Vondelpark – Seabed

When you're stuck in the spaces in-between – on journeys home at uncomfortable dawns, in cold living rooms at the wrong end of the morning – you'll want to know about Seabed's low, slow groove, its humid, heavy atmospheres and its mournful way with melody, all delivered in frontman Lewis Rainsbury's blasé yawn-sing (which sounds like it should belong to a man far older and jaded than his 21 years).

This is a less ekwed offering than 2011's intoxicating NYC Stuff and NYC Bags EP – and although a reworked California Analog Dream (from 2010's Sauna EP) loses a lot of the fog and sense of space that made its original incarnation so evocative of the San Diego landscape Rainsbury yearns for in it – Vondelpark's long anticipated debut is an involving, inhabitable album that spooks (see: Dracula, Come On) as much as it soothes (Always Forever, Quest). [Lauren Strain]