SNAIL MAIL Ricochet (Matador) — It’s been five years since Lindsey Jordan’s last full-length album as Snail Mail, which is all the more notable because she’s still at an age when a half decade carries a lot of change with it. As just about anyone who’s traversed the span will surely attest, there’s a world of difference between age twenty-one and age twenty-six, where Jordan finds herself now. Accordingly, she acknowledges an intent to push her songwriting past the youthful romanticization of misery that was her previous expertise. Ricochet still has a sense of melancholy about it, but there’s also a narrowing of purpose that suggests Jordan doesn’t want to wallow. The album is produced by Aron Kobayashi Ritch, of the band Momma, with an added lushness. When the strings come in on “Tractor Beam,” it’s reminiscent of Infinite Sadness–era Smashing Pumpkins if their leveling up had a lot less pretension to it. The classic alternative era might have been on Jordan’s mind: “Reverie” has a tinge of Liz Phair, and “Butterfly” is melodious, bittersweet, and prickly, like the Sundays if they made a record right after binging on Hole’s Live Through This. She roams further, to the stately “Cruise” and the spooky calliope pop of “Agony Freak. As assured as she is, Snail Mail is still exploring, still finding her way. It’s grand that anyone who’s up for listening is accepted as a traveling companion. Bounce over to these cuts: “My Maker,” “Dead End,” and “Ricochet.”

KING TUFF MOO (Thirty Tigers) — Kyle Thomas found his way back to his home. A native of Vermont, Thomas felt an obligation to move to Los Angeles a few years back, conceding that the music business had more business to go around out on the Left Coast. Thomas’s roots kept tugging at him, though, and he eventually boomeranged back to Brattleboro. Probably not coincidentally, his album MOO, the latest under the billing King Tuff, has the comfy confidence of a man in the correct place. A rock ‘n’ roll true believer, he even solidifies his old-school bona fides by asserting he’s available by “Landline”: “Anything you need, any place or time/ You can call me up, call me up on my/ Landline, landline.” This is clearly an artist who is determined to make his statement with rough-and-ready guitar playing, and the riff-forward “Twisted on a Train” makes a helluva opening statement. He solidifies the case with the likes of “East of Ordinary,” which recalls vintage Neil Young and Crazy Horse, and “Unglued,” evidence that he might be long-lost Wilbury. In addition to those mentioned, play these tracks til the cows come home: “Stairway to Nowhere,” “Invisible Ink,” “Oil Change,” and “Backroads.”

ARLO PARKS Ambiguous Desire (Transgressive) — Arlo Parks moves into the club on her third full-length, Ambiguous Desire. As would be expected of an artist who arrived fully formed and confident on her debut, the still-astonishing Collapsed in Sunbeams, she breezes past the velvet rope absolutely on her own terms. Even as there are tracks such as “Nightswimming” that have a crackling rhythm that can raise a sweat, the languorous shimmy of “Jetta” is more typical. The vibe is more Portishead than “Poker Face.” The sweet, elegant pop of “Heaven” shows that she remains true to her own creative origins, as does “Senses,” which features a soulful guest contribution from Sampha. Other performers might lean towards dance music as an escape. Parks makes it just one more way to express her established self, in all its thoughtfulness and deeply felt emotions. The lyrics are often imbued with a sense of loss. On “Luck of Life,” she sings, “You made me believe in the luck of life/ How am I supposed to believe that now?/ Everything reminds me you’re not there/ There’s a moment of bliss when I forget,” and punctuates the song with a tender voicemail that’s the sort of thing a person listens to repeatedly to remain connected to the loved one who’s no longer there. It’s not light and escapist, because Parks always finds her own way. Decisively long for these cuts: “Get Go,” “2SIDED,” and “What If I Say it?”