At the beginning of the year, I decided I was going to be less relentless in keeping up with new releases. Of course, this still means I listened to quite a lot, but I tried to stick primarily to things I was already anticipating and things that got so much praise they were impossible to ignore. I've also stopped listening to albums all the way through if I'm not feeling them after five or so songs, which was something I wasted a lot of time doing last year. Maybe I'm missing out on that one magical song or that album that suddenly clicks and becomes an all-timer, but I figure if I'm meant to hear them, the universe will eventually make it happen. For now, I'm enjoying actually having time to digest music (both new and old) before hastily rushing forward to the next shiny distraction. Here are eleven albums and one EP released in quarter one that I've thoroughly enjoyed getting to know.
I'm hesitant to describe 2012-2017 by Against All Logic (frequently abbreviated as A.A.L, better known as Nicolas Jaar) as pleasant because that's the exact word I'm most suspicious is used in other reviews as code for "bland." But there's no denying it's one of the most easy to listen to albums I've heard this year. It's also one I don't really know how to talk about in technical terms because I lack any sort of familiarity with house music, which I've seen it called. At any rate, it's highly enjoyable. My brain lately has become attuned to this frequency where nothing sounds better than chopped-up vocal samples, groovy synths, and wonky beats. Needless to say, the mash-up of infectious soul melodies, organic instrumental motifs, and surprising bursts of electronic experimentation is right up my alley. 
For years, Cecil Frena released glitchy, hook-laden experimental electro-pop under the moniker Born Gold that was equal parts cerebral and cathartic. The Gridlock is his first release under his own name, and much about it will sound familiar to long-time listeners. Two of its standouts, "I Want to Guard You from Boredom" and "Hyphen," actually began life as Born Gold songs before being re-purposed here. At the same time, Frena has dialed down his more manic and abrasive tendencies, resulting in a collection of songs that is his most direct and accessible yet. Earnest, gut-wrenching ballads like "Nerves Grow Rust" and the aforementioned "Hyphen" exist alongside punchy alt-rock-meets-electronica anthems ("All of My Heroes," "Die Old"), all executed with equally compelling confidence.
Ezra Furman's Transangelic Exodus may tell a dystopian story, but it's one that feels uncomfortably familiar. The narrator's lover is an angel, who, after undergoing a controversial surgery, is on the run from a government bent, out of fear, on oppressing his self-expression. Furman-as-narrator is an anxious but optimistic presence, ragged voice caught up in a tangle of instruments as desperate as the duo's escape: "They still can't kill us hopefully, and you're in the car on the road to me with your brand new body." The parallels to the marginalization of queer and trans individuals in America's current political climate are clear. Despite so much bleakness, the core message is ultimately one of empowerment: be yourself and fuck everyone else. Or as Furman succinctly puts it, "I'm a little creature and they can't catch me."
Ten years ago, Scandinavian teenage sisters Klara and Johanna Söderberg, collectively known as First Aid Kit, posted an acoustic cover of Fleet Foxes' "Tiger Mountain Peasant Song" to YouTube. Their rich, flawlessly executed vocal harmonies caught the attention of the right people at the right time, planting the seeds of their development into Americana darlings applauded by the very musicians they grew up idolizing, from Paul Simon to Emmylou Harris. Their fourth album, Ruins, sounds like two young women coming into their prime as songwriters and individuals. Earnest pop-country songs like It's a Shame, "Postcard," and My Wild Sweet Love contain some of their catchiest melodies. But the sisters also slip effortlessly into dusty torch balladry on subtle tearjerkers like "Fireworks" and "To Live a Life."
In 2015, The Go! Team released The Scene Between, which, on one hand, contained three or four of the most joyously infectious songs I'd ever heard and, on the other hand, also contained a lot of underdeveloped filler. It was promising but inconsistent. Luckily, Semicircle picks up where that album left off to much greater success. The opening trifecta of "Mayday," "Chain Link Fence," and "Semicircle Song" are as instantly electrifying as an energy drink, serving the brash carelessness of playground taunts and cheerleader chants set to Brill Building pop melodies and backed by a full marching band. Elsewhere, in "All the Way Live" and "She's Got Guns," these influences collide head-on with a heavy dose of hip-hop attitude. It all adds up to a messy kaleidoscope of noise that sounds like it was as fun to make as it is to listen to.
I've said it before, but for the past several years, Jonna Lee has consistently been behind some of the most creative and thrilling work in the synth-pop genre, and yet she has also been consistently overlooked by music listeners at large. Everyone Afraid to Be Forgotten, her debut, largely self-produced release as ionnalee, serves as further proof that in a just world, she would already be a star. The album encapsulates the past, present, and future of Lee's foray into electronic music. Beyond the immaculate blend of catchiness and spookiness in its singles (Joy, Not Human, Samaritan, "Gone"), Lee experiments with her more playful side on "Work" and "Blazing." She even throws long-time iamamiwhoami followers a bone with "Like Hell," a hauntingly sparse reworking of the soundtrack to one of their earliest teasers.
Folk singer Johanna Warren is nothing if not consistent. Gemini II is her fourth album (as well as the companion piece to 2016's Gemini I) and further proof that she may be incapable of writing a bad song. On the flip side, this uniformity also means that the album holds few surprises if you're at all familiar with her past work. Still, why fix something that isn't broken? It's hard to fault Warren for knowing so well what works - in her case, her warm, rich vocals over tasteful flutters of acoustic guitar, piano, and strings. One of the most bracing moments is "Say You Do," wherein Warren disturbs the song's lullaby-like calm to embody an abusive lover. "Go ahead, get the fuck out," she snarls menacingly. "Don't you know who I am? You're just a little woman, and I'm a big man." After, she returns to serenity, like a storm never even passed through.
For the past couple years, I've gravitated toward one really solid but under-championed rock album that may not break new ground but has enough passion and grit - not to mention countless unshakable melodies - to be compulsively listenable. In 2016, it was Lady Pills' Despite; last year, it was Cayetana's New Kind of Normal; and this year, it might just be Long Neck's Will This Do? Between the no-nonsense drive of its instrumentation, the brutal honesty of its lyrics, and the brassy timbre of Lily Mastrodimos' voice, the album is immensely likable and deeply relatable. Mastrodimos writes about how fucked up being young can be ("'Oh, don't get so sad'/I'm working through it the best I can") but also the moments of beauty that make the struggle worth it in the end ("I sat to watch the sunset, and I just fucking lost it").
On Room Inside the World, Ought successfully transitions to a more streamlined and sophisticated indie rock sound without losing the essence of what made their earlier chaotic post-punk so likable. Tim Darcy has always been a charismatic frontman, but here he finds his voice as an actual singer, a tone both florid and rugged that imbues his impressionistic lyrics with raw emotion. Meanwhile, the band's musical chemistry gives the album an easy, rambling energy despite the obvious care with which these songs have been crafted. I've already sung the praises of its spectacular pre-release singles (These 3 Things, Disgraced in America, Desire), and the rest of the album, thrillingly concise, holds its own against them, from the theatrical passion of "Disaffectation" to the brash swagger of "Take Everything." 
If I'd heard Sevdaliza's album, Ison, last year, it probably would've ended up with a prominent position in my top 30. Fortunately, she releases music at such a steady pace that I still get the opportunity to talk about her this year anyway. Although The Calling is an EP, at 30 minutes long, it feels much weightier. The obvious highlights are "Soul Syncable" and Human Nature, the latter of which is one of the most transcendent songs I've heard in a long time. But after a few listens, the subtleties of the other tracks start to shine through. In lesser hands, the EP's reliance on downtempo ballads, all built on mystical lyrics, cinematic strings, witchy synths, and dark trip-hop beats, might wear thin. But Sevdaliza has the voice - lush, velvety, sensual, and extraordinarily nuanced - to carry the style off with exhilarating freshness every time.
U.S. Girls teased In a Poem Unlimited with a remarkably strong string of pre-release singles; Mad as Hell, "Velvet 4 Sale," Pearly Gates, and "Rosebud" are all bold, quirky, and unapologetically political art pop songs that sound like nothing else out there. Amazingly, they may not even be the best the album has to offer. Nearly every song puts up a fight for that title, especially "Rage of Plastics," which smolders with repressed frustration, and "L-Over," a groovy but brutal break-up letter. Amidst even the most bombastic soundscapes, Meg Remy's voice always steals the show, sounding something like a deranged Cyndi Lauper, terrifyingly saccharine and charismatic as hell. After making small ripples with her last release, Half Free, Remy deserves a breakthrough, and In a Poem Unlimited may just give it to her.
In terms of new releases, Cocoa Sugar by Young Fathers was easily my most surprising and interesting discovery in 2018's first quarter. It wasn't on my radar at all until I kept seeing praise heaped upon it, and now it's an album that opens itself up more with every listen. Genre-wise, it touches on a little bit of everything: hip-hop, soul, gospel, punk, blues, pop, electronic. As a result, there's no shortage of thrilling twists and turns that will keep you constantly on your toes. "In My View" and "Turn" have choruses so catchy they've been stuck in my head since the first time I heard them, but they're shaken up by gritty and menacing rap verses. The deeply meditative "Lord" sounds like a generations-old devotional filtered through a dystopian lens, while "Wow" is nightmarish surrealism acted out on a dirty dance floor. 