It’s a level of thinking that’s clearly part of the thinking throughout Kiwanuka’s sophomore album. I think the great majority of people are going to be talking about “Black Man in a White World,” the album’s second track, because it’s both a good single and a reflection of Kiwanuka’s personal politics. It’s an impeccable song, but to focus exclusively on it would be doing the musician a great disservice. It implies he’s only grown lyrically.

But the truth is, Kiwanuka has grown a great deal from his debut to where he is today: as a singer, as a songwriter, and as a performer. There are elements of “Black Man in a White World” that are well above and beyond most of what soul performers are doing today — the choral arrangements, in particular, are excellent. And that’s all without mentioning Danger Mouse’s superb production.

But the rest of the record is astounding in other ways. Kiwanuka’s use of atmospheric elements is impressive. His vocal performance is indelible, buttery smooth, and transfixing. On “Place I Belong,” his voice soars above the instruments. Both the instruments and his voice sound like traditional roots rock. On “One More Night,” his performance makes a traditional blues line feel like something new.

The title track is perhaps the best track on the record, though: Kiwanuka combines everything he’s good at in one track: there’s a rolling bass line and that carries the song. His vocal lines are strong throughout, and his performance is tender. The atmosphere builds throughout with subtle use of a strings section, and excellent backing vocal performers who carry the beat. The bridge has such momentum to it that it elevates the song to another level — and the guitar solo is so evocative that it might make you weep.

And I should mention that the guitar solos throughout the record — and there are many — are each emotionally relevant, tasteful pieces that truly add to the songs in question. Somebody said years ago that guitar solos should be written for the song, not the other way around (and I neither agree nor disagree), but Kiwanuka is one of the few artists who really seems to have taken that advice to heart. The solos throughout are all excellent.

This is real soul music. It’s immense. It’s emotional. It’s incredibly satisfying. But at the same time it wouldn’t sound out of place in a film soundtrack. For some odd reason, it reminds me of The Lion King — perhaps because it evokes some of Elton John’s finest moments as well. Kiwanuka would be excellent in musicals.

Most importantly, though, is that when Kiwanuka sings, “You can’t break me down, you can’t take me down, you can’t break down,” I believe him. It’s an endearing performance, one that is stronger than the sum of its parts.

There are some performers who identify by their name when they should, perhaps, include the name of their backing band. (Brad Paisley comes to mind as one example, on occasion.) But with Michael Kiwanuka, it feels like he’s truly carrying the band with him. They follow his lead. His performance is excellent, his songwriting is without compare in the genre, and his storytelling ability is second to none.

Love & Hate is the maturation of Michael Kiwanuka’s sound and abilities. If you don’t know him, now’s the time to get to know him. If you like his debut, you’re going to love this.

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Hearing the admission was unsettling for those of us who kept up with the show (or the criminal case), but hearing it on a pop record feels all the more disturbing.

That’s not to say that Shura’s music is disturbing. Most of it feels like it straddles the line between modern pop and throwback electronica-influenced work. Take “Nothing’s Real,” which is the first “real” track on the record after the introduction. With a bass line that feels like it’s walking, the chorus feels influenced by the 1980s — Jackson in particular. But the chorus, and Shura’s vocal approach, is thoroughly locked into the 21st century. The bass line is overwhelmed by synth, and Shura’s vocal work builds into an emphatic, almost shouted final line.

Her vocal performance betrays the fact, though, that this album would have fit right in amongst the women making music in the ’80s. Even tracks like Touch fit right in to that decade. The album imbibes vibes from that era without ever sounding anything less than modern and twenty-first century, which is a feat in and of itself, but perhaps more impressive is Shura.

For a debut album, Shura sounds remarkably self-assured — even if she doesn’t trust herself or her emotions anymore, as the title of the record (and the content of the songs) suggests. For her, the record is her way of announcing liberation from her emotions during a particularly difficult time in the hospital. She’s a free woman, one bound to struggle with the difficulties of liberation — as she openly does throughout the record — but one who’s striving to become fully self-aware. “2Shy” is the embodiment of the entire record, the moment where it comes together thematically.

Within that framework, Nothing’s Real is the definition of what a good debut should be: Shura is sure of what she is, but grappling with the details. As her skills become more honed, I look forward to even more records in the future.

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Courting the Squall is a jazzy adventure of sorts with all sorts of eclectic blues influences. And while this isn’t the jazz your grandmother grew up with in New Orleans, it goes down better than almost all of the jazz I’ve heard in the past couple years.

And that might be because, like a lot of people, Guy Carvey is still a rocker, but he’s using rock as a vehicle to explore alternative genres — and allowing more jazz in than before. Courting The Squall feels like it’s an accomplished rock musician’s love note to jazz, but it also feels like the results of a resurgence of jazz fusion influence in rock.

It serves as a foundation for Guy’s voice to shine through, which is the important part. I wouldn’t compare Guy to Adelle, necessarily, but he has the sort of sultry voice that fans of Adelle might find familiar. It makes for a great experience that bears repeat listens.

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This is a band you’ll immediately recognize as being incredibly layered and nuanced with its details. I love it. Chocolate is another catchy radio song that I can guarantee is going to get some great airplay — especially that post-chorus. Sex is as catchy as you could imagine a song on that topic being, maybe catchier. Heart Out sounds like it’s straight out of the 1980’s, and Settle Down maintains that upbeat. Robbers is slower, and that’s when the album takes a turn.

A lot of people might misinterpret the album’s later tracks as being indications that the band can’t maintain a set of quality tracks, but slowing down makes it feel very emotional. Menswear is aesthetically beautiful, and when Matthew Healy finally starts singing, it feels nearly cathartic. Is There Somebody Who Can Watch You is totally different from the rest of the album, but its slow and sad melody makes me pause. I’m a sucker for a melancholic final track.

The 1975 is the kind of album you’ll want to put on repeat again and again and again, and I wish I could just share a Youtube link to every track. A must-listen.

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