It’s impossible to hear all the music that comes out every day, but with this list we hope to direct your attention to generally overlooked albums our writers and editors have been returning to over the last few months. None of these releases were named Best New Music and, in some cases, they weren’t reviewed on Pitchfork, but they’re all worth a listen.

(All releases featured here are independently selected by our editors. When you buy something through our retail links, however, Pitchfork may earn an affiliate commission.)

Thin Wrist

75 Dollar Bill: I Was Real

Parts of 75 Dollar Bill’s third album sound like if a concert at the Kitchen, New York’s vaunted avant-garde space, spilled into a crowded Irish bar up the street. Microtonal guitarist Che Chen and plywood crate-hitter Rick Brown take cues from Mauritian wedding music, folk jigs, downtown avant-garde, and heady guitar jams; their hypnotic repetition feels worn and calloused just the right amount. There’s so much metallic detail in the duo’s noise that it envelops their ragas, quarter-tone pinches, and subtle shifts in harmony. They may only toss around one or two riffs on the 17-minute title track, but these two exceptional composers and their host of collaborators turn a few notes into a dizzying circus of sound. –Jeremy D. Larson

Listen: Amazon Music | Apple Music | Bandcamp | Rough Trade

Dog Show Records

100 gecs: 1000 gecs

100 gecs thrive by taking inspiration widely and wildly. The duo’s latest, 1000 gecs, stirs together the fembot bubblegum of PC Music and the deafening cheerleader chants of Sleigh Bells, then zonks them out further with SoundCloud-rap distortion, faux-metal growls, and post-Skrillex dubstep drops. There’s also a chipmunk-voiced ska song, a snot-nosed ode to ringtones, and a wistful finale in which a bouncy, blown-out Euro trance beat keeps accelerating deliriously. You may love or hate every left turn, but 1000 gecs remains one of the most obnoxiously catchy delights of the summer. –Marc Hogan

Listen: Amazon Music | Apple Music | Bandcamp | Spotify

ANS

Anthony Naples: Fog FM

Fog FM, the third LP from New York-based DJ and producer Anthony Naples, is full of atmospheric gloom, with a world of textures hiding in its robust techno beats: abstract pings and plinks that hit like droplets of water, bass that pounds as if punching through a layer of soundproofing, bell-toned synths with the warble of calliope music. With the encouragement of Four Tet, Naples expanded his initial idea for an EP into this full hour of rattling, pulsating nocturnal ambiance, much of it as suited to an early a.m. dancefloor as it is to secluded headphone listening. Fog isn’t just one thing: It conceals multitudes. –Anna Gaca

Listen: Amazon Music | Apple Music | Bandcamp | Rough Trade | Spotify

Spacebomb

Bedouine: Bird Songs of a Killjoy

On her second album, Bird Songs of a Killjoy, the L.A.-based folk artist Bedouine translates heartbreak and romance into a collection that feels warm and lush. She balances these atmospheres—brought to life by Spacebomb Records’ renowned session band—with a splash of melancholy, a gentle reminder that these songs, delicately written and beautifully sung, were borne of pain. When she sings “I will let go of you,” on “Bird,” she’s hushed and powerful, delivering her words without embellishment, in the quiet truth she’s earned. –Matthew Strauss

Listen: Amazon Music | Apple Music | Bandcamp | Rough Trade | Spotify

Milan

Bobby Krlic: Midsommar (Original Score)

Most horror takes place in the dark, but Ari Aster’s Midsommar brings it into the light. The majority of his new film takes place under the sun at a village in rural Sweden, where a group of Americans unwittingly take place in a pagan, orgiastic, senicidal Midsommar festival (think: ren faire on an all-time worst acid trip). The score from Bobby Krlic (aka the Haxan Cloak) does a remarkable job at never undermining the righteous, joyous intentions of the folksy cult out for blood. In fact, the score sometimes asks you to side with them: The opening majesty of “Attestupan” makes the unspeakable act that accompanies it seem almost noble, as if it were diegetic music blasting from a loudspeaker in the trees. And in the breathtaking finale, Krlic turns up the volume with massive symphonic style and ends in a rapturous, heavenly major chord. Who, actually, are the bad guys in this movie? The answer is in Krlic’s masterful score. –Jeremy D. Larson