Dear Sondre Lerche,

Congratulations on hitting the Top 200 for the first time, with your new self-titled album. It’s long overdue.

Sondre Lerche gives your worshiping fans more than enough to swoon over, and lends new listeners a lethally-catchy snippet of a singer-songwriter career that’s been lengthy, diverse and to my dismay, not well known enough.

Tracks like “”Private Caller”” and “”Domino”” are not just foot-tapping, hip-shaking guitar jams, they’re also heart-wrenchingly truthful to how complicated it is to love and be loved.

Love your new stuff. Keep it coming,

Kellie Mejdrich

Dear Cults,

Remember back in the ‘80s when you rocked stages throughout the world with hits like “”She Sells Sanctuary””? Oh wait, wrong band. You’re Cults, not The Cult.

Regardless of your name, I dig your self-titled debut album. It offers a new take on the 1960s, all-things-sunshine vibe. But beneath those sugary-sweet melodies lies a darker message, which we see in songs like “”Go Outside”” and “”The Curse.”” And the eerie, non-linear plot of your music video “”Abducted”” stays true to your identities as New York film students.

The Vivian Girls and Best Coast can step aside. Cults has revived ‘60s girl pop and tossed in a hint of mystery. I know you’ll make Lily Allen’s record label, In the Name Of, proud.

I’ll drink the Kool-Aid,

Kelly Kleber

Dear Digitalism,

Apparently the only solid, synthy mix you’ll ever make was your 2008 EP, Pogo. Your new album, I Love You, Dude, is a boring, noisy mash of indistinguishable tracks. And come on, was that really the best title you could come up with?

True, your song “”Forrest Gump”” features Julian Casablancas from The Strokes, and is much improved by his vocals. But even so, the track — and the entire album — is forgettable.

Where did the disco drums from your earlier albums like Zdarlight go? Your previous work tops I Love You, Dude by a mile. Maybe you should try for something more pop-y next time instead of making an entire album out of the same clumsy beats.

Better luck next time,

Maitri Mehta

Dear LMFAO,

Your second album, Sorry for Party Rocking, should really be called Sorry for Advertising, because it’s 50 explicit minutes of extravagant self-celebration.

Kudos on supplying a range of themes to an album set exclusively in da club. Beyond ubiquitous summer hooks like “”Party Rock Anthem,”” you give us less obvious facets of what is no doubt an exhausting Party Rock life. The woeful “”Reminds Me of You”” is unlikely club fodder, but an astute confession that at any debaucherous revelry only “”Some of us came to celebrate, but most of us came to get away.””

Everything about your new album reeks of calculated measures to brand your crunked-out fantasy lifestyle and sell, sell, sell. But at least you own up to it.

I forgive you for party rocking,

Brandon Specktor