Tipping closer to dance-pop than noise-rock, Deleter is one of Holy Fuck's most finely tuned albums, yet the band sound as spontaneous as ever.

While this doesn't carry the weight of an "historic" recording, it is thoroughly enjoyable. Harris is in better voice than she's been in years and Crowell is a natural as a duet partner.

Although at times they come close to overshadowing the subtle instrumentation provided by Major and Dan Rothman, it’s actually the intrinsic balance between the contributions of all three that defines their sound.

When Elbogen adds some additional keyboards to the mix, Um, Uh Oh feels downright colorful. And the songs themselves boast a level of craftsmanship and quality that's striking for somebody whose last batch of tunes was released less than two years earlier.

WhoMadeWho have been accomplished, even inspired, in the past, but here they emerge on a whole new level, displaying a subtle command of tension and release and an assured, seamless blending of rock and electronics, suffused with unfeigned emotionalism, which calls to mind the confidence and mastery of marquee acts like LCD Soundsystem and Radiohead.

Few current bluegrass acts sing with the command and authority Lauderdale brings to his performances, and fewer still have a set of songs at their disposal as good as what Lauderdale and Hunter have composed for Reason and Rhyme, and it's another impressive installment in what's becoming one of the most interesting partnerships in roots music today.

Within Ward's canon, More Rain may not work overtime to distinguish itself, but like nearly all of his releases, it's a companionable listen with a lot of craft hidden under its layers.

It's a rare kind of unobstructed window into a songwriter's world, but the magic of One Hand on the Steering Wheel is how Levy somehow manages to speak volumes without giving too much away.

It's exhilarating, the best rock & roll record yet released in 2007.

He makes his tracks entertaining, but he occasionally falls prey to a common trap -- educating the listeners but not enlightening them.

The result is part retro, part avant-garde, and part polyrhythmic elevator music, which is to say it sounds wholly Dungen.

This album should be heard as such in a single sitting, where its labyrinthine beauty can be fully experienced and integrated. This is "acid rock" at its best.

At times, Lucid Dreaming can get a little too hazy and downbeat for its own good, but as a portrait of a duo in motion, it suggests Say Lou Lou are heading in the right direction.

While Kozelek remains an incredible storyteller, and the album is fascinating as ever to his faithful followers, it's likely to be exhausting, infuriating, or simply head-scratching to anyone who isn't already a fan of his. And as wonderful as Broadrick's musical contributions are, they recede into the background and aren't nearly as distinctive as his own work.

Alice is a major step forward for Meatbodies and one of the better garage punk/heavy metal/psychedelic rock albums anyone is likely to hear in 2017.

Throughout the album the sense is of rough experimentation, a kind of direct curiosity in the collision of sampled loops, echoed vocals, bursting bass, and random moments. Stallone's echoed vocals, however much a stylistic commonality in some corners, act as further random hooks, a slightly stupefied but never incoherent series of reactions.

It is a snapshot of where Gilmour is as a musician in 2015, and not by any means a grand portrait or statement to sum up his career.

At times, his contemplation gets a little too meandering, and some songs fall on the wrong side of the fine line between anthemic and clichéd. Nevertheless, The Soft Cavalry is a promising debut that's held together by the emotional commitment Clarke and Goswell bring to each of its songs.

On this consistently hypnotic debut, Austra carve out a place of their own among their contemporaries.

Given the fact that the Dead Weather formed on a whim and recorded these songs in a matter of weeks, Horehound is a compelling album, and one that shows that the band's members bring out the best in each other, albeit in unexpected ways.

Arguably heavy-handed but regrettably timely, even if allegorical, After You marks an ambitious return for the long-absent musician, one that ultimately rewards with musicality.

Hawk isn't as startling [as Ballad of the Broken Seas], but it's encouraging to know that the magic between Campbell and Lanegan not only hasn't worn off, it's manifesting itself in new and compelling ways.

My Soft Machine hits differently than Collapsed in Sunbeams, but it's still a powerful effort that packs more emotional weight while expanding the singer/songwriter's stylistic range.

With each album, the Cribs have gotten a little sharper and more focused, and nowhere is this clearer than on the brilliantly named Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever, the band's major-label debut.

The whole program bounces back and forth in this way, sometimes impressing with complex and compelling beats and textures, then disappointing with relentless repetition of uninspired ideas.

If How Far Will You Go is hit-and-miss as music, it's a remarkable document of a forgotten musical detour on the way to the sexual revolution, utterly fearless and not much like anything else of its era.

If the Yawpers are trying to make sense of the soul of America in the 21st century, their mind/body balance makes for some powerfully satisfying music, and American Man is an impressive debut from a band that appears to have some very serious potential.

Shannon in Nashville demonstrates she's capable of more than she's shown us in the past, and this is an experiment that succeeds with flying colors.

From radically manipulated samples to original compositions played by live musicians, no particular method suits Arrington best here. The highlights fall across the spectrum.

The end result winds up not as a curiosity but rather a small wonder, revealing new dimensions of the original recording while opening up these songs for new audiences.

Cracks is an illuminating exploration of cyclical energy, both inside and outside the body.

The songs and performances are strong enough, melodic enough, and fun enough that you can enjoy the album for what it is: 30 minutes of noisy, hooky pop that sounds better every time you listen to it.

Even if Mowgli is not completely engaging, Mister Lies is on the verge of something innovative, and most electronic fans will find these crisp, controlled soundscapes easy to absorb and enjoy.

The colorful textures and lush arrangements are a change of pace. Some fans may miss the heavier guitar attack of Commune, but the band carry off this new approach like the true sonic explorers they are.

A very detailed, though still utterly bewildering, glimpse into the producer's musical thought process.

The only thing that stops Droppin' Science Fiction from being an instant masterpiece is that Lateef and Gift of Gab don't do quite enough to make these tracks shine; great productions and great rapping still need a few big hooks (vocal or musical) to snare listeners right from the get-go.

Ultimately, this album ends up being a more naturalistic take on Calexico's sound; just because it's less stylized doesn't mean it's less interesting -- it just takes a little more time for Garden Ruin's power to reveal itself.

Pizza Box is a long way from the punky bluegrass of the Bad Livers, and may be the best album Barnes has ever made.

A guest list that goes from Big Boi to Gucci Mane make the album highly desirable, but it's Mike that makes it vital, rivaling the Slaughterhouse crew when it comes to delivering grown man's hip-hop and Ice Cube when it comes to pimping while preaching.

Another quirky and eclectic Lilys set.

The Brooklyn boys maintain their hipster sensibilities and flip between speedy grit and sweetheart pop, with varied results.

Grown Unknown explores a kind of lost elegance: it's half drowned-in-gorgeous-reverb country of the kind Gram Parsons could nod sagely at, half stately post-'60s rock & roll as elegant mood music via the Band rather than Roxy Music.

Comforting but never dull, it's a reminder that the familiar can be just as inspiring as the foreign.

Perhaps the first time the Dead Weather have truly lived up to their promise, Dodge and Burn is a joyride of an album--sexy, fun, and dangerous, it upholds the tenets of rock & roll.

The songs, while as elegant and naturally paced as they've ever been, tend to merely drift along.

Arab Strap's gradual refinements have hit a peak, but don't expect anything new. Slithery programmed beats, tingly guitars, plodding rhythms, and whispered/warbled sing-speak lead the way yet again, with occasional piano licks and strings thrown in for very good atmospheric measure.

As good a record as any he's made, possibly his best.

At this point they have worked through their formative stage, and prove themselves capable of delivering a solid album with diverse songwriting and a consistent style. And even if that style sounds derivative and summons the inevitable Dischord comparisons, it's impressive nonetheless.

Every track here punches with a purpose.

Nothing here has the upbeat pop appeal of "2 On" or any of the unincluded post-Aquarius singles, but this is clearly designed for a different purpose.

Big riffs battle with the kind of nagging singalong choruses the band have avoided over the years, a combination that makes Medicine at Midnight rush by with the intoxication of a good night out. ... Medicine at Midnight is a speedy, hooky, and efficient record, every bit the party album Grohl promised.

In its own way, Onwards to the Wall is just as exciting as Exploding Head was, managing to sum up the band's sound and move forward at the same time.

For longtime fans, Celestial Electric is about as good as one could have hoped for the coming together of two like-minded musicians.

While comparisons and familiar tones abound, they shouldn't detract from what Troy and Edwards excel at delivering. They mostly serve as touchstones to lock Deap Vally into the ranks of similar artists as genuinely concerned with rocking listeners into sweet submission.

The album itself lingers in the mind as a perfect pick for when something is needed to soothe an uneasy soul or make a crappy day a little more palatable.

There are melancholic edges, but it's not haunting, it's comforting, reassuring music that's quietly powerful, music that Dido hinted at before but never quite made.

On With Love From, Aly & AJ establish themselves as first-class artists, and it will be fascinating to hear where they go from here.

Heads Up proves that the quick turnaround suits them; instead of seeming rushed, the album feels spontaneous and fearless.

It's not as glossy as the '80s, there are fewer keyboards and more guitars-the sensibility remains the same, so Tuskegee generates a bit of déjà vu: the surroundings are new, yet everything feels familiar.

It's not that any of these tracks are bad: Ozomatli is comprised of talented enough musicians, and have been doing it for long enough now, that they're able to pretty much successfully pull off anything they try, but these songs move so far from the sociopolitical salsa on which they created themselves that it's almost hard to recognize them as from the same band.

This is an interesting diversion giving insight into the band's coordinates.

DIRTY BABY is a singular accomplishment, presented in a fashion that demands more of the listener's attention but buy pays off handsomely.

Turner walks a fine line of providing hushed mood music for a film, and delving into someplace deeper; his tunes aren't mere background music, yet there's a casualness to his Submarine songs that keeps them from truly resonating.

Does fall just short at times of mimicking a brand of saccharine faux-post-big-band jazz that flourished in the '50s and early '60s, but Haden and his team are too masterful to allow their tribute to lose its stylishness.

Melodic and mercurial, immaculate and overwrought, it's not for everybody, but six albums in, Lacuna Coil have proven themselves more than worthy of both the attention of commercial rock radio and the adoration of the progressive metal community.

This is the kind of album that can fully define her sound, but is still multifaceted and well crafted enough to be exciting.

It builds nicely upon The Heavy's previous work and should please fans of the band's quirky take on rootsy soul-influenced music.

This uneasy listening provides a masterful backdrop for Anderson's film and also makes for fascinating listening in its own right, while once again separating Greenwood from more predictable composers.

Pharaohs aren't inventing anything new here but what they do well is grab the best bits from all the danceable electronic music that has come before them and consolidate it into something shiny and new.

It seems the change in membership has reinvigorated them, providing their songs with a sense of stability that shines through on an album that easily ranks as some of the band's most exciting work in recent years.

Along with the pseudo-bossa nova rhythms of "Naturally" and rolling melodic synth pop of "Heartless," the album takes gradual steps forward and shakes out to be one of Savage's more consistent collections.

Lithium Burn's relative straightforwardness makes it easy to enjoy these songs for what they are--and stands as a testament to the growth that comes out of compromise and sacrifice.

As severe, wild, and dissonant as they can often be, Greys somehow manage not to take themselves so seriously, making If Anything an inviting debut full of character and some ferocious playing.

If there is a heaviness--an emotional weight that seems to be bearing down upon Christian and Anberlin throughout Lowborn--chalk it up to a band nearing the end of an almost 15-year career. However, despite this heaviness, Anberlin have crafted an album of deeply emotive and, one imagines for longtime fans, cathartic songs.

Imaginary Man presents Baxter and his material in a manner that's vividly passionate and a little swampy while avoiding cliches as he offers these sketches on life and love in the American South; it's a big step forward for Baxter, and will hopefully help him gain the audience he deserves.

Their fusion of melancholy melodies, warm sounds, and truly beautiful vocals is still reliably magical, and the only complaint about Pleasure is that it doesn't last long enough.

The album isn't perfect, but at their best, Kikagaku Moyo excel at their unique, thrilling brand of psychedelic acid folk.

With Familiar Touch, DIANA continue to excel at writing songs that are soothing yet scarring.

The only way that Lowly lives up to their name is their humility to push themselves to give more to their listeners--something they do exceptionally well on Hifalutin.

The brief set overall evokes some of the same feelings as 9th's Black Radio Recovered remix of "Afro Blue," Kendrick's "These Walls," and much of Martin's Velvet Portraits, all connected and nutritive recordings offering solace and strength. There's no crosstalk, just completed thoughts.

Overall, it feels less like a comeback and more like the latest chapter in the ongoing saga Skinner has been spinning since 2002.

At times, the mood is so sustained that the album resembles one slowly evolving song. At its finest, though, Dream Talk is an alluring reminder of the power of visions and fantasies from a group that's mastered how to bring them to life.

The duo... have actually improved, and the album sports stronger songs, a fuller sound, more emotional weight, and an exuberant soul that spills out of the speakers like milk and cake at a kid's birthday party.

Silver is the work of a band with a very clear vision and the skills to make it work like a dream.

This stop on the journey is pretty magical.

In sum, those who had trouble with To the Bone, Wilson's well-executed homage to the progressive pop of Kate Bush, Tears for Fears, and Peter Gabriel, may have even more with this. Most fans, however, especially more recent ones, shouldn't find The Future Bites an inconsistent entry in Wilson's catalog, but an arguably minor one that steps sideways instead of forward.

Yes, I'm a Witch Too may be somewhat uneven, but its wildly different tracks reaffirm that Ono's music contains multitudes.

The best moments are bathed in a warm radiance that fosters a comforting, uplifting mood.... However, the content isn't exclusively cerebral, uplifting, and/or surreal.

Nada Surf show they can play well with others on If I Had a Hi-Fi, though they'd do well to apply the lessons learned here to some new tunes for their next album.

Devout will undoubtedly resonate with former ravers who have now grown up, started families, and face problems dealing with relationships and parenthood (and whose taste in music has drifted closer to introspective pop and R&B rather than dance music). For other listeners, however, the sentiments might fall flat, and the album might be too sparse, sluggish, and sad to really latch onto.

It's a sound that demands your surrender, which you don't mind giving in to.

Like Homesongs, this record reveals more with each listen, burrowing its way into your consciousness and becoming a welcome part of your musical DNA.

Even if it's not quite as fully realized as some of their other albums, King's Mouth boasts enough beautiful music and striking imagery to make it well worth hearing, especially for Flaming Lips fans who miss the music they made in the 2000s.

The downside of Reprieve is that it isn't as musically arresting as earlier albums like Out of Range, and DiFranco, on a song like "Millennium Theater," can be rather obvious.

The duo’s effective use of reverbs and filters works wonders here, transporting the listener through an array of the same kinds of sounds, but they're treated whole-heartedly and differently with each moment.

The key to 3 is that the group might be less noisy, but ultimately they're no less weird, and if the album sounds like they're still making sense of their new configuration, their eyes are still on the buzzy prize, and this is a great, challenging, off-center rock album.

With Planet's Mad, Baauer charts a journey that elicits emotion through physical response, channeling rage and frustration through his songs in a cathartic release that plays like musical therapy for a galaxy's worth of ills.

Black Forest is a little less scuzzy and raw than the band's earlier work, but it passes the test: the later at night and the louder you play it, the better it sounds.