Antonio Sanchez’s work builds on a single, looming tension, escalating until it breaks and a lack of sanity is revealed. And therein lies the rub of the film as well: you are listening to the slow de-tangling of a man.

Unlike Whiplash, its sister jazzy film from 2014’s Awards season, Birdman is not about feats of jazz strength, or virtuosity. It is about the act of performance. At times cool and suave, and at times suddenly broken, Birdman never sits still.

More interesting still is the way the soundtrack experiments with sound placement and timbre, matching the way the film does it. This may have been out of necessity, since the sounds and music in the movie often follow the movement of the camera, but in isolation, this is an especially interesting diversion from regularity.

And that’s what the whole soundtrack is about, really: it’s a diversion from the norm of film soundtracks. It doesn’t have an orchestra of any kind, electing instead to be more about the focus of a solo single instrument. It matches the film’s intensity, particularly because the drums can be both lively and under-stated in a single track.

People who haven’t seen Birdman may not get as much out of its soundtrack as those who have, but folks who appreciate subtle jazz experimentation will find a lot to enjoy here. Those who are more interested in flash and sizzle will quickly lose interest.

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That style is embodied by Rock Bottom, a song that reveals the college mentality is alive and well with Brendan Lukens’ writing. His writing reminds you that he’s aware of the people around you, but he seems aware mostly of himself.

Despite Lukens’ nearly Seinfeld-like inability to care about anybody around him lest he forget to deal with his own personal issues, the album has an air of intelligence to it. Skipping class because you already know it all, making literary allusions because you can and not because you want to, but caring more about chasing girls and identifying patterns of failure in your past, Modern Baseball is the perfect trip down memory lane for those of us who have already wrapped up our post-secondary education, and it might be the easiest record for students to identify with ever.

On one of the album’s loudest anthems, Lukens explains in an aside that he’s “sharp as a tack, but in the sense that I’m not smart, just a prick,” and it’s in that moment that you realize (if you hadn’t realized already) Modern Baseball is the real punk deal. Despite their college-age sentimentality, the band is more likely to tell you off if you displease you and write off your favourite 1920s-era American novel as a total waste of time — despite being well aware of the context of your friendship and your favourite novel.

Like Weezer, the band excels at writing catchy jingles to throw their self-deprecating lyrics at. And while the post-punk pop-punk style itself isn’t particularly unique, Modern Baseball’s attitude injects it with a sense of youthful vitality that has me excited for their next record.

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Far from being a soundtrack to a simple video game, fans of Monument Valley will know that the soundtrack had a monumental (pun intended) task. It had to match the intricacy of a puzzle game so gorgeous and understated that it won a design award from Apple, and it also had to carry the player through a game based more on texture than story-telling.

The soundtrack rises to the soundtrack with aplomb, easily moving from one theme to the next. It can be quiet or energizing, but it’s never over-powering and frequently calming. More importantly though, there’s a certain depth to it that’s lacking from most of its brethren.

Many people believe that music is made up of textures and colours. There’s a known phenomenon where some people perceive musical notes similarly to the way they perceive colours, to the point where they can close their eyes when they hear somebody play a D# on a piano and vividly see the colour they associate with that note. I imagine that, for those people, the Monument Valley soundtrack would be an incredible experience.

For the rest of us, the soundtrack transports us to another place. Even if you haven’t played the game, the music feels decorated with the same sense of playful curiosity that the game’s M.C. Escher-inspired art direction is. It’s moody without being sour, and more interested in sounds than it is in the construction of a whole.

That doesn’t result in a feeling of disconnect, though: the Monument Valley soundtrack feels united in its thematic sense of exploration as it guides the listener from one feeling to a next. Certain tracks are starkly reminiscent of the same Indian music that inspired The Beatles’ Tomorrow Never Comes — but in a completely different, quieter and more introspective fashion.

For fans of the game, the soundtrack is a must-listen. And for those of us who haven’t played the game, it’s a journey to a world we haven’t experienced yet — a journey as magical as many of our favourite film soundtracks. (And if you’re wondering what all the fuss is about, you can download the game for iOS here.)

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These guys sound like Noah Gunderson if Gunderson decided to find a larger group he could rock with. Or if Gunderson decided to lead a Mumford & Sons sound-alike. But honestly, instead of listening to the horrible new Mumford record, you should just put this on instead for a similar vibe.

Bear’s Den has an incredible hint of soul and a depth to the group that sounds both like despair and Sunday morning worship. Almost every song is beautiful. Check out Isaac though. That’s a wicked tune. And I think the whole album sounds like that.

Bear’s Den are on track to become a hugely successful band if you ask me. (I honestly think they’d already be super popular if they had a better, less passive name.) Listen to this record as soon as you can.

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All of that is to say: there is a degree of complexity to Empyrean Atlas that does not exist amongst most of their contemporaries. The album feels a little bit like math rock, but it’s largely experimental with its rhythms. And while the band would like you to believe they’re making something new, saying that would be doing them a disservice: they still stick within the conventions and boundaries of modern rock music. A chorus still sounds like a chorus, even if it is almost jazzy in feel and euphoric in its reckless abandon of standard time signatures.

All of that is to say, despite Empyrean Atlas’ best efforts, Inner Circle still feels recognizable. It’s a good thing, because it allows the EP to remain accessible despite its mathematical complexity. There’s a lot to unpack with Inner Circle, but if you choose not to get too deep into it, you’ll still find a lot to like.

Empyrean Atlas might not be reinventing the genre, but they are a singularly new talent within it — and they’re positively refreshing.

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And none of this should be surprising: Staples has a huge variety of sounds, and a lot of range as a musician. Having fronted indie rock band Twothirtyeight and started Discover America, as well as his solo career, he has a great sense of songwriting and understands what’s appropriate for what genre.

Not to mention the fact that he’s been touring with Father John Misty and Telekinesis when he’s got some spare time, and fits the whole “Canadian folk singer” vibe by working as a carpenter in between gigs (this is all according to Paste Magazine, so don’t quote me on it).

What it all adds up to is a record that feels like something you’ve heard before, but one that also feels like home. Like the best folk, American Soft sounds like Staples is singing songs we’ve known for generations and giving them a voice for the first time.

American Soft is highly recommended listening.

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If the point of dream pop is to take you somewhere surreal and seemingly unnatural, despite its largely organic roots, Still Life succeeds wildly. By using his voice as an instrument, Tortoriello is able to create something that succeeds for similar reasons Sylvan Esso’s debut does. Listen to I Won’t Bend — it’s a fantastic example of the way Tortoriello’s voice blends with the notes of the instruments around it. I also love Swing, Chevrotain, Still Life, and Discoloration.

Reportedly, Still Life took three years to write. It’s a downcast record all the way through, personal and isolated, and as Tortoriello disappears into the electronics, it becomes more than a parlour trick. By the end of the record, the loss of voice is the album’s most obvious metaphor.

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All of the greatness on this record comes from Little Dragon’s experience — this is their fourth record now — and from their innate sense of style. What makes Little Dragon great is their music’s intensity, and awareness of the live context. I love how each song on the record sounds like it’d be excellent live — it’s a different take on the electronic dance genre, that normally plays better when it’s performed on tape or by a DJ. Little Dragon is meant to play live.

Their experience with concerts definitely shines here. The singles are the most magnetic, energetic tracks on the record — the sort of thing Little Dragon would use to rile up a crowd. Paris is a great example of a song that relies on synths, but has the feel of a live band that would translate so well to a live audience.

Nabuma Rubberband is the sound of a band perfectly maturing and preparing for world domination. It’s a powerhouse of a record and a great sign of even more things to come as the band matures.

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Singer Amelia Meath’s dreamy voice and strange, but fascinating style takes off immediately in Hey Mami, but I think it really takes off with Wolf and Dress. Coffee and Play It Right are other standouts.

Producer Nick Sanborn, the other half of this duo, serves up a delicious serving of sparse synth tracks throughout the record, but it’s really in the way he matches the instrumentation (which often sound dark and melodramatic) with Meath’s voice. He’ll often layer her voice and use it as a backing track, letting Meath play off herself.

In a lot of ways, this isn’t too dissimilar from some of Timbaland’s production work — half the instruments are organic, and the other half are purely electronic. The organic instruments are almost entirely a cappella, or vocally driven. Despite the record being almost entirely synths-driven (and often very dark), it feels natural and warm as a result. The album is dense and intricate, but also sparse.

This stands up with Foxes’ Glorious and St. Vincent’s latest record for the best of 2014 for me, and I couldn’t recommend Sylvan Esso’s eponymous debut more. In working together to find widely-appealing sonic styles that both Meath and Sanborn are comfortable with, the duo has stumbled upon something original and impossibly endearing.

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It offers great choruses on songs like You Are a Metaphor, but it’s hard to say the record will catch on — the word that keeps coming back to me while I listen is “niche”. You probably already know if this sort of indie synth pop appeals to you. With slow builds like The Long Goodbye interspersed throughout, this album is both enjoyable and predictable — the Capsules aren’t breaking any new ground, but they are capturing a certain sound with magnificent aplomb.

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