For a Westerner like myself, the sounds of Russia and Algeria are (no pun intended) completely foreign. They use non traditional scales and key signatures, making Vinculum feel deeper and more mysterious than it might to people who are already deeply familiar with the regions’ music.

But were I to guess, I’d assume Vinculum would even be surprising for folks who are already aware of Bartok and Tchaikovsky. The album mixes original Bartok recordings from Algeria, new orchestral recordings, and electronics and unique performances from Ellis Cage. It’s a heady brew.

In many ways, I am reminded of mid-century jazz music. Daring and inspired, but certainly not for everybody, Vinculum is all about exploration. It’s about pushing the boundaries, while remaining conceptually bound to the original songs and sounds.

Similarly, jazz was trying to expand the vocabulary of the music without entirely abandoning the traditional work that came before. Jazz players wanted to introduce the genre to new people without totally abandoning their existing audience.

Ellis Cage’s Vinculum is playing along these lines. It’s at once familiar: classical compositions surrounded by electronic ambience. Today, this isn’t an unfamiliar sound. But Ellis brings it, thanks to the unique sounds of Russia and Algeria, to a new level of creativity.

There is something fundamentally uneasy going on throughout Vinculum, a constant point of tension that makes the music both discomforting and enthralling. It grabs you and doesn’t let you go. There are no standout tracks because they flow together. Without iTunes notifications telling me when the track had changed, I’m not sure I’d be aware the track had changed at all. So it’s impossible to recommend a single track, but it is easy to recommend the album as a whole.

Vinculum isn’t for everybody. It might not be to your taste; I’m somewhat surprised it’s to mine. It’s dark, ambitious, and sometimes difficult to approach. But there’s a majesty and mystery to it that few other independent composers are able to put on display.

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Alejandro Bento is a tremendous pianist. Each track on the album shows him demonstrating a wide range of skills, but “Mar” is the track that most impresses me. Bento plays through a ten minute track that feels more like a brief suite than it does a single track, with a simple theme that Bento pushes beyond its limitations and into new and exciting places.

Bento’s also an incredibly dynamic pianist. His music stays interesting because of the masterful control that he has over the power of his fingers, allowing the volume to ebb and flow with seemingly little effort. He plays with so much grace that it’s easy to listen to the album on repeat, picking up minor things you hadn’t noticed on each new listen.

In many ways, Bento reminds me of some of Nils Frahm’s older work. But where Nils Frahm dove deep into electronic, Bento takes a different approach.

The most interesting track on the record, though, is the surprisingly well-done Robot Koch remix of “Rain”. The remix takes the song in an entirely new direction. It’s an elegant mix of electronic music and traditional classical.

I think the folks at Subtempo Records must have agreed with me, because this week also sees the release or Ripples Remixed, a seven-track collection of remixes by artists who are pushing the bounds of what’s possible with electronic music. The remixes are as elegant and beautiful as the original music — which is a surprising (and triumphant) surprise.

In many ways, it’s easier to love the remixes than it is the original. I suspect everybody will find something to love in the remixes, and the original record will appeal largely to fans of modern classical.

The remixes add a lot of texture to what was already a very textured record, giving an impression of added depth and meaning to each track.

You can listen to Ripples on Apple Music, iTunes, Soundcloud, and Spotify.

You can listen to Ripples Remixes on Apple Music, iTunes, Soundcloud, and Spotify.

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The entire soundtrack is in a similar vein to the Ghosts record from Nine Inch Nails. Some tracks are longer than others, but when they are, they feel like four or five songs pieced together from a single nebulous idea. “Monolith”, the first track, is the perfect example of that: the song twists and turns for over six minutes, but it never feels like it abandons its premise.

In other ways, No Man’s Sky is as exploratory as the game it’s based on. No Man’s Sky, the game, is an exploratory game that challenges the player to move from the outer rim of the galaxy towards the centre, exploring potentially billions of planets on the way, cobbling together better spacecrafts, learning alien languages, and fighting for survival in harsh planetary conditions. No Man’s Sky, the soundtrack, asks a simple question: “How can music capture the same feeling of exploration?”

In that sense, the soundtrack’s greatest success is that it doesn’t feel like it repeats itself. Obviously, there are basic themes and motifs that often carry from one song to the next. Some tracks sound like they run into each other — the rhythms, in particular, often feel similar from one song to the next. But like any great soundtrack, these familiar notes don’t dominate the record. They’re used as catchphrases. They allow the listener to feel rooted in something familiar, even when the explored territory is alien or novel.

At many points throughout the soundtrack, I’ve wondered how this music would fit in a video game. The music is bombastic and calls attention to itself, and would feel out of place even in a superhero flick.

As a result, the soundtrack for No Man’s Sky stands alone. Experience with the video game isn’t a prerequisite for enjoyment. It’s what makes the music work.

No Man’s Sky: Music for an Infinite Universe is the perfect music for those of us who like ambient music that we can sink our teeth into when we want, or need, to think. It’s one of the best soundtrack releases of 2016.

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For Before the Flood, a new documentary about global warming from Leonardo DiCaprio, Trent and Atticus have expanded their traditional boundaries. Before the Flood is the first time they’ve worked with “outsiders” on music, bringing in Mogwai and Gustavo Santaolalla (the composer behind Brokeback Mountain).

This lends an additional touch to the compositions. Gustavo’s horn work and textural abilities are a good match for the aesthetic qualities of Reznor and Ross. Mogwai’s tracks feel as if they come from an entirely different perspective, but rather than clashing with the other compositions, they add a variety that otherwise wouldn’t exist.

What’s most interesting about Mogwai’s tracks is how optimistic they sound, by comparison. Reznor and Ross are known for making uneasy music — or music that starts laid back and quickly decomposes — but Mogwai has a whole different feel. Check out “Ghost Nets”, a Mogwai track that’s bookended by the Reznor and Ross’s more “traditional” “And When the Sky Was Opened” and “Trembling”. “Ghost Nets” is an entirely different track, without the same elements of unease that riddle the others.

This is the variety that makes the record work as a whole. Unlike Trent and Atticus’s soundtrack for Gone Girl, which was both beautiful and exhausting, Before the Flood is easy to absorb as a whole. I firmly believe this is because of Mogwai’s contributions — the unsung heroes of the record.

You don’t need to watch Before the Flood to enjoy the music on stage here. In fact, I didn’t (and haven’t). I’m not even sure the documentary has premiered yet (I think it’s a television premiere to boot, and we don’t have cable). But even without seeing it, the level of sobriety on hand here — the hope for our planet’s future and the fear of its potential destruction — is plainly evident.

This is, in my opinion, the best work that Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross have done together since The Social Network. It’s already become a staple in my ambient music collection.

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That’s the most stunning part of Tycho: the largely synth-heavy work is exquisitely detailed and layered, but it expresses visuals the same way the soundtrack for Stranger Things does.

Because it’s synth-heavy, many people call Tycho background noise. I don’t think the music has ever been purely background noise. It’s layered sounds and intricate mixing — as well as Hansen’s attention to detail — demand closer listening. That’s truer than ever on Epoch.

Epoch is a harsher record than Dive or Awake, but not in a negative fashion. The album is more percussive. “Horizon” has a stronger backbeat than any of the previous work, and the synth elements take on a more drum-like intensity.

None of that is to say that the music is darker or more sinister than it used to be. Tracks like “Receiver” are familiar and pleasant — and there are many songs like it throughout the record. But Epoch does feel more percussive overall.

Scott Hansen’s work continues to stand out and succeed because of its optimism. Unlike so many of his contemporaries, Hansen’s vision of the world is uplifting and positive. His music feels like a positive force in the world. While it occupies the same mental space as Trent Reznor’s instrumental work, it occupies an entirely different emotional space.

Because Epoch carries this same tradition, there isn’t a noticeable slump in quality. Listening to Dive, Awake, and Epoch as a whole feels like a single vision. It’s three albums, but they’re all sharing the same vision for our society. They all have the same values.

As an addition to Tycho’s repertoire, Epoch is a can’t-miss for fans and newcomers alike. Whether Hansen considers this an ending to a trilogy or a single step in an ongoing journey is unclear, but it’s obvious that he hasn’t run out of things to say — even while remaining completely wordless.

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Far from being a soundtrack to a simple video game, fans of Monument Valley will know that the soundtrack had a monumental (pun intended) task. It had to match the intricacy of a puzzle game so gorgeous and understated that it won a design award from Apple, and it also had to carry the player through a game based more on texture than story-telling.

The soundtrack rises to the soundtrack with aplomb, easily moving from one theme to the next. It can be quiet or energizing, but it’s never over-powering and frequently calming. More importantly though, there’s a certain depth to it that’s lacking from most of its brethren.

Many people believe that music is made up of textures and colours. There’s a known phenomenon where some people perceive musical notes similarly to the way they perceive colours, to the point where they can close their eyes when they hear somebody play a D# on a piano and vividly see the colour they associate with that note. I imagine that, for those people, the Monument Valley soundtrack would be an incredible experience.

For the rest of us, the soundtrack transports us to another place. Even if you haven’t played the game, the music feels decorated with the same sense of playful curiosity that the game’s M.C. Escher-inspired art direction is. It’s moody without being sour, and more interested in sounds than it is in the construction of a whole.

That doesn’t result in a feeling of disconnect, though: the Monument Valley soundtrack feels united in its thematic sense of exploration as it guides the listener from one feeling to a next. Certain tracks are starkly reminiscent of the same Indian music that inspired The Beatles’ Tomorrow Never Comes — but in a completely different, quieter and more introspective fashion.

For fans of the game, the soundtrack is a must-listen. And for those of us who haven’t played the game, it’s a journey to a world we haven’t experienced yet — a journey as magical as many of our favourite film soundtracks. (And if you’re wondering what all the fuss is about, you can download the game for iOS here.)

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Every time I listen to this album, I’m caught off guard by the track changes. It feels as if the track is changing in the middle of a thought. Tim Hecker isn’t really dealing with thoughts here, though, so much as he is in themes. And the thought that carries us from one theme to another often shares both themes in common, and it’s really the thematic shift that feels sudden.

But as a songwriter, Hecker carries it sublimely. You newer feel as f he’s out of control, and he guides you on a story that it feels like only he can tell. There are emotional swells in this that you won’t feel outside of the Inception soundtrack (if that sort of music is your thing), and it’s all written so well that you feel as if you’re in the hands of a master.

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When I hear the genre “house music,” I still cringe a little inside from the early–2000s pre-conceived notion that it was all going to be heavy beats and ridiculous dancing. But HNNY is remarkably more restrained, feeling a bit more like a soul record than anything else. Which makes sense, because HNNY has a tendency to sample American soul music, which gives his music a certain vibe.

I don’t think you could actually dance to Sunday. That’s not a bad thing, for the record (no pun intended). Check out Cheer Up My Brother for a little bit of a flavour of how HNNY sounds: if anything, I’d call this house music because I’d listen to it while chilling at my house.

Fans of laid-back pop music with soul influence definitely shouldn’t pass this up. And fans of great music in general should give this a listen to.

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This means it’s basically a Nils Frahm record that doesn’t sound like Nils Frahm.

The things that make Nils’ music so delightful are all present, though: playful experimentation, repetition that breaks into uncharted territory, build-ups that would be suspenseful if they weren’t so frequently serene, and composition that would leave most composers jealous.

What makes this record unusual is that it’s not as full of a statement as one might expect from Nils. And this could be the influence of Arnalds, who I suspect is responsible for bringing a certain level of unease to the music. It’s all wonderful, beautiful stuff that’s unlike what we’ve heard from Nils before.

What’s great about the record is that it works exceptionally well on repeat: the last track comes to a rather sudden end, and when you repeat the album, it starts to deflate. This might be by design, so listeners are forced to put the album on repeat forever. If that’s the case, it’s brilliant music, as always.

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While I wouldn’t recommend Hauschildt’s record for those of us who are in need of a cup of coffee, I would recommend it as excellent background music for your cup of coffee. Or your Sunday reading. Or your Monday to Friday work schedule. Or even to fall asleep to. Hauschildt’s imaginative record deserves to be embedded in your skull as often as possible.

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