The listener will imagine himself to be special when he’s able to hear the excitement in songs like these. But the question I keep asking is, how does the musician find the courage to feel this way before the sounds even exist? Marnie Stern is an amazing human being.

The obvious point of comparison is Song Cycle, though I suspect Lynch’s travelogue covers a wider area than Van Dyke Parks’ traipse across old L.A. I’ll leave that as a suspicion, as there’s so much tender, weird beauty here that I’d hate to trouble it with questions of when and where the sounds were recorded, when and where they were first heard or conceived. It’s easy to imagine Lines in a context-heavy form, as a page out of National Geographic, with a dry, descriptive narration running throughout, telling us information we don’t want to know. Instead, like on Song Cycle, we have only the occasional helium intrusions of the orchestrator’s voice, reminding us that all sounds are filtered through the ear of the sun-dazzled traveler.

It finds Tim Presley more willful and eccentric, private and visionary, attuned to what people probably want to listen to in 2013, but White Fence remains a side project of the great Darker My Love as long as the songs are secondary to the aesthetic. Still, it was a smart move for Presley’s career when he aligned himself with Ty Segall, and Cyclops Reap resembles their collaborative album Hair except it reveals him as the man with the delicate visions and sapping fevers in that delirious game of energy and lethargy.

Insensitive to the way music is supposed to evolve over time in recognizable ways. The best song since Basement Jaxx’s “Raindrops.”

Insensitive to the recording technology of the 60s. Miguel if he was a Scottish rock band.

Insensitive to the way a song should hint at its outset (with tempo, structure, melody) how long we can be expected to listen to it. But I love the effect of three voices (Kim’s in particular, one of the essential tones) sounding off in corners of my apartment, the physical sensation of real presence. I’m always trying to train myself away from knee-jerk reactions to art exercises like these, and should probably reconsider NYC Ghosts & Flowers.

Insensitive to the way old things should sound old. Just a theory, but maybe parts of Le1f’s cloaked weirdness come from here.

This one’s really sensitive, actually, to time and the listener. But, like with the Up movies, you have to imagine yourself as ordinary for it to have the full effect.

Always a place of perfect musical cues (Mercury Rev’s Deserter’s Songs before Guy Maddin’s Keyhole), the Guild Cinema played ’63/’64 Beatles before 56 Up started, and as the lights dimmed, the last thing we heard was McCartney singing “I’m not half the man I used to be,” as if someone timed it that way.

The 20/20 Experience (Justin Timberlake) / Comedown Machine (The Strokes) / Delta Machine (Depeche Mode) / Picture Show (Neon Trees) / Some Nights (Fun.). ALL DISCS SHUFFLE.

The albums (three new ones, two enduring classics) I’ve heard most and considered least this month, but based on what’s seeped in, positive marks for all.