II is a distinctly lo-fi record, performed almost in entirety by frontman Ruban Nielson (with the exception of the drums and a few horns). For this reason, the album sounds very tight musically — Ruban is clearly an expert musician — but it also sounds distinctly lo-fi, almost as if its being played underwater.

That’s the intention, of course, on a record that seems obsessed with vintage-style songwriting and musicality, but it might also be for thematic reasons. On one of the record’s most poignant moments, Nielson sings “I wish that I could swim and sleep like a shark does; I’d fall to the bottom and I’d hide till the end of time in that sweet cool darkness.” That Simon & Garfunkel-style melancholy is perfectly suited to the production style of the record.

The production is worth talking about: It demonstrates that Neilson has, compared to his peers, a superior understanding of what made those old records great. Today’s recordings reveal every note with crystal clarity, but these older records age so well because their production inefficiencies hide some of their details and preserve a sense of mystery (Led Zeppelin IV being a classic example).

While Unknown Mortal Orchestra is often reminiscent of the afore-mentioned Led Zeppelin and Simon & Garfunkel, they’ll also remind you of The Beatles’ approach to psychedelic pop (From The Sun) or Jimi Hendrix’s trademark fuzz sensibilities (One At A Time). This amalgamation of style makes Unknown Mortal Orchestra feel uniquely original, in an odd way: So Good At Being In Trouble is at once comfortably recognizable and uniquely Unknown Mortal Orchestra, with Nielson’s falsetto during the chorus giving the song a sense of urgency.

The same sense of urgency is often missing throughout the latter half of the record, which feels frustratingly more indulgent (although certainly in line with the styles the band is emulating). When the band finds their groove again on Faded in the Morning, it’s a much-needed and appreciated kick in the pants. But the wandering in the album’s mid-section demonstrates the band’s mastery of this lo-fi psychedelic style: unhurried and willing to experiment, the band refuses to settle on a single style. It’s an approach almost entirely ditched on last year’s Multi-Love, perhaps because the band felt they took the sound to its natural conclusion on II.

Regardless of why the band drifted away from this approach to songwriting, II feels like the sort of record that will later be recorded as a forgotten gem. Authentic and unique, despite its blatant influences and obvious stylistic emulations, II might go down in history as Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s best record.

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Phil Elvrum, the man behind The Microphones, made this the last official Microphones record. Incredibly ambitious, and considering its lo-fi roots, very polished, the record explores themes that are both personal and sometimes noisy. The title track is a great example of one of the noisier tracks, but it’s not noisy in the sense we expect most lo-fi bands to be noisy — it feels like orchestrated noise, not uncomfortable attacks.

But quieter songs like I Felt Your Shape, Map, and I’ll Not Contain You are what make the record for me. Shockingly, I can’t find this record on iTunes, but fans of the genre will love this, but even people not normally interested in lo-fi American rock might find something to enjoy here.

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In the post-Radiohead world, these guys are going to blend in just fine. Terrors is awesome, with a killer chorus, and Shades busts out a riff not unlike some of the stuff Radiohead would have been doing a few records back. I love My Moons, which has a great backbeat and a super catchy chorus.

Cosmos is one of those rare albums that has zero filler. Every track is great, so I want to write about all of them. Instead, I’m picking just one: How Do You Do It, which has the amazing opening lines:

How do you start when you know it’s gonna end? How do you wait if you never plan ahead? How do you laugh when you see what makes you cry? How do you sleep at night when you know you’re going to die? How do you do it?

Those are some fully loaded questions. Lyrically, they feel like questions Yellow Ostrich is interested in asking because they know everything ends. What sort of music do you make if, one day, you know it’s going to end? It seems clear, based on *Cosmos&, that Yellow Ostrich is planing to leave their mark.

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Cayucos, the opening track, gives you a great idea of what to expect. Put down whatever you’re doing, grab a beach towel and prepare a mojito. It’s time to sunbathe. High School Lover carries on with the same sort of stupidly catchy beach pop that cheers you up without insulting your intelligence. A Summer Thing hits it right on the nose with a 400-pound hammer, but that’s kind of the point — subtlety isn’t Cayucas’ strong suit.

The comparisons I keep seeing are Beck on anti-depressants and Vampire Weekend. In reality, it’s kind of like Vampire Weekend got really drunk with Beck on a Saturday afternoon and performed an impromptu live show somewhere on the ocean shore. On another level, the album’s going to amuse potheads the same way that Tenacious D causes a sense of the giggles. I don’t smoke it, but if I did, the title track would probably blow my mind. As it is now, it’s just like the rest of the album: Disgustingly catchy, brilliantly fun and irresistible.

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