I am entirely unfamiliar with David Sylvian’s previous work with the band Japan, which is what he was famous for, so when I picked up his newest album under the auspices of a new band called Nine Horses, I wasn’t sure what to expect. The band is a collaboration between Sylvian (formerly of the glam-rock group Japan), his brother Steve Jansen, and the funnily-named electronic composer Burnt Friedman. The first listen was somewhat jarring—Nine Horses mixes a variety of influences, from soft jazz and swing to indie pop. The opening track, for instance, opens with a flare of timpani and orchestral dissonance, resolving into a line of jazz snare pizzicato upright base. Add to this Sylvian’s throaty, organic voice cooing, “It’s a wonderful world, and you take and you give; and the sun fills the sky in the space where you live.”

Snow Borne sorrow is a sonic backrub, an album of absolutely gorgeous euphony and brilliant production. Sylvian takes an approach to instrumentation that is minimal but precise like a hypodermic needle—the different instrumental voices are layered and included in such a way that gives each maximum effect—so that, for instance, the interplay between Sylvian’s breathy baritone and the resounding thuds of the bass is accentuated by the occasional inclusion of a line of feminine scat, a flourish of cymbals, a splash of piano.

One of my favorite tracks is “The Banality of Evil,” an icily-cool, jazzy piece featuring a soft, fuzzy saxophone and a laid-back bass-driven groove and of course Sylvian’s rumbling croon, “The perpetrators are in denial (the banality of evil); king of the castle, room at the top, off with their heads, chop them off (the banality of evil).” The song’s awash in little touches, polyphonic voices, accents of sax or guitar.

I’m aware that it was Yuka, a native Japanese woman who moved to Britain with Sylvian, that introduced him to jazz influences, and I guess she’s the very opposite of a Yoko, because the jazz influence has inspired Sylvian to make some of the coolest music I’ve heard in a long time. Snow Borne Sorrow is a gem of an album; it’s fabulous to listen to, and I recommend to just about anyone, as its an amalgam of music that has an infinitely wide appeal.

Say what you will about Sylvian’s days with the glam-rock Japan, but Nine Horses is a group to watch.

I first heard John Vanderslice’s Pixel Revolt when it first came out in 2005. At the time, I gave it a cursory listen and then filed it away, unimpressed. At the time, I was high on Sigur Rós’ Takk…, and in the euphoria of lush strings and warm horns and crashing ‘choruses,’ Vanderslice’s minimalistic techno-folk was a curio at best.

In the past month, listening to more indie and pop, I revisted Pixel Revolt, and now I must admit that it’s a tight, impressive little album. Trying to describe Vanderslice’s sound isn’t easy—production-wise, it’s a good sort of raw, as he subscribes to the school of recording that favors analog equipment (The White Stripes do this also), but I find myself at something of a loss when trying to convey the style of the album.

Don’t expect soaring vocals or big arrangements. Vanderslice’s vocal work is very plain—he never pretends otherwise—and his delivery frank. When he sings about 9/11, or a detective, or a girlfriend’s rabbit, he reminds me a bit of early Mountain Goats stuff, a man alone with his instrument and his crazy lyrics. Musically, Pixel Revolt treads territory somewhere between Thom Yorke’s sample-and-synth-based backdrops and the organic guitar tinkerings of the aforementioned Mountain Goats. It’s a style that takes some getting used to, but it grows on you, and Vanderslice is excellent at it.

My favorite track is “Radiant With Terror,” which is about as aggressive as the album gets, which is not very, but manages to be quietly brooding, with a forcefully strummed acoustic guitar and a glockenspiel/timpani backdrop while Vanderslice sings “back and forth and back and forth goes the tock of the orange, bland, ambassadorial face of the moon on the grandfather clock.” Tracks like “New Zealand Pines” are more sparse, ambient arrangements that serve as palette. “Continuation” (the song about the detective) is a somewhat funkier piece with a guitar groove and occasional string stings.

I’ll be frank: Pixel Revolt isn’t likely to be your Album of the Year. To me, it’s easy listening, good for listening to while I’m working or reading—it lacks the dynamism that makes for a truly great album, but I think that Vanderslice has a real knack for songwriting and a good ear for production, not to mention his attention to detail. Pixel Revolt is full of little touches that flesh out its sound—the dings of the glockenspiel, quiet strums of guitars, the soft rumble of timpani. There’s always something going on, even if the album itself is an exercise in minimalism.

Pixel Revolt may be something of a curio, but it’s got more meat than, say, Thom Yorke’s The Eraser, and it’s catchy and happy enough that I find myself going back to it, and that isn’t easy to do with an album that’s mostly a understated, shoegazing sort of affair.