In that light, perhaps it isn’t surprising to hear the band changing things up. I think Local Natives felt that Hummingbird took that style as far as it could go. Sunlit Youth is quite different.

If anything, Sunlit Youth is pure indie pop. “Dark Days” takes the band into directions they’ve never been before, but it’s emblematic of the whole record. But unlike most indie pop, Local Natives bring their famed attention to detail to most of the record. As a result, they create intricate moments that most indie groups (outside of Arcade Fire) are incapable of.

“Fountain of Youth” is a great example. The track has a massive chorus, as big as any indie anthem has ever been, but there’s a depth to the song’s arrangement that’s missing from most of the rest of the genre. The drums, vocal harmonies, distorted guitars, Edge-like guitar solos, and sparkly pianos and synths work together to create a densely-layered whole.

It’s a package that only Local Natives are capable of crafting. Each track sounds approachable and simple. But underneath that veneer, there’s a dense complexity few bands can pull off. Even their simplest songs, like “Coins”, feature instrumentation that most pop bands can only dream of.

In preparation for writing this, I read a few other reviews of Local Natives’ discography. I wanted to understand how some other critics viewed the band’s work. One reviewer said Sunlit Youth demonstrated the imprecise control Local Natives have over their instruments, and believe the album stretches them too thin.

I don’t hear that at all. Instead, I’m consistently surprised and delighted by complex tracks like “Jellyfish” and “Mother Emanuel”. On songs like these, the band feels in complete control — never unsure of their instruments.

Sunlit Youth is a new direction for Local Natives, but it’s not an unwelcome one. If anything, while the change is unexpected, it feels natural. Local Natives continues to pleasantly surprise me, and Sunlit Youth is an impressive achievement.

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Make no mistake, Post Pop Depression — if the album title wasn’t already a clear giveaway — is an existential album. Iggy is in full virtuosic form, with his genius — or Homme’s genius, because who can tell — on full display throughout. Iggy just plain old doesn’t care what you think anymore.

Josh Homme does, though. His production values are incredible on this record: the guitar notes are clear, the drums sound impeccably tough, and the bass hits hard. Homme has given this the same level of production he would a Queens of the Stone Age.

In particular, Gardenia reeks of Homme’s quality production and songwriting. Lyrically, it’s Iggy at his most torrid as he explains how he wants to tell Gardenia “what to do” tonight:

“America’s greatest living poet was ogling you all night. You should be wearing the finest gown, but here you are now — gas, food lodging, poverty, misery, and gardenia.”

And on Paraguay, in the record’s final moments, Iggy accuses the audience of being positively inhuman and tells them he’s tired of all their fear and insecurities. It’s pure Iggy — pure punk.

The inclusion of the other band members is vital, but confusing: is Iggy passing the torch to them? What’s next? When Post Pop Depression was first announced, the first thought I had was about how meta it was. Iggy Pop will come out and pass along the torch, making it clear who’s taking over the rock and roll establishment in his wake.

On Depression, though, Iggy doesn’t do that. He proves he’s still alive, pissed, and ready to take some names. If it really is his final record, it’s a great way to go. It’s an unapologetic admission that Iggy’s tired of being the guy America calls when it needs a friendly old-school rock and roller for an advertisement. It’s Iggy giving the establishment a big middle finger before walking offstage and riding a horse off into the sunset.

Instead of passing the torch, Iggy reminds us that nobody of the current generation can do what he does. He reminds us of his singular talent in front of the mic. It’s a reminder that nobody can do what he do. And maybe the significance of Post Pop Depression’s grease-filled, sexed-up angry sadness is that Iggy’s not ready to die with rock and roll — but he’s going to get out while the getting’s good.

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The title of this record is significant: it’s not St. Vincent’s debut, so why would she give it her own name? Self-titling a record usually suggests that it should define what an artist is about. This isn’t an accident: St. Vincent is the very definition of what Annie Clark wants to be as an artist.

Rattlesnake shows her off, but Birth In Reverse is really the best intro to this record — and maybe a great intro to her discography. Huey Newton is a perfect example of the way her music can go from contemplative and even happy to dizzyingly heavy and fuzzy in but moments. Bring Me Your Loves is like a weird Lady Gaga side project. In similar veins, Digital Witness and Regret are pretty much perfect, but you could argue that St. Vincent is at her absolute heart-wrenching best when she slows down for songs like I Prefer Your Love.

And in each of these songs, St. Vincent is throwing weird sounds at the listener, and she’s so talented that it’s hard to tell if she’s using a synth or a guitar to accomplish the noise. It’s a guitar god record from a performer at her peak, but it’s also a master lesson in songwriting. St. Vincent is unpredictable, powerful, and completely disarming.

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