SWEEPING PROMISES You Say I Romanticize (Sub Pop) — You Say I Romanticize, the third album from Sweeping Promises, suggests that the group has got their method down to a particularly artful science. Lira Mondal and Caufield Schnug hunker down in their Lawrence, Kansas home studio, often grabbing time between other projects, and snap out smart, tight rock songs like it’s as easy as serving up cheese and crackers. The starting place is often classic punk — just check out the Runaways-style verve of “My Friend’s an Entomologist” — and Sweeping Promises offer a bracing reminder of just how widely that foundation can range. “Cocoon” recalls Sleater-Kinney at their most strident, and “Does He Want to Be the Weatherman?” has a touch of classic Pretenders to it. The tracks collectively testify to the value in economy; not a single one of them stretches past four minutes. Why loll out when the job can get wrapped up in a more reasonable amount of time? The material here is firm and fierce, adorned with the right sort of flourishes, such as the gargled snarl of the vocals adding grit to “Shooting Shadows.” The whole album absolutely rips. Get wistful about the following cuts: “Last Man,” “Accent,” “My Anchoress,” and “Write Lightly.”

L’RAIN fata morgana (Mexican Summer) — The derivation of the phrase Fata Morgana comes in part from Morgan le Fay, the sorceress who long ago had King Arthur’s back. L’Rain clearly has some spells of her own. The Brooklyn-based performer conjures up consistently discombobulating music on her fourth full-length. Her songs are so vast and reality-bending that metaphors drawn from myth are perhaps the only hope for conveying what’s afoot. “Blue” sounds like it’s emerging from a deep cave, echoing out like a siren song. That’s somewhat suitable of an explanation. Then again, maybe not. “Borderline” is skeletal soul, “Soulless Cycle” is brusque and noisy, and “Birthday” bizarrely suggests what a jazz-fusion musical might sound like. All of that description is right and yet inadequate. Sometimes it seems like the simplest assessment might be best: “July 5th” sounds like four or five songs happening at once. Putting it that way feels like throwing up hands in surrender. Or maybe it’s jubilation. With the strangely glorious fata morgana, both could be true. Let these tracks pour down: “With Time,” “Elmyra,” and “Glass Ceiling,”