In other words, the track titles force us to talk about the album as a whole.

And as a cohesive whole, 22, A Million is worth talking about. Remember how weird it was when Bon Iver started singing on Kanye West tracks? It didn’t make sense then, but it does with 22, A Million. The transition is now complete. Bon Iver, Bon Iver was a stepping stone towards this, and in retrospect, it feels like an awkward sophomore attempt. This was always the future.

Justin Vernon interest in fusing electronic music and folk goes back to the beginning. And can you blame him? He recorded For Emma, Forever Ago on his laptop. Electronic sounds are an obvious direction to pursue.

Many of the tracks on 22, A Million exemplify this change. “10 d E A T h b R E a s T “, “33 ‘GOD’”, and “715 – CREEKS” are easy examples. What’s incredible about the tracks isn’t just Vernon’s unbridled creativity, but the fact that he actually pulled it all together. He made something beautiful out of all of this.

In a lot of ways, it’s fitting that we first got hints of this new Bon Iver sound from his performances with Kanye West. With 22, A Million, it feels like Bon Iver is trying to make a similar statement of creativity and power. This is Bon Iver’s 808s & Heartbreak. People might revile the record now, but we’ll look back on it with fondness as the turning of a corner.

If that comparison doesn’t resonate for you, it’d be fair to compare the album to Radiohead’s Kid A. It’s as if Justin Vernon said that too much of the folk scene sounds the same, that he didn’t want to add to the noise, and he wanted to make a change.

That change ripples through every track no this record. It’s almost impossible to talk about them individually. Lyrically, Vernon continues to be somewhat cryptic. But despite the distance that the electronics introduces, his voice feels more intimate and earthy than ever.

“8 (circle)” is a great example. Vernon’s voice makes it feel like the song is a private performance, but the electronics give the song a spacious depth it would otherwise lack.

It’s all so fitting for Justin Vernon, a man who seems bound to his neurosis of musical self-doubt, uncertainty, and reinvention. 22, A Million is a record about the ripples new sounds introduce, and the butterfly effects they create. It’s a beautiful record that’s reminiscent of watershed moments of the past, but only time will tell how we remember it.

As for me, I don’t want to be on the wrong side of history. 22, A Million could go down as Bon Iver’s first masterpiece.

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And I Had A Dram That You Were Mine is a heck of a record. Leithauser’s vocal performance is practically unhinged, as intimate as it is performative. He has the intensity of an evangelical pastor on the bridge of “Sick as a Dog”. While his voice might be an acquired taste for some (see “1000 Times”), Leithauser’s performance is among the best in indie music this year.

The music itself is excellent too. Vampire Weekend will miss Batmanglij on their new record — it’s clear from I Had A Dream That You Were Mine that he’s a large part of their creative force. (According to Vampire Weekend’s lead vocalist Ezra Koenig, Rostam will still be contributing to their upcoming record — but who knows how much of it, or in what in capacity.)

It’s easy to compare I Had A Dream That You Were Mine to Vampire Weekend. Not unlike Rostam’s former band, there are no rules here. No two tracks are the same, often shifting from one genre to another (sometimes in a single song). “In a Black Out” feels like a flamenco-influenced pop piece, but “Rough Going (I Don’t Let Up”) pairs ’50s doo-wop with an indie sing-along chorus.

“A 1000 Times” shares the same genes as Vampire Weekend’s “Obvious Bicycle”, but it’s got the urgency and intensity of a Walkmen song. “The Bride’s Dad” has all the intensity of a Bob Dylan song. “The Morning Stars” has the musicality of Vampire Weekend, but the energy of a Walkmen song — but still sounds completely different from anything else on the record.

To be doubly clear: there are no rules here.

You can’t classify Leithauser + Rostam’s debut. That’s likely the point. Both musicians have something to prove. As an album, I Had A Dream That You Were Mine is a statement of creativity. These men want to be known not for their bands, but for their creative abilities.

Like every record from The Walkmen and Vampire Weekend, I Had A Dream That You Were Mine is special. It’s oozing with creativity. Its songwriting is impeccable. And its performances are top-notch. There’s nary a bad track. I Had A Dream That You Were Mine is a rare treat, and one of the year’s best.

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I use the past tense because Opeth doesn’t make death metal anymore. Sorceress is their third prog rock record. The band is more interested in musical ideas than they are in pure intensity. There isn’t any screaming on Sorceress, and the music is less aggressive than it’s ever been. (And yes, Äkerfeldt may still be one of the best singers in the genre’s history.)

With Sorceress, the band has finally grown comfortable with the sound. This is the best they’ve sounded in ten years. Äkerfeldt has developed a soundscape that brings constant variety to the band’s compositions, without making the music less challenging or absorbing.

No two tracks on Sorceress sound the same. The title track, with all its pummelling rivers, is completely different from “The Wilde Flowers” or the gorgeous “Will O The Wisp”. The songs share lyrical themes about failure and poisoned love, but they rarely share musical ideas. While most musicians write love songs, Opeth writes about love as obsession.

There’s a metaphor to be made here about the band’s songwriting, which reflects an obsession with the new. “Time waits for no one,” Mikael sings on “Will O The Wisp”. “It heals them when you die. And soon you are forgotten, a whisper within a sigh.” It’s often hard to separate Opeth’s music and lyrics from their fear of stagnation and death. They would rather reinvent themselves.

But Opeth struggles to reinvent themselves on this go-around. What hasn’t the band done at this point? If there’s a single noteworthy addition to the band’s sound, it’s a newfound appreciation for jazz.

“I started listening to jazz and bought a lot of Coltrane records,” Äkerfeldt explained in a press release.  “I never really thought Coltrane would be for me because I like ‘dinner jazz.’ Like Miles Davis’ ’50s stuff.” That transition is obvious on Sorceress. Structurally and musically, there’s more than a passing resemblance at time to John Coltrane and other heroes of jazz’s golden era. “Strange Brew” was an obvious ode to Miles Davis’ later work, as well as Coltrane.

“The Seventh Sojourn” experiments with many of the same Eastern sounds that the jazz greats experimented with decades ago. (The track could double for a film soundtrack.) Even on tracks like “Era” or “Chrysalis”, which experiment by combining jazz and rock, the band embraces experimentation and intensity without returning to old habits. They’re better for it.

The difference here between this and the last Opeth record is more subtle than ever before, but it’s noticeable if you know what to look for. But three albums into Äkerfeldt’s new vision for the band, it’s clear that nothing is safe.

Sorceress is the band’s third prog rock record,and they sound more comfortable than ever before. It’s also the band’s first record with Nuclear Blast, one of metal’s most prominent labels. But the new label doesn’t restrict them: the band continues to experiment with new sounds and styles.

For some fans, Sorceress may allow them to embrace the Acceptance phase of grief in Opeth’s new sound. But there’s a maturity here that no longer sounds like experimentation for the sake of experimentation. Simply put, it sounds like Opeth is finally comfortable being themselves. The music is great, but the band’s attitude is refreshing.

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Wise talks about growing up in the church and later struggling with his faith and sexuality while experimenting with the occult. He talks about the confusion between the hurt of his soul and the gospel of the church.

But there’s more to the record, I think, than blending soul and gospel. Wise’s music is comfortable without labels or “comfortable” identities. “Blisters”, the opening track, takes a lot of cues from soul music, to be sure. But there’s also a lot of gospel — particularly in the hand-clapping and the choir (who appear throughout the record).

Yet there’s also something operatic about it. Wise’s voice flutters up and down notes and scales, unpredictably guiding listeners through tracks that often feel like the melodic equivalent of spoken word sections at open mic nights. There are moments when Baroque-flavoured instruments appear on the soundstage, but they blend into the background in favour of Wise’s voice.

To be clear, Wise’s voice is sensational. It carries the project on its own. Each song benefits from Wise’s performance, which gives the sometimes-vague lyrics serious emotional heft.

On “Four Ethers”, the force of an entire orchestra stands behind Wise. The song is beautiful, and the classical influence and operatic flair gives it the weight of a ten-ton truck. It’s my favourite track on the record. It’s dramatic, it’s emotional, and it’s the album’s darkest track.

Blisters is dark the way that D’Angelo and Kendrick are dark. It’s a reflection of confusing times. The album feels confused, despite that the blend of soul and classical sounds fresh. It’s odd to call an album neo-soul when it’s so clearly a mix of classical music and alt-‘90s soul, but there’s a lack of genre in Blisters. It doesn’t have a label. And like its performer, Blisters sounds completely comfortable with that.

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Gold Complex is a mere five tracks long, which the band hopes will be enough to tide fans over while they record their debut. Almost all of the songs are show-ready, though, which makes them perfect for your laid-back house parties and live performances. (And word on the street is that the band’s got a killer show.)

You don’t need to look any further than “Backbone”, the band’s opening track. There’s a great moment just about three minutes into the track: a sax solo fires up in the middle of a track, and for a split second, you think it’s the vocalist gearing up for another verse. The solo’s surprising every time, and never unwelcome.

The blend of soul and pop continues on “O.G.”, which has a couple terrific bass lines. “Cities & Lovers” and “Katrine” slow things down a bit towards the end. These slow-burn tracks harken back to some of the biggest names in old-school soul and R&B. “Katrine” has my favourite solo moment on the record. It’s a simple scale-stepping solo at first, but the way the instruments all bounce off each other is delightful.

The music works because the band is able to pull off the blend so perfectly. Gold Complex (the EP) is a perfect blend of soul and pop that’s both completely impressive and utterly inoffensive — which makes it a great introduction to the genre for those of us who have a time approaching it. It also shows great potential for the band.

If the EP has any downside, it’s that it’s nearly too polished. Gold Complex could benefit from letting their music get a little rough around the edges. As it is, lovers of soul music might find the EP pandering. But if the band stripped away any of the polish, I don’t know if they’d have the same audience.

So let me just say it, and get the elephant out of the room: Gold Complex is soul music for white people. But the band is so good at it that it’s hard to fault them for it.

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