THE WAEVE City Lights (Transgressive) — Collaborators inside of the studio and romantic partners outside of it, Graham Coxon and Rose Elinor Dougall take their kindred coupling to new levels on City Lights, their sophomore outing as the Waeve. If their self-titled debut had the spark of unexpected symbiosis, the follow-up finds them settling in as a group with clear staying power, melding Coxon’s sonic explorations with Dougall’s crisp pop sense. Largely sitting on the foundation of Dougall’s keyboards, the tracks on the album invariably calls to mind the neon-slot-car-racing sonics of nineteen-eighties. The album-opening title cut echoes the era’s post-disco iconoclasts who thrilled to packing every peppy sound they could think of into a song, right down to its prominent, unashamed sax soloing. “You Saw,” featuring Dougall on lead vocals, is like a more approachable Siouxsie and the Banshees with a lounge-y bridge thrown in as a tart candy surprise in the center, and “Broken Boys” is reminiscent of Love and Rockets’ excursions into industrial pop. Sticking with producer James Ford — whose ridiculously busy 2024 has included the Last Dinner Party’s debut, the debut solo album from Beth Gibbons, a new release from Pet Shop Boys are more — the Waeve welcome effusive excess on the album. “Druantia” opens with panther-stalk synths and swells to a complex intermingling of a vibrant elements, including warping guitar and buzzing horns, and “Simple Days” is from some wondrous reality where all soft rock reached back to Wish You Were Here. Coxon and Dougall wander widely, and they do it hand in hand. In addition to those already mentioned, illuminate the following cuts: “I Belong To…” “Song for Eliza May,” and “Girl of the Endless Night.”

MEDIOCRE Growth Eater (Dangerbird) — Like a lot of people who have just grabbed their college diplomas and suddenly have to reckon with the idea that going deeper into your twenties means — gulp! — real adulthood, Piper Torrison and Keely Martin carry a lot of resigned angst with them. Unlike most of those slightly shellshocked peers, they manage to channel their trepidation into compact, tuneful songs under the wonderfully wry moniker Mediocre. The Los Angeles duo’s debut album, Growth Eater, is a brisk, compact affair. At just eight tracks, one of which is the brief, experimental wisp “Interlude,” the album zips by in under twenty-five minutes. That’s enough time, though, to establish themselves as proud torch bearers for a brand of ravishingly rough-and-ready indie rock that owes a lot to the pre-grunge boomlet of the late nineteen-eighties and early nineteen-nineties that briefly make the likes of the Blake Babies look like superstars waiting to happen. Album opener “I Might Be Giant” establishes the model: crunchy, cool, and already worn out by the minor miseries of life: “Just broke my favorite glass/ The set is down to one.” On “Kindling,” Mediocre comes across like a Buffalo Tom on a deep cut that inspires adoration from the faithful. Citing these foundational forebears doesn’t mean the band is stuck in a distant past; “Make Me Your Mission” calls back to more recent masters of catchy melancholy such as Sarge and Allo Darlin’. Growing up might not always be a pleasant process, but it’s damned gratifying to listen to Mediocre do it on record. Savor these cuts: Litterbug!” “It Has to Mend,” “Fun Time Fix (We Go Go),” and “Kindling.”