For Solange, this groovy combination of R&B, pop, funk, and hip hop nearly outgrows her sister Beyoncé’s shadow. There are songs on here that will go down as some of the year’s best: “Cranes in the Sky”, “Mad” (which might be the best track Lil Wayne’s ever been on), and “Don’t Touch My Hair” — the album’s standout by far.

These songs are about being black, to be sure. After all, this is 2016. After To Pimp A Butterfly, it feels like every record from a figure in the black community is a statement about black realities. But more importantly, A Seat at the Table is about being a woman.

Because its tracks are mixed with spoken word interludes from important men and women in Solange’s life, A Seat at the Table feels authentic. This is a coming of age record that’s about being a woman, but it’s also about being Solange. While the record isn’t as incendiary as Lemonade, the songwriting here is intimate and the production is warm enough that it feels like Solange is sharing this with you in hopes you’ll empathize with her.

That’s what makes so many of these songs — even less noted tracks like “Where Do We Go” — work so well. I’m a white guy from Canada; I don’t know anything about the world Solange sings about. I can never claim to have recognized it. But A Seat at the Table makes me feel like I’ve experienced it, and I empathize with the plight of black womanhood in America in 2016.

“I’m weary of the ways of the world,” Solange sings on “Weary”. “Be weary of the ways of the world.” On my second play through of A Seat at the Table, I find myself nodding along. I empathize, but I’m also convicted in this. As a white man, I am part of the problem. Can I be part of the solution?

A Seat at the Table is a powerful record. I believe, and hope, it can create dialogue like this in our communities. So yes, this is Solange’s best record. She’s finally come into her own. The music is beautiful and her style is just right. She’s not trying to imitate anybody else (or if she is, she’s hiding it well). It’s a great record.

But it doesn’t matter that this is her best record. None of that matters. Solange wants our attention, and she’s got something to say. It’s time to listen.

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But it’s more than the sensational songwriting and her velvety voice that makes NAO’s debut stand out from the rest of the pack. Her approach to R&B is so different from that of her contemporaries that it’s hard to ignore.

Hailing from the UK, where most of her peers are aiming for the sound du jour of minimalistic R&B, NAO’s style is densely layered and sonically maximal. She doesn’t bother with stripping back; instead, it feels like she throws every one of her ideas at the record and only removes them if they don’t stick.

That’s evident even in her vocal stylings: as a trained jazz singer, NAO brings a vocal sensibility to the genre that feels more like the complex pop attitude of Janet Jackson crossed with the deep soul of Aretha Franklin. She brings jazz’s off-beat melodies and accents, but hits those beats with her voice instead of a saxophone. It’s incredibly effective.

It raises multiple questions, but the most important of them is about labelling the record. Is it fair to call For All We Know R&B when it’s so deeply rooted in jazz and soul as well? I’d argue that it is — as often as the rules of the genre are broken, they’re also embraced.

What’s most powerful, I think, is the way that NAO removes the autobiographical element of so many current R&B records, and replaces them with massive female-driven moments of power. Clearly taking inspiration from women like Beyoncé, there are moments throughout the record when For All We Know feels more like a call to feminism and self-respect than it does anything else.

If NAO’s debut has any problems, though, it’s the sheer length of the record. It’s not that the songs are bad; it’s that many of the fine songs (like “Adore You”) are outpaced by the magic of tracks like “Fool to Love”, “Girlfriend” and “In the Morning” (a personal favourite of mine). It’s a long record that could have been improved by NAO making some choices on the editing floor (although what she could have cut, I don’t know).

With all that being said, NAO’s debut record is interesting because it has the dramatic length and pacing — as well as story-telling capability — of 90s hip-hop. But it’s also got the technique of jazz, the trappings of R&B, and the impossible-to-ignore sympathies of great soul. All guided by NAO’s sensational voice.

It’s hard not to recommend NAO as one of the year’s standout records in any genre. Unlike her peers in R&B, NAO isn’t going for minimalism. She’s gunning for stardom, and with massive talent and equally massive hooks, it’s going to be hard for her to miss.

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At this point in any artist’s career, it’s always astounding they have anything new to say at all. But with Family Tree, Auldist is doing more than finding something new to say: she’s reinventing herself.

While she’s known for her work as a soul and funk singer, Family Tree takes her down the path of 80s disco, channeling both Michael Jackson and Chromeo throughout eleven fantastically strong songs. And her voice sounds more powerful than it ever has; she’s forced herself to rise above the synths and noise of disco without ever losing her tone.

“Too Easy” is a fantastic example of this: her voice howls over the backing track during the verse. She finds a commanding vocal tone even though she’s competing with disco’s intense backing beat.

But the real focus on this record isn’t the new sound or Auldist’s fantastic voice. If there’s any one thing Kylie does throughout the record, it’s reflect on how lucky she’s been. She spends the record looking back, thanking people, and inaugurating her peers and friends as the family that kept her going. In that sense, the record is about her career — a retrospective that looks back as it carves ahead.

In that sense, the record may be disco (Apple Music calls it “Australian disco,” whatever that means), but it’s purely celebratory. Auldist picked a genre that reflected the theme she wanted the record to be. It’s meant for dancing — it’s celebration music!

It’s also not as if she ditched her roots entirely. Much of Family Tree is steeped in funk. “Waste of Time” feels much more like a funk track than a disco track, as do “Rewards” and “No Change”.

But what each track has in common is an undeniable sense of groove. Family Tree is no masterpiece, but it’s a heckuva lotta fun.

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The band’s got exactly the right vibes for Unsung. They’re hip with a fantastic sound, and when the opportunity came up, we couldn’t wait to share this moment with them. Particularly love the singer, and that awesome solo towards the end. Pure fun. Give the video a whirl, like the band on Facebook, and keep an eye out here for coverage down the road.

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Every track stands out, and it’s hard to pick favourites. It feels wrong to pick favourites when the album references some of the events that have shaken America over the past year. Hands Up is a clear reference to Trayvon Martin’s killing. Throughout the record, Dev Hynes (the man behind Blood Orange) shares his thoughts on blackness, the hood, and whether or not black people should wear hoods when they walk the streets.

It’s a powerful record. “Are you okay?” Hynes asks on the afore-mentioned Hands Up. The answer seems obvious. At the end of Thank You, a brief vocal moment says: “Let me tell you what it’s all about. A skin not considered equal. A meteor has more right than my people.” It hits hard.

At other times, it’s clear that Hynes is writing music for affected black women. The intro track captures a powerful vocal performance from a black woman trying to understand how to respect herself, how to understand who she is. These moments pop up on occasion throughout the record, and it’s clear that Hynes frequently for women.

I was thinking about it and wondering why he did that, and found myself wondering if approaching blackness from a woman’s perspective allows him to embrace the vulnerability his music requires. Whatever the reason, it’s a powerful approach that works and elevates his music to another level of sophistication and intelligence.

The music is great, too: But You and Desirée are two of my favourite tracks, even though they feel like they take inspiration from totally different parts of music’s sphere. Juice 1–4 has a tone that feels almost tropical in nature. Best to You’s vocal acrobatics is a phenomenal exercise in pop styling. Augustine is a great first single.

But despite juggling all these musical influences, every track comes out the other end feeling decidedly like a Blood Orange sound. Freetown Sound is music you make when you’re confident in yourself as an artist, aware of your place and your style, and willing to give your record a meaning and texture.

I don’t know where Freetown Sound lands among the year’s best records yet, but I have a feeling it might be near the top when the year is said and done. It’s certainly one of the year’s most important, especially given the tragic and horrific events of the past week.

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The lead singer, Miles Arntzen, put on a heckuva show. He was practically manic: he played an upright, standing drum kit centre stage, pounding it with a palpable degree of ferocity. The bassist head banged through every track, but in the sort of dancey way that you might laugh at if you saw a friend do it.

The sax and trumpet player can’t stop dancing, wiggling on stage like they’re at an EDM show. The percussionist in the back has all the excitement of a DJ who’s really into the tunes. This show was messy, and the band wasn’t as tight as they maybe could have been, but it didn’t matter. It was an explosion of energy — one of the best lives shows I’ve ever seen.

That energy isn’t necessarily captured on their debut self-titled record, but the incredible music is. Emefe is straight out of New York, so their Vampire Weekend-inspired Afrobeat sound is almost familiar, but the way they layer in jazz and funk makes it feel like a whole different gig.

Same Thing is one of the moments on record where it feels like they manage to capture as much of their energy as a recording can handle, and their jazzy style is on full display. The keyboardist is oozing psychedelics, and the trumpet and sax are out in full force. Not to mention that the music is delightfully weird, and oddly danceable.

The One isn’t dissimilar: the guitar lays down a nice, groovey riff, the vocal line makes for a nice sing along, by and the time the song is over, the whole band is jamming over a gnarly riff that’s simply divine.

I also love Sun Spat, which might be my favourite track on the record. I love the way that the instruments interact with the off-beats of the drums. It’s cool stuff, even if it “feels” musically wrong. It’s an incredible track, played with power, delivered with gravitas.

The following track, Summer, feels nearly traditional by comparison. But it’s clear, at this point in the record, that Emefe is all about defying convention. I love the way the song slowly builds up, in a manner that feels reminiscent of some of the great funk of yesteryear. Plus, that guitar riff (and the surrounding instrumentation) about a minute and a half into the song is plain old delightful.

Every member of this eight-piece band feels important, and necessary. Even if the music isn’t your cup of tea, if it’s too avant-garde for you, they’re a band you need to see live the next time they’re in town. They’ll make a fan out of you yet with their incredible live show — among the most energetic and exciting I’ve ever seen.

I can’t recommend Emefe highly enough, and I cannot wait to see where they go next.

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You’ll know pretty quick if this record is for you: just put on Jealous (I Ain’t With It) and listen to the first minute. If it’s not grabbing you, you can move on. Otherwise, you’re in for a treat. Almost every track is worth listening to.

Come Alive finds Chromeo experimenting with vocals and introducing some Michael Jackson-like elements. Actually, this is everything I would have wanted a new Jackson record to sound like (XScape was awful). If you want to hear the track that’s more fun than anything else on Unsung this week, you have to listen to Sexy Socialite. What a fantastic track: it’s got all the right elements. The rest of the album is filled with other tracks like that, but my favourites are Hard To Say No and especially Old 45s, which has some fantastic vocal work and harmonies.

If you like dancing and having fun, you’ll love this record.

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A ton of songs on here are worth repeat listens — check out Real Thing, which has one of the best choruses going. There are some odd influences going on here — folk, hip hop, and electronic music all sort of intermingle together on occasion — often just sounding that way because of Merrill’s intonation when she sings.

Sink-O is another totally oddball, but fascinating track. Wait for a Minute is my favourite track on the record — just beautiful, lethargic music perfect for a lazy Saturday. Rocking Chair gets my award for weirdest song of the year.

Ultimately, tUnE-yArDs doesn’t care what you think. It’s a record from a musician who doesn’t care about your expectations, and has little to no respect for the traditional musical requirements of cohesion of listenability. nikki nack is a playful, eccentric record that’s willing to have fun by refusing to play along with the program.

nikki nack is wildly inventive, and tUnE-yArDs makes it look easy. Like the most creative work, it’s bursting with the joy of experimentation. nikki nack should absolutely be the first thing you listen to this week. (Water Fountain is the first single.)

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