Wabi-Sabi Mixtape, or a compendium of songs that are equal parts grace and grit, perfect in their imperfection.

Fever Ray: Stranger Than Kindness (from the deluxe edition of Fever Ray)

In a highly unlikely feat, Fever Ray’s Karin Dreijer Anderson manages to be creepier than Nick Cave in this cover of “Stranger Than Kindness.”  That deep, growly, coldly mechanical voice?  Yeah, that would be Karin singing, thanks to the vocal manipulation software she favors.  Accessible and transparent it’s not—after all, this is the woman who rarely reveals her face, performing in elaborate masks and make-up—but the knotty, twisty darkness of the music possesses a singular charm for those who choose to listen.  And don’t bother trying to figure out what the hell is going on in this video, or any of her videos, for that matter; just watch them and hope you don’t have nightmares afterwards.

St. Vincent: Marrow (from Actor)

Marrow is a dark little gem of a song from the accomplished and lovely Annie Clark, aka St. Vincent.  The verses are sung in tremulous, questing tones, supported by vaguely angelic background vocals; the chorus snaps to on a fierce surge of jerky beats and Vincent’s command to “help me.”  This song will get stuck in your head—there’s just something very compelling to be found in the soft/hard contrast and the inscrutable, mildly sinister plea for help.

Kitty, Daisy and Lewis: Going Up the Country (from Kitty, Daisy and Lewis)

Kitty, Daisy and Lewis are a sibling group of wunderkinds from London, and they are simply badass.  Aided by charmingly rough-edged vocals and instruments as varied as the lap steel guitar and accordion, the trio dips into rockabilly, swing, and something that is equal parts country fried and city stewed.  “Going up the Country” is a Canned Heat cover, and what they do with it is irresistible.

Ida Maria: Oh My God (from Oh My God)

I defy you to not like a song that starts out with the line “Find a cure for my life.”  Tart, bracing, and surging with need, Ida Maria blasts out a neurotic pop masterpiece.

Modest Mouse: A Wild Pack of Family Dogs (from The Moon  & Antarctica)

Modest Mouse seems to have a lot of haters.  I think some of this is simply because tvitriol starts spewing whenever a formerly “indie” band garners huge mainstream success, as when “Float On” became a big old hit.  People also seem to dislike front man Isaac Brock, possibly because of the rape allegation he faced years ago (all charges were dropped, by the way) or his penchant for occasionally slicing himself up with knives onstage.  Regardless, to say I am obsessed with this song in particular would be an understatement.  Lyrically, the content is bleakly enthralling—a pack of dogs takes away the narrator’s family members one by one, until only he is left.  I don’t know where Brock comes up with this stuff, but I hope he keeps at it.

Elizabeth and the Catapult: Taller Children (from Taller Children)

Something rueful, tender, and wryly introspective permeates this little gem of a song.  When you’re trying to suck down your coffee, find your keys, and get the hell out of the house ‘cause you’re already late for work , it just makes you feel a little bit better about things.

Micachu and the Shapes: Lips (from Jewellery)

Mica Levi fronts Micachu and the Shapes, and she’s adding something fresh and revelatory to the current musical landscape.  She makes and modifies instruments, like the one she created from a CD case, and uses ordinary objects, like vacuum cleaners, to add weird sonic texture.  “Lips” is a jangly, atonal song that hits my ears in a wonderfully wrong way.

Great Lake Swimmers: Pulling On A Line (from Lost Channels)

Great Lake Swimmers are not doing anything incredibly new here, but I think this song stands out—high marks for Pulling on a Line’s shimmering, melodic, blissful ode to navel gazing.

TV on the Radio, featuring Derek Thomas Ambrosi: Me-I (from Warm and Scratchy, an Adult Swim compilation)

I always nag people to listen to this, and to watch this video because it’s a charming blend of nonsense and dreaminess—the crackly strains of an old spiritual paired with off key emoting and nursery rhyme lyrics. In other words,  pure genius.

Amity Bitzel is a contributing editor to shaking like a mountain