DIY, dissonance, danger.

As of this week, "B-Room" by Dr. Dog sits atop the CMJ top 20. CMJ stands for College Music Journal, and this is important to mention because "B-Room" sounds like it could have been the college soundtrack of any of the past four decades. Reminiscent of Bob Dylan and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, it's an album that at times feels like listening to a series of cross-stitch sentiments. "Follow the distant light." "The truth don't stop." "A long way down means a long way up." "You can laugh about it if you just let go." You can clearly picture your college-aged self saying, "Yeah, man, so TRUE, dude!" between sips of cheap beer. Or, maybe you'll do that nowadays. I'm not here to judge.

November 5th has been burned in my brain for a while now because it was the scheduled release date for "Matangi," the latest from M.I.A. After her last album, which was a bit more experimental and industrial than her previous releases, it was hard to know what to expect. "Matangi," as it turns out, has the most pop sensibility of any of her albums—the songs are relentlessly hook-y, hyper-sexy and crazy danceable, but in a distinctly M.I.A. way, utilizing samples and synths and infusing it all with Middle Eastern musical influence. It's pure adrenaline, and let's be honest, listening to it might make you feel like a bit of a bad-ass yourself.

Have you ever listened to music so dissonant that after a while it starts to sound melodic relative only to itself? It's something you might experience while listening to an avant garde piece like Alvin Lucier's "I Am Sitting In a Room" (where words distort and degrade over time until they change into notes). While it requires a lot of the listener, it rewards the listener, too, because the listener ultimately finds him or herself in the work. New-York-based Yvette, a two-piece industrial band, produces such music. Their debut, "Process," is aggressive instrumentally—making order out of the chaos of effects and synthesizers with the help of steady, insistent drumming—while remaining cold and indifferent vocally. It's a juxtaposition that works well for them.

Black Milk (real name: Curtis Cross) is the embodiment of DIY, having started out in his Detroit basement with a cheap drum machine and a karaoke system. Perhaps this ability to make due with limited resources is what makes the samples and beats on "No Poison No Paradise" so ingenious. It's a semi-autobiographical concept album, dealing with growing up in Detroit in the 80s and 90s. Tracks like "Sunday's Best" have the imagery (both lyrically and aurally) to put you front row center for that moment in time. Hearkening back to 90s era rap acts like Tribe Called Quest and De La Soul, this is hip hop that's catchy without sacrificing the message.

Headbanging, warbling, meaning it.

There's always that guy, the one who doesn't say much, but when he does, the room stops and records scratch and all ceases in order to hear what's being said. Matt Kivel is probably that guy to his friends. His quiet, beautiful brand of singer/acoustic-guitarness sucks you in and demands that you listen...at which point, you notice the wicked-depressing and sometimes graphic lyrics. Many of these allude to death, and while he certainly comes off as a bit Elliott-Smith-ish in the final analysis, let's hope he chooses to live and to keep making pretty music. His voice, unlike Mr. Smith or really most singer-songwriters, seems equally at home in a high tenor (almost counter-tenor) range as well as a baritone range. That in itself is worth a listen.

Oozing Wound had me at their name. Then, they had me at their gloriously creepy cover art. And, upon listening, they just straight-up have me. It's thrash metal that's, in their words, "by and for people with a desire to slay." And the riffage is undeniable. As someone who's listened to metal somewhat sporadically over the years, my general beef with the stuff I didn't like was that it didn't rock hard enough, plain and simple. And when something did rock hard enough, the subconscious headbanging that ensued confirmed it. Oozing Wound's debut "Retrash" is such an album, as my head and neck region will attest.

My first encounter with Nine Inch Nails was likely similar to that of most other fans: I fell in love with the loudness, the violence, the despair. Lyrics like "I'm the one without a soul/I'm the one with this big fucking hole" made me say, "Yeah, that totally describes me!" (It didn't, remotely.) And then, admittedly, I didn't keep up with Trent and Nine Inch Nails as well as I could have, and the next thing I know, "The Hand That Feeds You" is coming out of my radio and I'm all, "What HAPPENED to you, Trent? When did you stop singing like you mean it?" But with his latest, "Hesitation Marks," there's some of the Nine Inch Nails we fans loved: his amazingly tidy production value, and how much better his voice sounds when he doesn't try so hard. And there's something new: nuance and maturity. And best of all, it sounds like he means it.

Haley Fohr is the imposing alto behind Circuit des Yeux. And, at a young age and in a vastly different decade, she's managed to channel some of the greats of 20th Century avant garde music, bringing to mind Diamanda Galas and, instrumentally, the repetitive minimalism of Phillip Glass. But her take is much more informed by a succinct singer/songwriter's approach. Still, these pieces aren't movements in a performance art piece, they aren't art songs, but to call them merely songs doesn't seem like enough. The emotional intensity brings them to another level—it can be a lot to handle, but you'll be glad you took the time. This is unlike most music you're likely to hear today.