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The ashen bird mask, the possessed-pinball-machine beats, the vocals doctored to sound like a 300-pound interdimensional Mongol: These are things that the Knife's Karin Dreijer Andersson uses to better understand her humanity -- not, as it would seem, to deny it.

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Theoretically, this sophomore album from San Diego one-man band Nathan Williams shouldn't be hard to replicate. For song titles: Pick a sunny descriptor such as "beach" or "summer" and affix it to "demon" or "goth." For music: Use a Yak Bak to record some catchy doo-wop crooning, schwasted punk drumming, and shitgaze guitar fuzz.

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Eric Elbogen's fifth album illustrates what happens when a songwriter gets too good at recording without leaving the house: Instead of merely sounding "multi-layered," the music causes a listener to start visualizing acoustic riffs and drum-machine patterns copy- pasted and arranged on a laptop monitor.

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It would be charitable to assume Cursive's sixth album is satirical, but that's the only way to stomach all the humanity-hating it holds. Tim Kasher, now 34, narrates some dude's responsibility-ditching wanderings while obsessing over the fact that we all used to be worthless, instinctual animals that became worthless, self-important humans -- "the joke of all existence," he concludes.

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On this Massachusetts songstress' fourth full-length, hell isn't an afterlife; it's life lived in the grip of loss. With her luxuriant, Renaissance faire soprano, Nadler sketches out the ways that a bright past can fade to a torturous present haunted by "ghosts and lovers." Even percussive standouts such as "River of Dirt" wallow.

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Some hotly tipped, well-groomed, overseas dance-punk groups slink into the public consciousness via disco glitter and a slummy lyrical wit, but this quartet is betting on pure pop firepower. Bernard Butler, hipster rock's Jerry Bruckheimer, produced this impressive debut, a tsunami of galloping rhythms, lightning-charged guitar lines, and choruses that immediately infect your brain.