It doesn’t take long for The Comet Is Coming to begin to deliver on their promises of unique jazz. “Space Carnival”, the album’s second track, feels almost like a dance track — with moments that feel lifted from dance and electronic records, it certainly doesn’t sound like the jazz of old.

I don’t think that’s a problem, though. You can hear in their stylings that The Comet Is Coming has a reverence for what came before. The way they handle time signatures and solos, as well as the large batch of musical ideas that may be in one song, speak to their understanding of jazz’s heritage and its creativity.

That’s not to say that the group is never recognizable as a jazz outfit. On tracks like “Journey Through the Asteroid Belt”, they wear their label proudly — even if they’re mixing it with a percussion setup that would make most DJs jealous. “Slam Dunk in a Black Hole” understands the weird side of jazz that Miles Davis explored on Bitches’ Brew, but mixes it with a techno-inspired backbeat that somehow makes the whole thing feel modern and contextual for our times.

And, of course, the solos throughout this album are amazing. The group is made up of three guys, if you aren’t familiar, and each are gifted at what they do. It’s worth mentioning their names — they’re treasures in and of themselves: “Danalogue the Conequeror” is their synthesizer. “Betamax Killer” plays drums. “King Shabaka” is the saxophonist. All three are impeccably talented. It’s hard to believe Danalogue the Conqueror is handling synth duties solo, and the sounds King Shabaka gets out of his sax are incredible.

Tracks like “Cosmic Dust” make it clear this isn’t the first record you’d want to show to your friends who are merely interested in jazz, though. This record is for people who are interested in concepts. This is jazz for fans of psychedelic music — or vice versa.

“Channel the Spirits”, the album’s titular track, sounds like a jazz track played overtop of a pummelling rock riff. It’s the fully-fleshed equivalent of a Mastodon record on mushrooms. (It’s also my favourite track on the record.) The album is all over the map, but conceptually, it’s all bound together by an idea.

I think the idea is simple: jazz still has new places to explore, new cosmos to go. The comet may be coming, and when it hits, it might wipe out jazz as we know it. But the genre is beginning its formation into something new.

The Comet is Coming’s debut record is an unmissable delight for fans of challenging, complex music that plays with form and challenges the identity of genre. The band has earned a new fan in me, and I look forward to spending much more time with their music over upcoming years.

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Stiff is a rock album imitating some of the best soul records. It’s still loaded with the riffs the band has become known for — complicated musicianship and guitar lines that take precedence over the vocal routines — but the vibe of the record is retro-based, with influences that range from James Brown and Gary Clark Jr.

Ha Ha Ha (Yeah) is a perfect example of this: a guitar riff that’s clearly sole-influenced matched to the riff-heavy style that White Denim comes from.

It’s worth talking about White Denim’s origins, too. Hailing from Austin, the band is in a position to absorb everything going on there. The Dallas climate is filled with singers like Leon Bridges or bands like The Suffers, who are all respecting vintage traditional soul music. It makes sense that White Denim goes this route.

The soul influence results in two things: White Denim is now more easily identifiable, and after many albums, feel like they’ve come into their own identity. And their music is now more approachable than ever. That’s not to say that they’ve purposely set out to craft radio songs; it feels like that’s a natural byproduct of their newer influences.

Stiff is the sound of White Denim getting more comfortable with their heritage and where they come from. White Denim has never sounded so at ease, or mature. And while they might not have the same attention they had ten years ago, they’ve finally got a sound dialled in that feels completely theirs.

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Heron Oblivion is filled with raging rock riffs and quiet, pastoral moments that singer (and drummer) Meg Baird fills with an angelic sense of calm despite the overwhelming sense of unease present through the record.

The tone lends itself to wandering: Rama is over ten minutes long, with the band unafraid to explore their psychedelic leanings. Few songs have the immediacy of Oriar and Sudden Lament (which sounds like it would have fit it well in an alternate universe’s Pulp Fiction soundtrack).

Faro is the stand-out track (among many) on the record. Clear riffs and building tension set it apart from some of the other tracks, but the growing tension feels a constant need to reach catharsis with the guitars.

It’s an excellent summary for the album: despite the unusual calm that Baird is able to bring to the record with her vocal work, as the tension piles up, the album has to resolve itself with nothing less than cathartic guitar solos and pummelling riffs. It’s the sonic equivalent of a conversation in a diner leading to a film’s climactic shootout, as if two opposing sides can’t reconcile themselves.

All of that comes together with Heron Oblivion’s debut with shocking ease. Well aware of their clashing styles, the band doesn’t attempt to marry them without first embracing the tension and allowing it to dictate where the music needs to go.

Heron Oblivion is at its most transcendent when that tension explodes into guitar solos and drum batteries. The styles clash and complement each other in a way that feels original and unique to Heron Oblivion, and makes for an incredibly strong debut that’s not shy about the band’s aspirations.

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I Can’t Help You and Duke are great intros to this oddball record. That’s not to say the whole record is slow or apathetic; some of the later tracks introduce rock elements unheard in the first couple tracks. Check out Wild as an example.

When Cate really slows it down for the title track, there’s a whole different vibe of sadness going on. Throughout the record, you get the feeling that Le Bon isn’t pleased with the world around her. But by the end, you feel like maybe she thinks she’s the problem.

The album is existentialist wandering, as Cate drifts from one point of anxiety to another. It’s not political, and it’s hardly societal, but Cate is writing about the same dissatisfaction many of us go through: if everything is good, why are we so sad? What is it we’re missing? As a result, it’s a record that feels both distant and intimate, like Cate is holding up a mirror and also saying that we can’t possibly understand what her life is like.

She’s not despondent, though. She shouldn’t be: Mug Museum might be her strongest record yet.

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