#9: Cléa Vincent – “Retiens Mon Désir”

I’ve only really dabbled in French pop, but Cléa Vincent instantly reminded me of one of my favorites: Isabelle Antena, who back in the 80s combined electronic dream pop and Brazilian bossa nova, which was best showcased on her album Camino Del Sol. Like Antena, Vincent makes songs that are elegant and refined (it might just be that she’s French and I’m a boorish American), but her focus is more on the dancefloor, with a sound somewhere between Antena’s and the mutant disco stylings of Lizzy Mercier Descloux.

Vincent funnels those older styles through a modern pop sensibility, using a lot of colorful sounds and instruments to craft catchy hooks. Her music is instantly very warm and inviting, but is also tinged with a bit of melancholy. It’s that “I’m sad, let’s dance” style of pop, like on “Château Perdu,” which starts as a downbeat piano ballad before turning into a joyous saxophone-driven dance floor freakout.

This is another album where I don’t understand any of the words, but they feel even less necessary here, since pop music almost never relies on its lyrics to be enjoyable. (There’s also some practical application: lyrics distract me when I’m working, so this album soundtracked a lot of my writing.) Instead, it’s easy to bask in Vincent’s sunny productions and her charm as a singer, which made Retiens Mon Désir one of the year’s most satisfying pop diversions.

#10: Eerie Wanda – “Hum”

I’ve decided to start giving out a Trish Keenan Memorial Trophy for the artist each year who comes closest to emulating the Broadcast singer. This year’s goes to Eerie Wanda frontwoman Marina Tadic, who reminds me of Trish with her gentle psychedelic songs that strike a perfect balance between being charming and weird (or, I suppose, eerie).

Eerie Wanda’s actual sound isn’t much like Broadcast’s; there are no electronics, with songs always built off Tadic’s guitar and some light percussion and bass. The arrangements are simple, meant to showcase Tadic’s vocals while providing a tranquil, daydreamy vibe that evokes the 60s.

Tadic’s voice is the real defining instrument here: it has a warmth and dreaminess to it, but also somehow always sounds off-kilter and distant, which gives Hum its underlying strangeness that makes it stand out from other guitar pop albums this year.

#11: Kælan Mikla – “Kælan Mikla”

I can’t understand a word on Kælan Mikla’s self-titled debut album. The beauty of it is that I don’t feel like I need to. After taking the poetry slam circuit in Reykjavik by storm, the trio worked on setting their poetry to music, and came up with the sound heard here: an ominous, synth-driven throb that makes it clear they aren’t singing about sunshine and rainbows.

The band sings/speaks in their native Icelandic, and it’s possible I’d enjoy this album less if I could understand the words, or even more since I’m not getting the full picture. But I enjoy having some element of the music left to my imagination, and sometimes think lyrics can be a distraction. Instead of trying to piece together the “meaning” of these songs, I could focus purely on this album’s sound, and I loved the way the language sounded with the music and how haunting and mysterious it was.

There is an intensity and urgency in Kælan Mikla’s performance that crosses any kind of language barrier. Even if I don’t understand it, I think I can feel what they’re trying to convey, and part of music’s power is in that ability to express feelings in a very visceral way. Despite the sometimes witchy vocals and the oppressively dark sound, Kælan Mikla also make songs that are enjoyable to listen to, with real hooks and mesmerizing bass lines. Their music leaves a mark, even if I’m not entirely sure what that mark is.