“Charlemagne” is an astounding single, justifiably getting a lot of accolades from the media. But I think the band really comes into its own on the second half of the record. In fact, if you were to divide Blossoms in two with “Onto Her Bed” as the midpoint, I think you’d have two halves of a record that reflect a band still gripping with its identity.

That’s normal for a debut full-length record, but it’s also necessary for a band with the influences Blossoms has: how can you mine bands like Abba, Hall & Oates, Duran Duran, Pet Shot Boys, and The Wombats while coming up with your own identity?

The answer, I think, lies in how you mix guitars and synths. (And I think Blossoms agrees with me.) There’s no genre better at straddling the lines between pop and rock than ’80s disco/rock/pop. The genre had a history of blending these instruments and sounds together into a single undefinable mass, and Blossoms is trying to find their place in that.

The second half of their debut feels much more intent on finding the upbeat place where these things blend. “Blown Rose” blends guitar sounds and pop noises in a remarkable Beatles-esque way, and it works swimmingly. “Texia” is full-blown rock, despite its instrumental trappings.

When people rave about how much they love “Charlemagne”, they mean they love the sound of Blossoms when the band comes into their own. “Charlemagne” is easily the track that sounds most like the second half of the record. While the album’s first half is great (“At Most a Kiss”’s fantastic vibe comes to mind), the second half is where the band really comes to life. I can cheer for a band that writes songs as great as “Smashed Pianos” or the astounding “Cut Me and I’ll Bleed”.

Blossoms is separated from their peers because you can cheer for them. They have a confidence that reminds me of the way Oasis barged onto the scene. Unlike Blossoms’ oft-referenced peers, The 1975, who often (despite the quality of their music) feel like punk kids unaware of their context, Blossoms feel like a band that want you to cheer for them. They know what they’re doing. They’re not purposefully writing throwback music — it feels like they were entrenched in that era’s sound for so much of their lives that it comes naturally and authentically for them.

Blossoms is restoring your faith in guitar-based rock and pop: the band is aware of their history and having fun with it at the same time. They have swagger and soul, and their debut record has me cheering. You couldn’t ask for more.

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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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Yet The Cadillac Three are one of the only country bands flirting with rock that don’t come off as sell-out losers. The band is never less than completely authentic — it’s hard not to like them.

Part of that is because the band continues country’s time-honoured tradition of being America’s most fun party music. There aren’t many of the genre’s mopey songs on Bury Me in My Boots; instead, the band focuses on party tracks like “Hot Damn” and purposefully corny lyrical accompaniments like “You put the ‘hot’ in ‘hot damn.’”

At their best, the band is able to capture elements of rock and country at the same time. On “Soundtrack to a Six Pack”, the band captures the twangy timbre of country with the musical techniques of rock groups — complete with big riffs and power chords. It’s incredibly effective.

The band also has an incredible track pacing throughout the record that balances the country-flavoured tracks and the rock tracks quite well. “White Lightning” balances “Soundtrack to a Six Pack” well, reminding more traditional-favouring country listeners that The Cadillac Three aren’t forgetting about them. It’s a tricky balance, and the band nails it.

The tracks that are the most fun are perfect for summer: “Ship Faced” is the perfect party (or hangover) song. “Party Like You” is the perfect starter for a night at the country bar. The afore-mentioned “Slide”, “Peace Love & Dixie”, and “Hot Damn” are party monsters. There haven’t been rock tracks this good all summer.

A lot of Southern rockers can do good party songs — Kid Rock does great party songs despite making terrible music — but The Cadillac Three are the real deal. These guys have exactly the right attitude, the right swagger, the right verve. There’s nothing about them that feels out of place or fake. The nicest thing about Bury Me in My Boots that anybody could say is that it’s approachable, real country rock that’s perfect for a wide audience on a Friday night. The genre doesn’t get better than that.

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But despite her ability to craft country music that tops the charts, it’s her solo work that feels most expressionistic. The Bird & the Rifle, which is her tenth record by my count, largely tells stories about women who can’t escape their negative relationships with bad men. (As a man, I don’t feel totally qualified to write about this, but I’m going to give it my best shot anyway.)

At her best, McKenna’s songs are powerful regardless if you understand what she’s talking about. “If Whiskey Were a Woman” hits like a punch in the guy. “Old Men Young Women” feels like a softly-sung plea. “Halfway Home” has lyrics that strike: “Calling the dreaming girls looking for a saviour; he ain’t gonna save you.”

“Wreck You” opens the album with McKenna’s voice, singing “I get dressed in the dark each day,” almost silent as the instruments slowly come in. Produced by Dave Cobb (the producer also responsible for recent efforts by Sturgill Simpson), The Bird & the Rifle has a disarming authenticity to it. It feels like McKenna is singing you these songs by the fire, sharing her story with you in trust.

Because of that nearly-alarming sense of intimacy, the album is better than it has any right to be. It’s the perfect combination: intimate, crystal-clear production paired with country-influenced Americana folk and great storytelling. The Bird & the Rifle sounds like a songwriter at the top of her game. As a result, the album is approachable despite its heavy subject matter.

The Bird & the Rifle is also an album of immense substance in its stories. It’s not just that they’re emotionally compelling; they also feel like a call to become better people. As a man, it feels wrong to comment on the obvious gender bias of the album; most of the songs are written from the perspective of the broken woman. These stories are all tragedies, but they’re also meant to be lessons.

As a result, The Bird & the Rifle elevates McKenna to a place of compassion — a rare quality in today’s music. During the title track, McKenna sings “He’s afraid if she flies, she’ll never come home again. Something about the bird in her spreading those wings always bring the rifle out in him.”

It’s a single moment among many that feel at once aware and sensitive of the situations women everywhere are in every day. The Bird & the Rifle is an album that should be celebrated because it celebrates women, and because it has compassion for them.

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Roy’s young: she’s a 1991 baby, which means she’s younger than me (talk about feeling old), but she’s been writing music for more than a decade. And after learning to play guitar, she recorded acoustic singer-songwriter EPs and sold them from her backpack during lunch break.

I suspect it’s that background that makes her debut EP so good. The focus here, despite the massive pop hooks on display, is undoubtedly her songwriting ability and vocal performances. Despite the synth-pop nature of each track, there are actual songs here.

The first track, “Don’t Chase” (which you can hear an acoustic version of here), is a perfect example of the subtle ingenuities she brings to each track. Roy ends the song mid-bar, but the note doesn’t feel wrong. When most musicians do this, it doesn’t sit well; it sounds forced. Here, the exact opposite happens: it feels completely natural.

When I was in high school, I took vocal lessons for a couple years. I remember my teacher explaining that every popular singer — be it James Hetfield (of Metallica) or U2’s Bono — had vocal “ticks” that they had developed over years of singing. The ticks are unusual sounds or emphases that their voices make.

On some tracks, Laura Roy’s vocal ticks shine through. I love “Take Me Down”, which has a delightful vocal tick in the chorus that’s sublime. The vocal ticks throughout this EP, but especially “Take Me Down”, are how I know Roy’s been singing a lot longer than most people would assume.

Each of the six tracks on Roy’s EP is worth listening to; they all have little moments that shine through. “Plastic”, the EP’s finale (and perhaps its best all-around track), has a great bridge that’s completely memorable despite being a simple twist on the song’s rules. It’s a step above much of today’s pop, and a surprisingly rich sound from a debut artist. Like most pop singers, the lyrics aren’t providing particularly deep social commentary, but I can’t help thinking Laura Roy has a strong future ahead of her as one of Canada’s best pop exports.

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