Air, Of Montreal and the Jim Black Trio "Paralytic Stalks" (Polyvinyl) Too much information, verbal and sonic, is standard practice for Kevin Barnes, the songwriter and studio obsessive behind Of Montreal. His lyrics pile on the polysyllables and metaphors: "Love is not a debtor's prison, you don't have to serve a sentence to pay back what you've been given/Now I live in fear of your schizophrenic genius, it's a tempestuous despot that I can't seem to propitiate," he sings, to a not-quite-bolero lilt, in "We Will Commit Wolf Murder" on Of Montreal's new album, "Paralytic Stalks." His music is just as dense, a thicket of instruments and stylistic allusions, in long songs - nine of them on this 58-minute album - that might veer off on tangents at any moment. In "Wintered Debts" whispery acoustic strumming morphs into dazed psychedelia, Queen-like vocal harmonies, a country shuffle and a minimalist haze of piano and voice; that's before the orchestra arrives, quivering and hovering, only to suddenly splice into a postscript like a Beach Boys ballad. It's all at the service of a mind awash in malaise and paranoia: romantic, socioeconomic, psychological, philosophical. Mr. Barnes spirals from self-loathing and marital tension - one song, "Ye, Renew the Plaintiff," addresses someone called Nina, which is his wife's name - to doubts about the purpose of the entire human race. But the music that surrounds him rebuts his misery; it's full of unpredictable life, and it surrounds him with blithe la-la's and instrumental counterpoint, like the warbling flutes of "Dour Percentage," which cheerfully echoes 1970s pop as Mr. Barnes sings, "The speakers have blown, this planet is an orphanage." Of Montreal's discography stretches back to 1997, and for much of that time Mr. Barnes has made albums almost entirely by himself in a home studio. With "False Priest" in 2010, he tried professional studio recording and guest musicians. "Paralytic Stalks" returns to his home studio in Athens, Ga., but not to low-fi solo recording; he uses string and horn arrangements that allow him to leap straight off the avant-garde deep end in one song, "Exorcismic Breeding Knife." But most of the time, Mr. Barnes stays in a pop universe of verses and choruses, tunes and beats. Convoluted as his words and ideas are, they're surprisingly singable, in all their mad profusion. Le Voyage Dans La Lune EMI/Astralwerks Heavily referential but only barely ironic, the work of the French duo Air conjures easy listening, new age, various kinds of 1970s German prog-rock and Pink Floyd's symphonic psychedelia. It's not much in and of itself; it often feels like a sophisto-kitsch tribute to its sources or its analog synthesizers, and goes naturally with images. For "Le Voyage Dans La Lune," the duo's seventh album - including its 2000 soundtrack for Sofia Coppola's film "The Virgin Suicides" - it has connected with George Méliès" 15-minute film "Le Voyage Dans La Lune," made in 1902, recently restored and also put into the heart of Martin Scorsese's film "Hugo." The two foundations in charge of the restoration - Groupama Gan Foundation for Cinema and Technicolor Foundation for Cinema Heritage - commissioned Air to score the film, which was presented on opening night of last year's Cannes Film Festival. The soundtrack moves quickly through moods and motifs, following the action of the film. You can see the film and hear Air's soundtrack on a bonus disc included with a limited edition of the new album. And the record builds on and elongates some of those themes, with beats and occasional breathy singing - is there any other kind, for Air? - by Victoria Legrand of Beach House and the Brooklyn duo Au Revoir Simone. It's good that the band and the film found each other, though "Hugo" will eclipse this small achievement. The Méliès film is lumpy but beautiful, with real fears and dreams about technology, alien life forms and colonization lurking underneath the story; you can follow the illusion without spending much time thinking about the materials and the process. Air's music for it, whether rhythmic or choral, static or episodic, minimalist or anthemic, is slight and smooth as glass. "Somatic" (Winter & Winter) Jim Black's track record as a bandleader, spooling back a dozen years, follows a single, unwavering path, with endless variations of terrain. A drummer of convulsive instinct but earnest intention, Mr. Black has released five albums with AlasNoAxis, a band as informed by noise-rock and hazy atmospherics as by audacious improvised music. His songwriting for the group has faithfully served the needs of this proprietary style. It's easy to imagine him never abandoning it. But "Somatic" puts forth something with another flavor entirely. The obvious difference is in the instrumentation: Mr. Black has assembled a terrific trio, featuring the acoustic pianist Elias Stemeseder and the upright bassist Thomas Morgan, with a sound mix that scans recognizably as jazz. He'll celebrate the album's release at Cornelia Street Café on Feb. 23, with the same instrumentation but different personnel. The shift also registers in Mr. Black's compositions here, which don't stake so much on crescendo or on the gradual reveal. This is music built for meandering; its grooves are malleable but stable, often largely defined by a swinging ride-cymbal pattern. The shadow lurking behind this effort belongs to Paul Motian, a slyly Delphic jazz drummer, composer and bandleader who died last year, and whose influence has always been nestled under the hood of Mr. Black's sputtering jalopy. The album's broodingly soulful title track could pass for an outright tribute, especially by virtue of the drumming. But not for just that reason; Mr. Morgan is an alumnus of Motian's recent bands. The opening track, "Tahre," with its restive, rhapsodic melancholy, breathes a similar air. Elsewhere dissonance and turbulence cohabit with a desire for connection. Mr. Black gives some of his tunes, like "Terrotow," a strong melodic spine; others, like "Beariere," thrive on brute momentum. In either case the material has an articulate advocate in Mr. Stemeseder, whom most Americans have never heard before. Originally from Salzburg, Austria, he's now studying at Jazz Institut Berlin. The absence of context for Mr. Stemeseder might have you grasping for comparisons: maybe his chord voicings in "Hestbak" will remind you of Ethan Iverson of the Bad Plus, another Motian-obsessed acoustic piano trio. "Sure Are You," with its muscular counterpoint, might call up the same reference. Which is fine, for now: we're just getting acquainted with Mr. Stemeseder. With luck, this band will give us more chances to know him better.