Swim by Caribou

In his decade-long career, Caribou's Dan Snaith has fluidly moved between genres like folktronica, shoegaze, krautrock, and 1960s sunshine pop, assimilating their most familiar traits until they're practically in his DNA. His albums have felt warm, loose, and ecstatic (especially 2003's still-career-best Up in Flames), despite Snaith's behind-the-boards meticulousness.

By anyone’s standards, Caribou’s Dan Snaith has a pretty impressive batting average. With the exception of 2001’s slightly bland glitchtronica pre-season tryout Start Breaking My Heart, Snaith’s much-adored full-lengths wound up in many year- and decade-end lists throughout the naughts. Swim is Snaith’s fifth solo long player (two were released under a moniker whose name can now only be used to advertise on behalf of a geriatric ex-punk) and he’s back to broken hearts. Swim‘s sonics boast valleys and peaks that play out like the domestic dramas contained within the lyrics. Despite a decidedly acute pop bent held over from 2007’s Andorra, the sketches of human interpersonal struggle are best heard as the aggregate of a fragmented exposition, rather than nine separate acts.