It is not uncommon for a music act to work with multiple producers on a record, but on Ariana Grande's fourth full-length album, that mix does not really gel together - it feels like the pop diva is caught in a tug of war.

On one end, there are the infectious Pharrell Williams numbers laced with quirky beats, like Blazed and The Light Is Coming.

Then there are the glossy pop anthems like No Tears Left To Cry and dramatic, powerful moments such as God Is A Woman - tracks by juggernaut Swedish pop producers Max Martin and Ilya.

Grande might be the silky-voiced thread that binds the vastly different production choices on the 15-track album, but the distinct production styles are jarring at times.

You go from an experimental but instant pop banger like title track Sweetener, with its staccato chorus (And then you get it, get it, get it, get it/Hit it, hit it, hit it, hit it/Flip it, flip it, flip it/You make me say oh, oh), to the more classic Grande-style, soaring pop number Breathin, which deals with anxiety and rebuilding yourself after trauma.

You can tell that Grande is attempting to be quirky and experimental, but she has largely remained true to her formula of frothy pop and R&B, backed by powerhouse vocals.

She still manages to give a nod to the current musical zeitgeist, where throughout the album you will hear the familiar "yuh yuh" inflections of on-trend trap music.

Williams, a successful rapper, singer and record producer in his own right, helps her along that path, but lets her down on tracks like Blazed, where it almost seems like he's attempting to out-muscle her on the verses.

Again, on the track Borderline, which features rapper Missy Elliott, he seems to have lazily rehashed one of his beats from the early 2000s. Thankfully, he redeems himself on R.E.M., a dreamy, R&B slow jam that drips with finesse. It swops dramatic vocal gymnastics for interlocking harmonies, letting Grande shine.

Tracks like Successful (where she sings the rather tacky and unironic "it feels good to be so young and hot") and even the ode to her fiance, comedian Pete Davidson, are forgettable fillers.

But, at the end of the day, this is a massive pop record and that is what we all love Grande for anyway.

Anjali Raguraman

Retaining vigour with a touch of maturity

Last week's announcement of the return of music festival Neon Lights featured a name revered in indie circles - Interpol.

The New York outfit was one of the leading lights of the post-punk revival of the early 2000s and they will finally make their live debut in Singapore as one of the headliners at the festival taking place in November.

The gig announcement coincides with the release of the band's sixth album, Marauder, a return of sorts to the sounds found on their seminal 2002 debut, Turn On The Bright Lights.

It is not a coincidence that the new songs come hot off the heels of a tour in which they played their first album in full. On Marauder, the band capture much of the vim and vigour of that early release, refined with a touch of musical and lyrical maturity.

There is a distinctively lean and lithe quality to the dual guitars by frontman Paul Banks and guitarist Daniel Kessler. The extended intro on Number 10, for example, sounds like a band more interested in capturing the analogue warmth of a solid riff than achieving the clinical precision of an over-produced digital recording.

Drummer Sam Fogarino is swinging a lot more than he used to, whether it's in the shuffle of album opener If You Really Love Nothing (If you really love nothing/ Everybody's made up, everybody's losing) or in the superb, skittering beats on Party's Over.

Banks sings with a renewed sense of urgency - his voice is notably higher on jaunty tracks like The Rover and bittersweet album closer It Probably Matters.

Last week also saw a new album release by an artist who performed at the last Neon Lights in 2016 - Blood Orange, the nom de plume of British singer and songwriter Devonte Hynes, formerly known as Lightspeed Champion and ex-member of dance-punk band Test Icicles.

Negro Swan, his fourth album under the current moniker, is an immersive and compelling exploration of black identity. Hynes encapsulates the anxieties, joys and complexities of being a queer person of colour.

In Dagenham Dream, the now America-based singer reaches back to a childhood trauma, recalling the time he got bullied and beaten up for dressing differently from his peers back in Essex, England.

The musings are often deeply personal, but he also engages a motley crew of outside voices that include Puff Daddy on R&B track Hope, A$AP Rocky on hip-hop tune Chewing Gum, singer Ian Isiah on gospel song Holy Will, as well as writer and transgender rights activist Janet Mock doing spoken word on several tracks.

Hynes' falsetto vocals, deft production and occasional guitar flourishes draw the listener deep into each individual story.

Eddino Abdul Hadi

A solo debut with heart and spirit

His voice cuts to the chase - it is stentorian, as if one is getting an earful from an aggrieved preacher-man on the eve of an apocalypse. Chastened, you slowly warm up to his candour and generosity of spirit.

On Dream Songs, his solo debut after dissolving his Montreal electronic duo Majical Cloudz in 2016, Devon Welsh stands front and centre, and sings bell-clear. It's a bravely naked approach and a remarkable vocal performance.

In lieu of the skeletal electronic drone provided by former band member Matthew Otto, he is encircled by organic instrumentation.

"When you see an insect/Don't try to squash it," he exhorts in the opening track, By The Daylight, as synths rise, then quickly fade. Violins come in and a constant pluck of the strings accompanies his next line: "Things more powerful than you/Control the actions in your life."

This testament underscores his attitude towards life, especially in a world turned upside down, summed up by his explanation in a recent interview: "Sometimes, it feels like we're just swept along in a tide we don't really understand and this song is about experiencing that feeling."

Eschewing humdrum particularities of everyday routines, he asks big, existential questions about humanity. It is not surprising to know that he is inspired by performance artists like Chris Burden and comedians such as Andy Kaufman, whose confrontational stances erase distance and politesse.

On a dirge called Comedian, he laments the passing of a jester over a sustained organ note: "How could you be our hangman?/All the comedians in pain, will you save them?"

To that end, he does not put himself on a pedestal. Stripped to the elements, he sings to his audience close and face to face. He is part of the audience. He is opening himself up and sharing his honest feelings.

On Dreams Have Pushed You Around, he caresses each syllable. "I snuck into your room last night/I stayed in the dark, it was innocent," he confesses over a repeated piano melody and an occasional sheen of strings. The effect is startling, amplified by the Lynchian creepiness of the words. He seeks empathy, even when alone.

No, he is not hankering for facile warmth, but rather, wants to take down barriers to get into deeper truths. His voice pushes beyond beauty and genteelness.

In Vision, his tenor scales and reaches the ether. "A happy sight and failing vision/My ally, I see you in your imprecision," he sings over undulating synths and decorous riffs.

He does the opposite in Chances, going lower than low. Backed by human-like echoes and a steady acoustic strum, his tenor scraps and snaps. "Now in the shadow," he bottoms out, as if he has ripped out his own heart for all to see.

Yeow Kai Chai