The Boxer, the Australian, and the Girl Who Pops the Glock

Kele Okereke didn’t need Bloc Party for The Boxer—or at least that’s the argument he’s making. His solo debut runs on fast beats and genuinely catchy melodies, and as a statement of independence from the band that made his name it mostly lands. But you can hear the absence. The Boxer is a clean, well-produced record, and that’s exactly its problem: Bloc Party had friction, a specific sound built from four people scraping against each other. Without it, Kele is working in a room that’s slightly too quiet. Still good. Just slightly haunted.

Sia’s We Are Born does that thing she’s always done—ballads that genuinely hit you, followed immediately by fast experimental pop that makes you feel idiotic for having been so moved thirty seconds ago. The Australian hasn’t changed the formula dramatically since her early records, but why would you? You don’t know whether to cry or laugh, and she’s not interested in helping you decide. That particular emotional whiplash is its own art form.

Then there’s Uffie. Imagine Amanda Blank and Steve Aoki had a child together while jubilantly throwing themselves into a nuclear-contaminated lake—that’s roughly where Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans lives. Her debut album doesn’t offer many surprises if you’ve been following along, but surprise was never the point. It’s trance music for people who’ve already taken the pills, and it does that job without apology. Pop the Glock is on there, because of course it is, still doing exactly what it always did. Some things don’t need to evolve.