The Playlist: A Vintage Surprise From the Weeknd, and 9 More New Songs

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/30/arts/music/playlist-weeknd-cardi-b-stephen-malkmus.html

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Every Friday, pop critics for The New York Times weigh in on the week’s most notable new songs and videos — and anything else that strikes them as intriguing. This week, Cardi B blasts a cheater, Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks get riled up and John Parish and PJ Harvey sing a tribute to Mark Linkous.

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Anxiety and resentment drip off “My Dear Melancholy,” a great new EP by the Weeknd announced and released on short notice this week that’s filled with scarred, tart songwriting and dismal moods. Which is to say: vintage Weeknd! Here, he is both savior and judge, sweet singer of cruel sentiments. The beat — produced by Gesaffelstein and Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo (of Daft Punk) with Cirkut — is stormy and dreamy in equal measure, and the Weeknd is coolly vicious atop it. Throughout this EP, he applies the polished songwriting he’s picked up on his path to pop saturation, but the most gratifying parts are the moments of unvarnished bitterness that can’t be smoothed over. JON CARAMANICA

Cheat on Cardi B? Not a good idea. The track combines a tinny, off-the-shelf vamp that could have been marked “Latin” on a 1950s chord organ with a few trap accents, but there’s no mistaking the fury in the song. “My heart is like a package with a fragile label on it,” Cardi B sings, and that makes her bitterness mount in verses that detail how he kept sneaking around while she was faithful, even thinking about marriage. There’s suspicion, disgust, self-doubt, anger and thoughts of karmic retribution — but it’s still not over: “This is not a threat, it’s a warning.” JON PARELES

The old indie-rock indifference doesn’t play so well in 2018, and Stephen Malkmus — who perfected the noisy offhand shrug as the leader of Pavement — is unmistakably riled up in “Shiggy,” from an album with the Jicks that’s due in May. The bass is more bruising and the drums are heftier; guitars unite to blare out hooks. And when he sings, “Don’t speak your dumb wisdom/I’m not so easily confused,” it’s not hard to guess his target. J.P.

The guitarist Mary Halvorson is basically opposed to things that could spark any easy association or soft comfort. She doesn’t do campfire strums or snaky jazz guitar lines or steadily arcing song structures. And apparently her M.O. as a lyricist is roughly the same: fragmented and semi-opaque, unrhymed, sometimes verging toward language poetry. We know this thanks to “Code Girl,” Ms. Halvorson’s new album, named for the quintet she recently assembled with Amirtha Kidambi on vocals, Ambrose Akinmusire on trumpet, Michael Formanek on bass and Tomas Fujiwara on drums. Case in point: Is “In the Second Before” a love song? A loneliness song? A defiant dance? After a low, rustling intro, the group finds itself in a lovely flow, and Ms. Kidambi intones: “His voice comes/out of the sound/of the million people/we are known/to discard.” But that gentle sway is fleeting: The track ends in a cloud of Ms. Halvorson’s electric scuzz. GIOVANNI RUSSONELLO

The sound and imagery of gospel infuse this enigmatic song, an anticipatory elegy that’s the B-side to a more combative new single, “I Owe You Nothing,” by the Swedish songwriter Seinabo Sey. “You say you want to be remembered,” Ms. Sey begins, singing completely alone; a choir, slow organ chords and eventually the deep rasp of Jacob Banks are all that join her through the first half of the song, which vows, “When the trumpets call/you can send me to the Lord.” Finally, drums and orchestral strings arrive for a rousing march that’s also a plea: “Remember me.” J.P.

All the attention given to the wink tossed at Timothée Chalamet on “OKRA” obscures something far more important: This is one of Tyler, the Creator’s sharpest songs in years, full of urgently mumbled and funny lyrics — “$30,000 just for luggage, financial adviser buggin’” — over a beat that’s a low, slimy, persistent groan. J.C.

“The sun never felt colder,” PJ Harvey sings in “Sorry for Your Loss,” which is dedicated to the songwriter Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse, who committed suicide in 2010. He had worked with both the songwriter-producer John Parish and Ms. Harvey. The music echoes Sparklehorse, setting a Celtic-modal banjo against a looming, distorted electric guitar; the song captures the eerie persistence of grief. “The window rattled and I wondered if you’d just passed over.” J.P.

Phum Viphurit is a young Thai singer raised largely in New Zealand with an unpretentious style: a mild Bublé croon over Mraz-esque guitar breeze. “Lover Boy” is his best song to date — he leans hard into the syllables, making them sound sticky, but keeps his flirtation light. J.C.

“Kolorblind,” the new album by DJ Esco — Future’s D.J. — is, from some angles, a backdoor Future album, and a welcome one, more breathable than his own recent full-length releases. Out of several strong songs here, this one has sinuous charm and a chipper 1980s back-and-forth lightness. J.C.

Vortex is a Swiss quartet whose music tends toward a percussive, guitar-driven minimalism, not ambience. But on “Vortex,” the group’s fourth full-length, the guitarist David Torn joins as special guest and spirit guide, and he changes things. A frequent composer of film scores, he’s a fan of atmosphere and accrual. The single, sustained note is his friend; so is the loop pedal. At the beginning of “Red Shift,” a stubborn, puddly bass opens up a wide bed, and a throng of guitars begins to bite and snipe over top. But here comes Mr. Torn, crafting a big, luminescent haze above it all. Five and a half minutes in, the track strips down nearly to silence: The troops are in retreat, provisioning for another salvo. Then the build starts again, more urgent than before. By the end we’re beyond gravity. G.R.