Beach House

“BLOOM”Sub Pop RecordsBeach House’s music can be so beautifully dreamy as to be soporific. There aren’t a lot of tempo changes or stylistic shifts going on from song to song or album to album, as French-born singer Victoria Legrand’s somewhat androgynous vocals take flight on patiently soaring melodies that rise over repetitive keyboard washes decorated with Alex Scally’s always subtle slide guitar embellishments.

“Bloom,” the Baltimore-based band’s fourth album, stays the course last heard on 2010’s captivating “Teen Dream,” as Legrand and Scully expertly evoke a swooning, melancholic “strange paradise” that luxuriates, as “Wishes” puts it, in “the moment that memory aches.”

When you first put it on, the album can seem like mere mood music, but as it builds, “Bloom” opens up with vibrant emotional impact.— Dan DeLuca, The Philadelphia Inquirer

Best Coast

“The Only Place”Mexican SummerBest Coast branches out on “The Only Place,” expanding the mastery of the sun-kissed, retro-California indie-pop sound on “Crazy for You” to ’60s girl-group pop and ’80s college-rock jangling. Singer Bethany Cosentino is still all about simplicity, in her delivery and in her lyrics, but her multi-instrumentalist collaborator Bobb Bruno and precise producer Jon Brion giddily place her in new contexts.

The title track feels like it could spin off into The Smiths’ “This Charming Man” at any moment, while “How They Want Me to Be” sounds like a lost Shangri-Las’ song about teenage rebellion.— Glenn Gamboa, Newsday

Adam Lambert

“Trespassing”RCA RecordsAdam Lambert has learned an important lesson — you can’t please all the people all the time.

Unlike his debut, tellingly titled “For Your Entertainment,” Lambert’s new album “Trespassing” sounds strictly for himself — a well-crafted collision of electronic dance pop and upper register, booming vocals mostly about pushing the envelope and enjoying life.

For much of “Trespassing,” Lambert draws inspiration from Michael Jackson and Queen’s Freddie Mercury that encourages him to sound bigger and bolder than ever. Subtlety be damned.

The title track, written by Lambert and Pharrell Williams, is a bit “Another One Bites the Dust” on the verses and sorta “Hollaback Girl” on the chorus, but the way Lambert whirls it all together, it sounds completely his. The same goes for “Shady,” which has elements of Jackson and Christina Aguilera in both delivery and the musical arrangement, but is undeniably Lambert.

“Trespassing” does have its serious moments, including the touching ballad “Outlaws of Love,” which seems to defend same-sex marriage, as Lambert wraps his voice around the lines “They say we’ll rot in hell, but I don’t think we will. They’ve branded us enough — outlaws of love.” The way Lambert twists it into Radiohead-styled prog-rock — and back again through his phrasing — is a great trick. However, “Runnin’” trumps it, taking a standard pop song and arranging it into a thrilling, dramatic dance anthem.

“Trespassing” shows that Lambert is too good to waste time trying to please the pop masses. They’ll catch up eventually.— Glenn Gamboa, Newsday

Saint Etienne

“Words and Music by Saint Etienne”Universal RecordsSeven years since their last full-length CD, London electro-poppers Saint Etienne return with a love letter to the power of pop. From the glittering “I’ve Got Your Music,” a paean to mixtape magic (“When I’m alone/ in my ‘phones/ I feel love/ in digital stereo”), to the single “Tonight” (on the rush of catching the It band in concert), to “Haunted Jukebox,” an ode to melody-evoked memories, at the heart of these 13 disco-dappled tracks is pop music’s ability to enchant, to open a world beyond one’s childhood bedroom, to inform and transform.

“Over the Border,” chanteuse Sarah Cracknell’s spoken-word opener recounting a 10-year-old’s musical awakening, inquires, “And when I was married, and when I had kids, would Marc Bolan still be so important?” The answer: an emphatic yes.—Brian Howard, The Philadelphia Inquirer

John Mayer

“Born and Raised”Columbia RecordsInfamy has its uses, and atonement has its limits. John Mayer, who has come to grips with at least one of those truths, doesn’t want to seem ungracious in the face of judgment. He wants you to know that he’s his own harshest critic, even if he can’t help saving a piece of justification for himself. Over the past two years, anyway, in the wake of a self-damaging round of publicity and a corresponding shudder of contrition, he has plumbed the depths of his broken soul, returning with lessons in song.

So goes the irresistible subtext of “Born and Raised,” Mayer’s fifth studio album, a precious gift wrapped in burlap and baling twine. As palatably sure-footed as anything in his multimillion-selling catalog, the album nonetheless reflects a shrewd adjustment, swapping out his usual airtight gleam for a meaningful touch of Laurel Canyon folk-rock. The opening track, “Queen of California,” name-checks early 1970s landmarks by Neil Young and Joni Mitchell over an easeful groove cribbed from the Grateful Dead. The title track, about owning up to the passage of time, has background vocals by the present-day David Crosby and Graham Nash.

This is an album of dual impulse, in other words, an attempt to turn back the clock while moving forward. “If I Ever Get Around to Living,” another Dead-evoking tune, paints an image of Mayer’s 17-year-old self, dreaming and hopeful, as-yet unmarked by tattoos or TMZ. “I think you better wise up, boy,” he sings during the fade-out, and it’s unclear whether he is admonishing his younger self or his current one.

Elsewhere he leaves no such uncertainty. “The stage was set, the words were mine/ I’m not complaining,” he quavers softly in “Whiskey, Whiskey, Whiskey,” a patently Mayeresque ballad. “The Age of Worry” mines similar territory: “Know your fight is not with them/ Yours is with your time here.” And the album’s gently twangy lead single, “Shadow Days,” has been widely construed as a response to the country-pop star Taylor Swift and her indignant anthem “Dear John.”

One of the strangest and most affecting songs here is “Walt Grace’s Submarine Test, January 1967,” about a basement tinkerer who set off in a homemade submersible despite the advice of everyone close to him. Mayer unravels the tale dispassionately, although it’s not hard to see his investment in it. And eventually, against long odds, coming up for a new lungful of air.— Nate Chinen, The New York Times