenty (and in the case of Drift To Extinction, string experimentation) and no need for vocals. Explosions In The Sky is an easy reference point on Breathe Out’s build-ups, metallic drumming notwithstanding. The effort is admirable and quite beautiful, and gripping closer Ode To The Shire is even more courageous – almost hitting the 10-minute mark, it builds on a careful electronic-tinged guitar base, eventually falling into a drive overlapped by nonverbal vocals. The drumming here becomes more spacious, giving the other elements breathing room – what results is a sea of textured sound, eventually delving back into gentle guitar against the sound of people chatting animatedly. There are also tracks marrying the two styles – the initially shy piano-led Forever Ago ultimately bursts into that high-energy synth again, bowing out with a shiny brass farewell.

It’s risky business crossing such a number of opposing styles on a debut, but here that daring braveness pays off in a big way, placing Tin Can Radio in a unique corner of Australian music.

Independent release; out now

‘Box’ – Tim Fitz

It’s official, I have a little crush on Tim Fitz. The Sydney-based singer/songwriter recorded Infinite Space in his home, helming production duties himself as well as playing all of the instruments you hear, and it’s a beautiful release. Best of all it’s succinct – when you have a terrible attention span like I do, that’s certainly something to appreciate!

The EP flows well, rolling through a series of moods and timbres, starting with the stunning piano flourishes and spacious drums of the eclectic ‘Disposable Youth’ and going to Spanish-flavoured guitar on ‘L’Esprit de Escalier’ and the more sparse ‘Hopelessman’, right through to spoken word against percussion on ‘Endtroduction’.

My pick here is ‘Box’, which takes a more conventional form with simple finger-picked guitar and Fitz’s gently reverberating voice. It’s pretty easy for folk-based music to get samey and indistinguishable from everything else similar around, but there’s a real earnestness here that you can’t fabricate. It’s a little like something Dallas Green might have written.

Infinite Space is full of lovely lo-fi gems that transport you to the bedroom where they were made. You can name your price for the eclectic six-song EP on Bandcamp.