It's hard to believe, but three more months have passed, and we're already halfway through the year! Since my post on quarter one, the year has gained even more speed as far as quality music releases go, and many of my favorite albums of 2016 so far have been released in the second quarter. For that reason, this post is even longer than the last one, which is why I've tried to keep my blurbs as brief as possible. The upside of that, though, is more music! If you'd prefer to skip right to listening, check out the Spotify playlist below (minus one album I hear you can only get on this thing called Tidal). If you need to be convinced first, continue on to the reviews!

Fair warning: this post contains a NSFW album cover. Proceed accordingly.

It's 2016, and it's no longer cool to hate on pop music simply for being pop music, especially when it's as immaculately crafted as much of Dangerous Woman. "Into You" alone is probably the best radio single I've heard this year, throwing back to the effortlessly cool R&B-infused pop of the early '00s in a way that feels fresh within the current pop landscape. When Grande coyly requests "a little less conversation and a little more touch my body" at the chorus' apex, try not singing along. Yet this is only the tip of the iceberg: the dark edges of the title track and "Leave Me Lonely" allow Grande's impressive vocals to reach newly mature heights, and "Greedy" is the perfect slice of disco revivalism you never knew you needed. The album does suffer from inconsistency overall, but it's never anything less than a joy to listen to.

Bayonne is the solo electronic project of Roger Sellers, about whom I know nothing else. Technically, Primitives was released at the end of quarter one, but I hadn't listened to it enough to form a clear opinion. I heard the first single, "Spectrolite," at random and was struck by its intricate, labyrinthine structure. Tracks like it and "Appeals" should please fans of Mew with their sprightly melodies, twinkling instrumental backdrops, and ethereal vocals. Meanwhile, the album's softer moments, like the gorgeous "Lates," are more reminiscent of Sigur Rós in the way they comfortably ebb and flow, building gradually from droning lullabies into aquatic, dreamy post-rock. Like the music of both of these bands, Primitives feels of another world entirely, almost inhuman in its mysterious, singular beauty.

I have to hand it to Beyoncé and her team: no one else in the current mainstream game has achieved reinvention on this grand of a scale. Lemonade even more fully embodies the diversity, experimentation, and boldness introduced on 2013's Beyoncé with its mastery of countless genres. As much credit as all of the songwriters and producers deserve, Beyoncé's chameleon-like vocal command seals the deal. From reggae-flavored pop ("Hold Up") to blistering blues-rock ("Don't Hurt Yourself") to grimy, R-rated R&B ("6 Inch") to New Orleans swing-infused country ("Daddy Lessons"), every second feels incendiary and vital. By its end, Lemonade becomes downright emancipatory: "Freedom" and "Formation" remind us that this is a political and personal statement, too, with plenty of substance to match its style.

"The masterpiece, she looks a lot like you," Adrianne Lenker sings, her voice a coquettish shrug, on the title track of Big Thief's Masterpiece, before eventually drawling in exasperation, "This place smells like piss and beer/Can you get me out?" Her lyricism juxtaposes the restlessness of young adulthood and the volatility of love against the stagnancy of small town living, calling to mind indie stalwarts like Jenny Lewis and Conor Oberst. The band's music similarly places it among such company, whether in the form of blustery, twangy alt-rock ("Real Love," "Humans") or dusty acoustic balladry ("Paul," "Velvet Ring"). Lenker's bluntness leaves little room for idealism, but neither does real life. When she concludes that "no one . . . could kiss away my shit," the revelation rings just as true for the listener.

Broods, the electronic brother/sister duo of Caleb and Georgia Nott, first captured my attention with their impressive self-titled EP. The full-length that followed, Evergreen, was unremarkable, a bland compromise between anthemic pop and chilled-out electronica. While Conscious isn't particularly adventurous, it goes all in on its commitment to hook-filled, stadium-sized pop songs, which makes it a more consistently engaging listen. The lead single, "Free," is massive, transforming a relatively simple refrain into a life-affirming chant; equally catchy tracks like "Couldn't Believe" and "Full Blown Love" follow suit. But even more interesting are the album's sidesteps, like the stirring ballad "Freak of Nature" and the darkly epic closing title track, the icy atmosphere and choral-style vocals of which hint at the duo's full potential.

I'm still warming up to Fear of Men's sophomore effort, Fall Forever; despite its surface similarities to their debut, Loom, the two have very different effects. Loom lessened the drama of the band's darkly surreal lyrics with countless hooks, crisp instrumentation, and Jess Weiss' youthful vocal delivery. On Fall Forever, though, alongside bursts of catchy dream pop ("Island," "Trauma") sit broodier, darker, and longer tracks ("A Memory," "Until You," "Sane") that sound genuinely jaded due to their experimentation with jarring, aggressive synths. This time around, when Weiss sings a line like "This vile body was rendered in stone" or "I'm as clean as the shame will allow," you believe her rather than glibly sing along. As a result, the appeal is less immediate but perhaps more deeply felt.

Here's me cheating again: this album was released in January. I was initially unimpressed, but I suppose it just needed to germinate. Florist is a showcase for singer/songwriter Emily Sprague, and The Birds Outside Sang is their debut album. It's introspective and subdued, conceptually based around a car accident Sprague barely survived. Although catchy two-minute folk-pop gems like "White Light Doorway" and "Cold Lakes Quiet Dreams" are scattered throughout, the album's most rewarding moments are those that require more patience. "I Was" is a somber, reflective ballad that hesitantly blossoms, and the experimental title track drowns Sprague's gentle voice in harrowing synths before resolving in the earnest query, "Do you and your friends want to come into the field and watch the fireworks shoot up into the air?"

I first learned of Gallant (first name: Christopher) through his vocally prolific cover of Sufjan Stevens' "Blue Bucket of Gold" accompanied by the man himself. Ology is first and foremost a vehicle for those immense vocal talents, but it is also a refreshingly diverse collection of smooth R&B with an occasional dark bent. "Shotgun," for example, begs to be hummed along to but, at the same time, asks the ominous question, "What good is a sword next to a shotgun?" The equally catchy "Bourbon" uses alcoholism as a metaphor for a tumultuous love affair. Later, the sultry groove of "Weight in Gold" turns an exercise in vocal prowess into an emotional tour de force, while a ballad like "Chandra" is subtler but no less effective. Who can even blame Gallant for relying so heavily on his falsetto when it's this damn perfect?

Half Waif is the solo project of Nandi Rose Plunkett, who also contributes to Pinegrove. (The more my listening becomes consumed by DIY/emo revival bands, the more I realize just how closely-linked they all are.) The two have little in common otherwise, apart from being spectacular. If you're a fan of arty pop in the vein of My Brightest Diamond, St. Vincent, or Lydia Ainsworth, you should listen to Half Waif immediately. Though only twenty-seven minutes long, Probable Depths is a stunning emotional minefield of structurally complex baroque pop filtered through quirky electronica. Your ears will instantly perk up to the left-of-center catchiness of "Nest" and "Turn Me Around." But it's the subtler stuff - the soothing, hypnotic title track; the lush, exquisitely layered "Overthrown" - that begs to be unpacked through repeat plays.

Like TWIABP's Harmlessness last year, The Hotelier's Goodness has forced me to eat my words about a hyped band I had previously dismissed. It helps that I've stopped being repelled by the word "emo" and that Goodness defies the restraints of a single genre. "Make me feel alive/Make me believe that all my selves align," singer/lyricist Christian Holden bellows on "Soft Animal." Such declarations occur frequently, inspired by Holden's Taoist beliefs, but their poetic leanings (the same track name-drops Mary Oliver) prevent them from being amateurish. They are further grounded by their raw, unpretentious indie rock casings and Holden's intense vocals. On the expansive closer, "End of Reel," Holden admits, "I don't know what to do with the sight of you brimming;" it is this optimistic uncertainty that most deeply resonates.

As Japanese Breakfast, Michelle Zauner makes exuberant post-punk dream pop, an amalgamation of sounds you won't realize how sorely you've been missing from your life until you hear Psychopomp for the first time. If you're not sold by the driving, synth-heavy opening of "In Heaven," you'll almost certainly be won over by its soaring, optimistic chorus; even the occasionally murky DIY aesthetics are charming, as is Zauner's urgent, atonal wail. "Rugged Country" and "Everybody Wants to Love You" are equally delightful in their balance between catchy pop choruses and no-fucks-given punk attitude. Meanwhile, "Jane Cum" is a risk that pays off, its dramatic goth atmosphere at once hypnotizing and terrifying, and the stark "Triple 7" places Zauner's wounded delivery front and center to devastating effect.

James Blake's anticipated third album, The Colour in Anything, is a conundrum for me. I find it enjoyable while listening but remember little once it's over and don't feel particularly compelled to hear it again. This is probably a symptom of its length and relative homogeneity, as well as the fact that I've always wanted to like Blake's music more than I actually do. At any rate, it's doubtlessly beautiful and has a handful of knockout tracks that deserve high praise. "Radio Silence" turns the repetition that elsewhere feels like a crutch hypnotic, and the lush, moody harmonies of Blake and Justin Vernon on "I Need a Forest Fire" stun. Tracks like "Noise Above Our Heads" and "Choose Me" inject some much-needed energy; the latter is especially impressive with its labyrinthine structures and unexpectedly aggressive vocal turn. 

Despite its title, Puberty 2 trades much of the musical angstiness of Mitski's breakthrough, Bury Me at Make Out Creek, for subtlety. The album arrives less as an immediate gut punch and more as a slow-burning ache, switching out unbridled energy for instrumental experimentation ("Happy") and creeping, insidious melodies ("Crack Baby"). That's not to say it doesn't have its moments of catharsis, like the explosive chorus of "Your Best American Girl," which is probably one of the best songs of the year. Throughout, Mitski's lyrics zero in on depression and anxiety with easy relatability. "Today I will wear my white button-down/I can at least be neat/Walk out and be seen as clean," she sings on "A Burning Hill," reminding the listener and herself that sometimes those small accomplishments can mean everything.

Mutual Benefit makes perfect music for drifting asleep to: gentle, warm, and enveloping. Jordan Lee's tender voice, often complemented by effervescent harmonies, floats comfortably atop pillowy backdrops of strings, piano, acoustic guitar, and light percussion; strengthened by lush, intimate production, each song is a lullaby whispered into the listener's ear. Skip a Sinking Stone reminds me of Soft Cat's All Energy Will Rise from last year, both in sound and the fact that both bands are revolving collectives of musicians joined by a single songwriter's vision. From "Lost Dreamers" to "Not for Nothing" to "Many Returns," the album drifts like a lazy river, a wellspring of subtle but distinct melodies. There are a few moments of stunning, unexpected release ("Skipping Stones"), but the main purpose is to soothe not surprise.

I feel lucky to have blindly stumbled upon Beautiful Poetry because I've seen it discussed literally nowhere. While none of its songs blow the R&B/soul genre wide open, they are gorgeous, powerful, and immensely listenable regardless, and Nadia Nair's voice is a force of nature. Songs like "Hardships" and "Dear Brother" are fairly straightforward but made infinitely repeatable by big, addictive hooks and Nair's commanding delivery, which is sultry and luxuriant beyond her years. Her vocal command is even more jaw-dropping on the passionate title track; it and others would likely appeal to fans of Lianne La Havas. On "Blow," which has perhaps the most infectious, pulsing chorus of all, the album takes a left turn into futuristic electro-R&B territory (think a slightly more accessible Dawn Richard/D∆WN or V V Brown/V V).

Pity Sex hails from Ann Arbor, MI, which means I can add the band to the small list of good things to come from my home state; luckily, they also make excellent music. While the combination of midwestern emo sensibilities and hazy shoegaze atmosphere introduced on their earlier releases was often compelling and occasionally revelatory, White Hot Moon comes close to perfecting this sound. Britty Drake and Brennan Greaves trade off vocal duties, her sweet, plaintive coo a counterbalance to his lazily disaffected monotone. Greaves' tracks are typically the more heavily distorted and work best when brightened by Drake's presence ("Bonhomie," "What Might Soothe You?"). Drake further shines during her turns in the spotlight, which range from the biting "Burden You" to the devastating "Plum" to the urgent "Pin a Star."

There are no hints of timidity or uncertainty on Seratones' debut, Get Gone, which starts with a bang (literally, in the form of the rambunctious blues-rock opener "Choking on Your Spit") and never once lets up. AJ Haynes has a voice seemingly hand-delivered from the gods, and the effortless permutations it goes through on tracks like "Trees" and "Don't Need It" will leave you gasping for breath as a listener. Luckily, the band gives you scattered opportunities to regain your composure in the form of slow-burners like "Tide," the gently expansive verses of which give way to an infectiously soulful chorus, and the tender closing torch song, "Keep Me." Haynes' brassy tone is complemented by loose, gritty electric instrumentation and smart songwriting, making for one of the most air-tight debuts I've heard this year.

As a long-time Tegan and Sara fan, I feel compelled to review Love You to Death, despite my lack of enthusiasm. My opinion is subject to change, naturally, but I'd probably only rate their first two albums lower on my personal list of favorites. What's so frustrating about the album is not its attempt at mainstream pop appeal but the fact that it is a pale imitation of its predecessor, Heartthrob, which boasted truly well-crafted heart-on-sleeve electropop. While I appreciate the blatantly queer subject matter, lead single "Boyfriend" is indicative of the larger problem: an over-reliance on repetition, uninspired lyricism, safe melodies, and nearly faceless vocals. Even so, "Stop Desire" and "U-Turn" are immensely sing-along-able, and "100x" and "BWU" show hints of emotional depth. They're just not particularly interesting, is all.

Going By's lyrics pull no punches in their depiction of emotional anguish, nor does Felix Walworth's wobbling, tearful voice. The first verse of "Sweater" frankly reveals the narrator's depression through their inability to muster interest in the smallest things: "Talking used to pass the time . . . But talking became a waste of time . . . And my life became a pantomime/Of my life when I like to be alive." Yet the album's frills-free instrumentation, simple melodies, and cyclical construction provide a sort of comfort. "Felix, you can battering-ram this life" ("Low Hymnal") becomes "I want to battering-ram this life/But I go by" ("Delicate"). By the same token, "no legible self" ("Tall Cans Hold Hands") becomes "my body but not the illegible one." For Told Slant, stagnancy and growth necessarily coexist within that nebulous thing called living.

Over the years, Wye Oak has stealthily become one of my favorite bands. Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack have maintained consistent quality by experimenting with their sound and nurturing its core aspects simultaneously. Tween, a surprise collection of formerly unreleased tracks (many recovered from the band's period of identity crisis between Civilian and Shriek), sounds at once like a greatest hits and a distinct artistic statement. On one end is "If You Should See," a thick, shoegaze-y wall of guitars punctured by dreamily transitory vocals; on the other is "Watching the Waiting," Wye Oak's most overtly bright and poppy track yet. The journey between proves that even the duo's rejects are better than most bands' a-sides and should whet any fan's appetite during the wait for properly new material.