As the value of Cole's witticisms, and the intellect required to decrypt full meaning of his verses, continues to be debated, the increased strength in his clear-cut writing evinces promise of greater work ahead.

Complain that they're stuck in a rut or praise that they're still able to do it convincingly, because this album gives up evidence to support either argument.

Don't even let the bittersweet-bearing haters know that Posner and Kweli's great freedom overspill is sweetly delivered over a beat from the late J Dilla, but when the other key tracks come from tearing down fear of the Illuminati ("Wormhole") and the almost always iffy category of rap-rock ("Demonology" with Big K.R.I.T. and Gary Clark, Jr. stomps and groans like a Led Zeppelin song), Gravitas becomes an album where anything can happen and often does, as long as it's genuine.

Total 15 demonstrates Kompakt's reliability as well as its unpredictability.

Part singer/songwriter folk, part 19th century chamber song (one track is called "Tone Pome"), and part ambient score, the album arguably climaxes with the theatrical "Wash It Away," which most dramatically combines all of the above -- although the elegant, tonic-shifting, harp-accented closer, "Maya, Please," also does little to readjust listeners to the material world.

It's clear that Superorganism know exactly what they are doing at all times, slicing and dicing like master chefs, then reassembling the bits and bobs of pop ephemera into a concoction that has a sugary kick sweeter and fizzier than an ice-cold cola.

The bare-bone production combined with the relentless march of songs gives Stadium Arcadium the undeniable feel of wading through the demos for a promising project instead of a sprawling statement of purpose; there's not enough purpose here for it to be a statement.

Summer in Abaddon is an album of small, but hardly insignificant pleasures, and it may be Pinback's finest work yet.

It's refined and focused, but also sexy and intimate.

There's every chance that Laura Marling will get lost in the shuffle as the unexpected commercial success of Feist's The Reminder leads major labels to unleash hordes of similarly talented female singer/songwriters, but Alas I Cannot Swim is far better than the average coffee house-endorsed girly pop.

Nash Kato and Eddie "King" Roeser are taking everything dead seriously, playing for the sake of music itself, giving Rock & Roll Submarine an unexpected soul and heart that makes it a rousing comeback.

Kinsella's lyrical wit is still affecting, displayed in both song titles ("Howdy Pardoner") and his always honest, direct lyrics about relationships ("Let's cut each other's strings/Give me a hand if you understand").

Volcanic Sunlight, despite its sharp contrast from Niggy Tardust, is an absolutely fitting follow-up; it's Williams once more wriggling out of preconceived notions by subverting them entirely.

We'll Be the Moon doesn't always hit the mark, but it's an encouraging first offering proving that Fixers can walk the walk as well as they talk the talk.

Since he's not a world-class performer, most classical fans won't find music of interest here, but Solo Piano II is an engaging record with a personality all its own.

All told, Innocence finds Pontiak in a place both refined and vividly experimental, reining in their unhinged psychedelic guitar blasts and mind-melting production with some of their most nuanced songwriting to date.

Together, these two Unplugged Sessions--which, in this incarnation, include 11 performances not featured on either broadcast--make for a bit of a treat for hardcore R.E.M. fans, a document when the group was near the peak of their powers.

As a whole, The High Country is satisfying fare that anyone who found SSLYBY's previous works a little too light in texture will certainly want to give a spin.

With his steady touring lineup of guitarist/keyboardist James Doviak, bass player Iwan Gronow (the Mutineers, Haven), and drummer Jack Mitchell (Haven, Bad Lieutenant), he showcases his rhythmic, textured guitar playing and reinforces the fact that he's not a bad vocalist, either.

This effort lacks the element of surprise that enlivened their previous album and the songs aren't all quite at the same level, but for sheer smart-punk action, Dumb are clearly still something special. Club Nites suggests they have plenty more albums worth hearing left in them, and this album deserves a spin on your listening device of choice.

It's divisive, danceable, and more than a little bit myopic, but it bears the creative mark of an artist whose acumen for pop craftsmanship is uncontested.

With Sad Hunk, Jurvanen has crafted an album about reaching the age where you don't care about being cool anymore, yet he somehow manages to find ever more nuanced and inspired levels of cool musical insight in the process.

"All These Days" is an atmospheric skyscraper that recalls '80s indie even if it has a shimmering modern sheen, and "Ariel" offers a slight sense of sweetness to close out an EP that functions as a good teaser for the full album while also working well as its own mini-LP.

There's a lot to like among these ten tracks that offer a fairly wide tonal range while still adhering to a central vibe of cool grooves and big melodies.

Conceptual conceits aside, Simple Math is a fairly passionate and rocking affair filled with sprawling, if still tightly wound anthemic pop.

For the most part, the ladies have chosen not to stray too far from their plainclothes rootsy sound, and while that may disappoint some fans, there's enough quality stuff here to light a fire in every train yard oil drum from Vancouver to Halifax.

Once again, King Gizzard deliver a record that lives up to their high standard even though it (mostly) is free from ambition and drama.

Ultimately, Between the Buried & Me, despite employing many tropes and influences, come off sounding like no one but themselves.

Magic is bright and punchy, a digital-age production through and through, right down to how each track feels as if it were crafted according to its own needs instead of the record as a whole.

It's kaleidoscopic but crisp.

A more concise and consistent outing than their debut, Hollow reaffirms that while Cut Off Your Hands may not be innovators, they're still quite good at what they do.

Like Alexander's debut, this is one of one of Ghostly's highest-quality releases of the 2010s. There's no excess.

A sparse duet with Oleta Adams comes across like a bonus track transplanted from a different project, but it lets the listener out in a state of romantic contentment, the finishing touch on a uniquely bittersweet addition to the box of chocolates that is James' discography.

John Tejada's fourth full-length for Kompakt is a succinct, incredibly focused album of complex, melodic techno tracks.

From its opening gossamer notes to the plaintive, minimalist closer, Somewhere maintains Sun June's distinctly aching, intimate form, even through denser sections, floating by like a distracting memory.

Considering the disparate source material and the quantity of vocalists, instrumentalists, and producers involved, it's remarkable how smoothly the album flows from one track to the next. Unsurprisingly, it's most appealing to fans of Glasper and those he involved.

Mettavolution is the R&G record where all of their gifts are on display and in sync; it sends listeners on a holistic journey of musical discovery and emotional resonance.

Like a less electronic version of the Postal Service, on The Trial of the Century the band invokes nostalgia for that decade but puts it in a different context.

There are other flashes of the past, good and bad, from the spring-loaded rhythms to reminders of the sometimes vast qualitative disparity between their melodies and lyrics. Ultimately, compared to their 1996 sendoff, this is more like it.

Seeds We Sow is delightfully ragged.

Given the right frame of mind, Closer has the potential to be the most powerful Plastikman album -- an alternatingly cathartic and mind-wrenching place to lose yourself in.

This album is a study in repetition and rhythm, the same kinds that Callahan first toyed with on songs like "Bloodflow" and "Justice Aversion" from Dongs of Sevotion.

The first six tracks are all vintage Louris gems -- trembling and honest, with warm melodies and hooks for days. Unfortunately, the album stumbles in the second half.

Unfortunately, the orchestral work for the film is hastily assembled as if it were an afterthought.

With their fifth record, Blonde Redhead finally emerges from the shadows of Sonic Youth's post-punk legacy by avoiding the expected detunings, distortions, and shrillness of the genre. The three-piece manages to create a record that is subtle, tuneful, and sublime.

A surprisingly assured album.

No matter the players, Alive to Every Smile is so patently a Bob Wratten album that, honestly, it sounds a little tired.

Tour de France Soundtracks is a successful record on anyone's terms; it's one that fans won't need to cringe from, and one that newcomers will be able to enjoy for what it is.

Even with the help of popular rap acts like DMX and Redman, L.L. Cool J has made the same album he did once before, with no new twists.

Adopts a fuller, more polished sound than her earlier work, but her songwriting is just as innocent and heartfelt-sounding as ever.

Invitation documents Dominant Legs' sound as it jells into something they can call their own; even when it isn't strikingly original, it's always enjoyable.

Write Me Back proves that Kelly's mode throughout Love Letter was no fluke.

Though Burnt Up on Re-Entry trades a little of his earlier work's singularity for a more flexible approach, it shows Sweet can defy expectations, and should pique the interest of anyone partial to metal's more experimental side or post-rock's heavier side.

Eisley rarely come off as cloying, and while Currents may require a little more patience from the listener than on previous outings, it's well worth the investment.

Equal parts manic fun, party-friendly silliness, and unexpectedly real emotional content, I'm Rich Beyond Your Wildest Dreams is powerful and light at the same time. The technical playing and nods to the best of heavy metal culture never get so tongue-in-cheek that the greatness of the songs gets buried under posturing.

The patient melodies and glowing sonic architecture of these lovingly crafted tunes manage to weave their way into the listener's subconscious, coming on with a deceptive lightness but leaving deep impressions.

When he's backed by the Innocent Criminals, Harper never seems to be trying too hard, and that's why Call It What It Is is a cut above many of his records.

Blasting through 11 songs in less than half-an-hour, Pre Strike Sweep never settles into one mode or frame of reference for long. Instead, the album drags and scrapes itself into being for its entire duration, angry and bleeding and looking for new angles with every new riff, crash, and tortured scream.

The album drifts by with a bittersweet solitude, like a more innocent reading of Satie or a less distraught take on the piano ambience of Eluvium contemporary Goldmund, reflecting on the most dream-like aspects of childhood with these warm but distant piano pieces.

Daveed Diggs' rapid-fire verses are precise and unflinching, detailing gruesome scenes with pinpoint accuracy. Much of the album, particularly the interludes, is filled with field recordings, giving the sensation of being on the run and uncertain of one's fate.

RAT WARS' abrupt pivots make a visceral impact, but they're never distracting -- they're just more proof that well into their second decade, HEALTH are still discovering formidable expressions of hurting and being hurt.

The album is impressive, especially in small doses or when Steele reigns it in a bit, as on the pretty, bossa-nova tinged "Miles Away." As a whole, it's a sometimes exhausting listen.

The record may not be their masterpiece, but it is an important piece of a surprisingly strong career.

By the time we get to the end of disc two, the broad strokes have coalesced into something quite remarkable; as Williams searches through the nooks and crannies of her songs, you sense she's discovering things that she didn't expect to find, and it's a tremendous thing to hear.

Despite the delay, Dark Night of the Soul shows what a talent and what a generous collaborator we lost in Mark Linkous.

Davila 666 have that all-important spark of primitive energy and power that have made bands from the Sonics to the Hives so vital and alive, and Tan Bajo is another great record that all fans of garage rock, new or old, need to add to their collections.

As expected from Apparat, LP5 is an ambitious, inventive album which runs on its own intuition, fusing studio wizardry with honest expression to frequently thrilling results.

More engaging and more thoughtful than a standard best-of, Last Night All My Dreams Came True is a rousing goodbye from one of the most acclaimed bands of their generation.

Let It Go was well worth the wait and McGraw is still at the top of the heap.

Nature Noir proves that Crystal Stilts aren't a one-trick band and it gives anyone who's been a fan up to this point an extremely compelling reason to follow them as they grow.

Everyone Else Is a Stranger is easily one of Lindstrøm's most gleeful records, and one of the easiest to recommend.

Their darkest and most complex work yet, In the Pit of the Stomach unleashes We Were Promised Jetpacks' full fury with impressive results.

As Blumberg puts on his Neil Young hat and laments "I've got some things to do/Some private things to do" on closer "The Plan," one can't help but think that, although perhaps overly self-indulgent at times, Hebronix could well prove fruitful.

There are moments where Single Mothers feels like art therapy as much as music, but this album communicates its pain with intelligence and a gentle touch, and as a singer and lyricist Earle grows with each album; there are more than a few moments of brilliance on this set if you don't mind sharing a rough and lonesome road with Earle for a while.

In the Mountain in the Cloud is also the band's most cohesive album, suffering from none of the unevenness that crept into some of their earlier work.

ICONOLOGY is a good placeholder while fans wait for the next chapter of Elliott's brilliance, but overall seems truncated and undercooked.

Weather Systems stands with Anathema's finest work.

What We Saw from the Cheap Seats succeeds more often than it frustrates.

Eternity of Dimming is a beautiful, nostalgic (in the best meaning of the word) hymn to time and place, a long suite of songs that falls together like a wonderful quilt of memories.

For those who've longed for the return of his immediate, loose, warm, live recordings, Live at the Great American Music Hall is where it's at.

Perhaps the concept and execution are conventional, but even in this utterly expected setting, Clarkson retains her fiery, individual spirit, and that's what makes Wrapped in Red appealing: to the letter, it delivers what it promises.

Without mellowing too deeply or becoming so serious that the songs aren't fun to listen to anymore, +/- turn in a fantastically studio-crafted album that communicates greater depth and more sophistication than any of their other work.

Ultimately, The Pink Caves has a haunting, surrealistic quality that, while melodic and song-based at times, also feels abstract and organic, as if these songs were not so much written by the band as cultivated as they grew out of the earth.

Ten spiny noise-pop jams that occasionally resemble New York contemporaries DIIV, and even bits of early era Cure, in their moody guitar styles.

Yes, the references are abundant--in an homage, they're supposed to be. Wobble employs them with a curator's taste; his skill as a bandleader creates space for disparate tongues to communicate before evolving into a different musical language--his own. Everything Is NoThing is a monster.

The robust rhythm battery of Rönkkö and bassist Rasmus Stolberg really propels 1982 forward and adds a great deal to their bigger picture. An improvement on their debut, this release solidifies Liima as a band.

If Tomorrow's Daughter isn't a great Matthew Sweet album, it's most certainly a good one, featuring a batch of strong songs played with genuine skill and commitment by one of the most distinctive artists in contemporary power pop. If you liked Tomorrow Forever, you'll enjoy the sequel, and even if you missed the first installment, this is well worth a spin for pop obsessives.

Production-wise, this roams around with some abrupt switches, supplying slow-motion and spaced-out grooves, low-profile boom-bap, and wayward guitar scrawl with highest frequency. Hynes' downcast disposition and the return of several Negro Swan collaborators -- Lu, Isiah, Pat, and Porches -- provide the continuity.

The warm, fuzzy melodies take hold almost instantly.

Her uncommon, even singular approach to singing, recording, and writing, remains fully in evidence here.

Accessible and elusive at the same time, The Floodlight Collective is an addictive debut.

It's definitely a change from Clinic's brash art-punk and wicked folk, but it's one the band had to make to keep their music vital. Fortunately, Bubblegum's sound is so inviting that it sticks.

The level of sophistication--arrangements with subtle details, the frequency of slow tempos, a couple well-trodden motifs--lends itself to a couple tepid tunes, but Ne-Yo remains a premier source of R&B that is both traditional and contemporary.

He has a true knack for rhyming about the dangers of the West Coast.

An album that's already brimming over with personality thanks to the chemistry between the two rhyme stylists and their ability to bring out the most inventive sides of one another.

When taken together, the tracks on III provide incontrovertible evidence that 15 years after their career ambitions went up the chimney, Death continued not only to make music, but to evolve and grow as a band. Even though this music is less intense, it retains the trio's trademark sound throughout.

While the EP is a little more straightforward than Do It Again, it's a fun, spontaneous portrait of a moment made all the more poignant due to Falk's death from pancreatic cancer in 2014.

With its lavish arrangement and Williams' gritty performance, the band find new ways of celebrating one of the great underappreciated artists of the '60s and '70s--something that's true of Bobbie Gentry's the Delta Sweete Revisited as a whole.