Schmilco reminds me of those songs.

This is obvious from the opening notes. “Normal American Kids” is a folk opener that feels inauspicious after the rocky tracks of Star Wars. Featuring just Jeff Tweedy’s voice and acoustic guitar, “Normal American Kids” defies logic by excluding bass lines and drum work from the song at all.

When the other band members finally get a chance to contribute on “If I Ever Was a Child”, they take a back seat to the acoustic guitar and Tweedy’s voice. Schmilco is a folk record. It’s different. If Sufjan Stevens took over the band, this is the record I would expect them to make.

Not every song is completely downbeat. “Nope” has a playful backbeat. “Someone to Lose” feels like it’s from The Whole Love era — a rollicking bass line carries the song forward, not unlike the best songs from that record.

But the record is at its best when Tweedy and co. are being willfully laid-back and folk-inspired. “Quarters” and “Happiness” (which is obviously ironically titled) are two standouts towards the end of the record.

There are poor songs here — nobody would say Schmilco is the band’s best record — but they’re few and far between. If anything, Schmilco has a good batting average. But it lacks the energy of a traditional record, and that’s going to throw people off at first listen.

As a result, the most legitimate complaint people could have with Schmilco is that the band sounds bored. I don’t think they do — but I think they know that’s the reaction they’re going to get. The title alone is a dead giveaway that they’re certain nobody will care about the record. It’s as if they threw their hands in the air and said “whatever.”

Whether or not you’ll like Schmilco depends on whether or not you already like Wilco. For newcomers, it’s not going to be the best place to start. But if you’re a fan of the band, you’re going to find a lot to like here — despite the album title’s suggestion otherwise.

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Three years later, Groenland’s sophomore album feels so much more sophisticated and mature that it’s hard to believe it’s from the same band. Sabrina Halde is still undoubtedly the star, but she’s given a much larger musical expanse to play with.

A Wider Space is an apt name for the album. It feels as if the band wanted to sound bigger, larger in scope, without losing their quirks and charms. They succeed with flying colours.

This is obvious from the first track: “Nothing Personal” is better than anything on their previous record. The music has a lot in common with both French jazz and Canadian indie, but the band is finally coming into their own. “Distractions” takes some inspiration from St. Vincent. “Healing Suns” could become a hit (and at the time of writing, the most popular track from the band on streaming services).

The album works because it retains the intimacy of Halde’s voice, even while the instrumentation is growing. The band is jazzier than before, and they sound bigger than they ever have before. It sounds almost like they’re a larger band than they were before.

Part of this is because of a massive improvement in production quality, but that doesn’t account for everything on display here. The songwriting is much better. The title track is evocative of the band’s growth. With a wider array of instrumentation and more complex and intricate songwriting, the band has become much more dynamic.

In short, the songs on A Wider Space have developed a personality that goes well beyond quirks. The songs here have character without imposing it. In short, Groenland stepped it up. Their sophomore record is one that I’m happy to recommend. It’s an album I can embrace. It makes me feel warm fuzzies about indie pop. I think you’re going to love.

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Beach Baby sounds influenced by everything from Noel Gallagher to Bono, with a heavy does of The Cure and shiny rock. Listen to “Sleeperhead”. There’s a heavy dose of Noel Gallagher here, but there’s also a bit of The Cure in there. The song doesn’t make any lyrical sense. That’s not a rub on the band — most great rock doesn’t make any sense. It just means they get it.

On songs like “Limousine” and “U R”, the band plays at full speed, rocking on riffs that shimmer with reverb-filled distortion. The band is most effective on songs like these, where they don’t sound bogged down by adult worries.

That doesn’t mean the glum tracks are bad: “Powderbaby” is one of the album’s stronger tracks, despite its gloomier nature. Like most rock bands, Beach Baby is simply best at faster, upbeat tracks.

But the songwriting here is almost completely unimportant. It doesn’t matter. After all, this is rock music. What does matter is swagger, attitude, and memorability, and Beach Baby has all three in spades.

The other day, I had to spend a bit over four hours in the car. I put Beach Baby on and, despite having only heard the record a bit over half a dozen times, found myself singing along with the songs. No Mind No Money is one of the first albums this year that I’ve been able to sing along to in the car.

And if that sounds like a small thing, I don’t think you understand rock music.

Rock music is at its best when the band has swagger, and people want to sing along. The genre is at its best when singing along makes it feel like you’re part of something bigger than yourself. Look no further than Oasis for proof of this. Successful rock music makes for great karaoke, nearly every time.

In that sense, it’s easy to proclaim that No Mind No Money is one of the better rock records to drop this year. It’s easy to sing along to the title track and feel something, even though the lyrics are largely nonsense. (It’s those nonsense lyrics that let us add our own meaning to the song, so that makes sense.)

So I’m of two minds with Beach Baby: I know that their record is, like most action movies, largely surface-heavy. There isn’t a lot of depth to these songs. Summing up the record is easy: “adolescent boys grow up and struggle with adulthood on tape.” But a record can be emotionally successful and viscerally rewarding without lighting the world on fire.

Beach Baby makes critic-defying music with audience-aware sensibilities. You can sing along to it with your friends. Rock music like this brings people and communities together, so No Mind No Money is exactly the kind of record we need to hear right now.

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So yes, Ben Wendel looks back on What We Bring. The album is a retrospective on acoustic, traditional jazz. It reworks classic compositions with a modern perspective. In particular, Wendel’s quartet focuses on rhythm. Each of the songs on What We Bring features a strong rhythmic backbone, which makes some of the intricate solo work more approachable for jazz newbies.

In other places, though, Ben Wendel embraces indie rock. “Doubt” is a reinterpretation of Wye Oak’s track of the same name. Once again, the backbone is stronger here than in the original. If anything, Wendel makes the song sound even sadder than it did before.

“Song Song” feels like the most traditional jazz track here. While it’s still influenced by much of today’s more vocal indie pop, there’s a playfulness here that’s evocative of jazz’s golden era. Similarly, Wendel’s cover of “Solar” is both technically impressive and melodically astute — creating a version of the song that is both memorable and unique.

What We Bring is about what musicians bring to the table: their influences, their peers, their taste, and their ideas. It’s a fascinating concept for a jazz record. Artists with new ideas and fresh perspectives always refresh the genre, which is exactly what What We Bring encompasses.

What We Bring is a record made by masters, but it’s also humblke in its search for new ideas and fresh visions. It’s one of the year’s best and most interesting jazz records.

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A week ago, I saw a screening of La La Land at TIFF. Equal parts heart-wrenching and enchanting, it’s easy to see the film as a major contender come awards season. The performances are excellent and the direction is impeccable. While the film is obviously modern, it takes many of its visual cues from the earliest Hollywood musicals.

While all of that will sell tickets, the film is provocative for other reasons. Most importantly, it’s a love letter to traditional jazz. In one scene, Ryan Gosling explains what makes the genre so great: the tension between improvising musicians, its unpredictably, and its ability to look back while also dreaming of things yet to come.

It’s a poignant scene. Metaphorically, it compares jazz to the film’s story, but more importantly, it frames jazz in a modern context for film-goers. People who don’t love jazz, or haven’t appreciated it in years, will come out of the film with a newfound appreciation for the genre.

Even the music throughout the film is appropriately jazzy, with Gosling’s tracks being the most traditional. When Gosling encounters tension between jazz’s past and future, we root for him to contextualize it for us. Gosling serves as the point-man for the audience. His convictions about jazz convict us. By the end of the film, the audience roots for traditional jazz because they want to see Ryan Gosling succeed.

Damien Chazelle made a film for jazz lovers with Whiplash, but La La Land will make us all jazz lovers.

After the film was over, my wife and I walked through Toronto’s city streets until we found a jazz bar. It felt like we had to continue soaking in the genre, absorbing the tension that Gosling speaks about in the movie.

La La Land might be a musical, but its not a traditional one. It doesn’t feature big-band tracks the way Chicago did. La La Land’s best songs are its quieter ones. It’s authentically jazzy.

As strange as all of this sounds, La La Land might breathe life back into the genre. Its authenticity is refreshing. Its dream-like qualities make the film’s musical interruptions compelling, even for people who find musicals traditionally nonsensical. The film will introduce thousands of people to jazz again.

And that’s something we should all be excited about.

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