As good as these moody moments are, My Wild West is best once the darkness settles, and Lissie offers nicely sculpted miniatures that feel alternately comforting and bruised, with the human touches Lana Del Rey works so hard to remove from her own music.

Slow Club's metamorphosis feels organic and, more importantly, embraced: this is their record, and the sound you're hearing is Slow Club overcoming their struggles.

This is the sound of expert experimenters who commence with an economical, even polite inquisitive conversation before developing their dialogue to a point where total creative and emotional expression is set free.

There are some glitchy electronic beats and questionable structural turns during the album's back half that feel a little bit out of place, but the overall vibe remains one of deep and heavy existential pain. Wave is an acutely overcast album, but Watson's gift for melody, narrative lucidity, and retro-pop sensibilities help to keep things more melancholic than maudlin.

Marshall duly stuffs his concise follow-up to The Ooz with the terror and negative liquid references, both literal and metaphorical, for which he is known.

Occasionally, Knuckleball Express' loose ends threaten to unravel, but for the most part, the album is held together by the feeling that Hagerty is having more fun making music than he has in some time.

Here everything feels like a copy of something that had already been done better by another band. In the end, there's little to no reason to pull this record out instead of Siamese Dream or Nothing's Shocking. Or the other three Meatbodies albums, which have all the oddball thrills and unique perspective Flora Ocean Tiger Bloom seems to have lost along the bumpy journey to completion.

The vibe is familiar but the sound is fresh and, better still, Evolution isn't ponderous: it's brisk and bright, keeping its focus squarely on the gifts that brought Crow into the Rock Hall.

As Battles evolve, they remain true to their unique mix of brains and brawn, and La Di Da Di just might be their most engaging music yet.

As sonically pleasing as it is, Tiger Suit isn't a mere vehicle for sound; it's built upon Tunstall's strongest set of songs yet, and it's no coincidence that they're her most ambitious, either: she may be firmly within the mainstream but she's taking risks as a composer and record-maker, never settling into the role of the earnest earthbound folkie, winding up with an excellent album that satisfies as pure sound and as songwriting sustenance.

Given that Ferry doesn't sing on The Jazz Age, the appeal for casual fans is debatable. But for the faithful, trad-jazz heads, and open-minded listeners, the musical quality--from expert arrangements, virtuosic playing, and the brilliant concept--offer something wholly different and rewarding.

Regions of Light and Sound of God is intriguing and quirky; its songs often pose big questions inside informal, loosely developed pop song structures that are instantly accessible yet whose lyrics are often metaphysically elusive.

Rateliff's world-weary, deeply expressive tenor and lyrics place him on a different level than any of the current crew of revivalists.

On The Light of the Sun, Scott sounds more in control than ever; her spoken and sung phrasing (now a trademark), songwriting, and production instincts are all solid. This is 21st century Philly soul at its best.

Perpetual Surrender's highlights might have had more impact if they were collected on an EP, but DIANA have a unique enough perspective--and enough potential--to make the album worth a listen for anyone who loves synth pop in any of its incarnations.

For perhaps the first time, his solo work feels less like a tangent to his work with the Strokes and more like something sustainable in its own right.

The release is best summed up as stream-of-consciousness bubblegum pop, seldom committing to an idea for very long, but still maintaining a driving sense of excitement.

With the music provided by orchestrations from woodwinds, strings, brass, and much more besides, the feeling is one of playfulness, a resistance to and celebration of easily grasped pop forms and a sense that the world is there to be amused at and with.

On their fourth album, Tony Dekker and his revolving cast of co-conspirators walk a little taller than on previous releases, employing a larger, more band-oriented sound that lovingly elevates (and amplifies) Dekker's simple, refined melodies into something both peaceful and majestic.

McLagan's easy but powerful groove makes United States another satisfying episode in the life and career of a true rock & roll believer.

In essence, Brute is dark ambient grime, with Al Qadiri's stamping drums and probing bass frequencies heard less frequently than her synthesized choirs and horns. At its most vivid, it evokes the feeling of anticipating a shove or a bean bag round.

A big part of what makes A Question of Temperature so engaging is that, like Travels in the South, it's the work of a musician who isn't rejecting his past experiences but making something new of them.

Overall, Tears in the Club may aim for the melancholy, but it's also pretty enough to please those in search of a lush, soothing escape.

Heartache, triumph, anger, and resolution all feel reported on from behind a melting wall of ice, drowned out ever so slightly by the sound of a late-night party raging somewhere in the distance.

It sounds fully colored in and unless you're a big fan of cold and lifeless, it's a huge step forward for Washed Out.

In an era of bloated and overproduced albums, Moorer has delivered a small wonder with Getting Somewhere, and it ranks with her best music to date.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Hidden World makes an argument for Fucked Up as part of the thriving Canadian post-rock scene, which the band has previously willfully ignored.

Hidden is not merely a second step for this duo, but real deepening in a highly individual sound.

Her partnership with Sigsworth is a fine, even seamless fit, making this consistent, and satisfying, top to bottom.

Projections, Fairhurst's first album, designed more for home listening than for dancefloors, is relatively listless, sometimes torpid, and often sounds more like a project than a form of expression.

While they're certainly not the first band in 2015 to reference the swirling dream pop of Cocteau Twins or bleak sonic themes of Portishead, they are far more original and daring than your typical experimental bedroom pop act, using their inspirations as a stepping-off point en route to their own adventures and inventions.

Little Windows clocks in at less than half an hour, which is certainly appropriate to the period that Jones and Thompson are honoring. But given how well they mine their influences and bring them into the present day, it's not hard to wish a second Little Windows will open soon.

Forget the sophomore jinx, this set delivers on the promise of that first album and then some.

Way Down in the Jungle Room includes the material from From Elvis Presley Boulevard, Memphis, Tennessee and Moody Blue, and a second disc of outtakes and alternate versions to create the definitive document of this often overlooked period in Presley's career.

Their self-described "acoustic-live remix" can be a little tentative at times. Nevertheless, it's a worthy showcase for Torrini's excellent body of work and achieves a level of quality that many live recordings fail to reach.

It's hard to say if Sallee gets a lot out of a little or intentionally little out of a lot here, but the album is at once rich, restrained, and beguiling.

This seamless blend of aesthetics is also why Resistance Is Futile works musically. First, it comes on strong-all sharp edges and gleam-but once the blare fades, the melodies and their accompanying sweetness lingers, leaving a lasting impression behind.

Longtime Districts fans may well be surprised by the surfaces of You Know I'm Not Going Anywhere, but after a few listens it's clear this music has as much (or maybe more) that connects it to their past than that which separates it from their larger body of work.

From the outset, Weight of the Sun feels less immediately accessible than Modern Studies' two previous albums and suffers a bit from its mid-tempo lull and more contemporary palette. Given some time to decant, however, it reveals hidden depths and more interesting layers than are at first apparent.

The second half of The Else is so good that it's a little frustrating that the entire album isn't this solid. Still, there are more than enough good moments to keep longtime fans happy.

Fall to Pieces justly wallows in its grief, a document to loss and tragedy. This sonic bloodletting is by no means an easy or fun listen, but an invitation to grieve alongside Tricky.

As unconventional as it is relaxing, Zebra is perhaps Arp's most inviting sound-world yet.

Maturity suits the group, and "Pink Wonton," "Sparks," "Paul's Grotesque," and "Head On" have all the makings of breakout singles with their fun, memorable choruses and subtle yet clever musicianship.

As convincing as Welcome Back to Milk's fury is, Du Blonde's rock is no more straightforward than Houghton's version of folk was.

Despite the clear connections, it's not completely derivative. Cage the Elephant are maturing and their songs have a new heft to them, which may drive away some old diehards but will certainly attract new followers.

She has the talent and courage to speak from her heart and make her ideas heard. Anyone who has ever had a (broken) heart will find something they can understand on Good Advice.

Though it takes a few listens to get to the heart of Heartworms, fans who have stuck with Mercer for this long will find it time well spent.

La Cucaracha is the sound of Ween cutting loose, reveling in the lower budget and expectations an indie label brings, and playing music that simply sounds good.

Andrew spends TFCF discovering sounds that previous incarnations of Liars somehow never explored, whether it's the oddly majestic psychedelic flamenco of "Cliché Suite" or the brittle piano pop of "No Tree No Branch," one of a streak of surprisingly catchy songs on the album's second half. Amidst all the change, Andrew holds onto some quintessential Liars qualities.

Beet, Maize & Corn is a dramatic reinvention of the High Llamas.

Another handsome, shaded, and satisfying work from an artist that has reconnected with her muse.

Alternately sparse and lush, Red Dirt Girl can be seen as a companion piece to 1995's Wrecking Ball... The diverse production only adds to Harris' earthy songwriting, adding interest to what could otherwise be lulls during the more subdued songs, and really showcases the understated lyrics that the singer has slowly become recognized for.

If label executives of 1982 were brought to the present day, they'd hear at least six singles here.

Redemption's Son achieves a sophisticated marriage of traditional songwriting craft and avant-garde production.

A solid heavyweight of ten skillful tracks, each one more unlike the other in form and feat, yet similar in ample amounts of prowess and poise.

Whether intentional or not, there's a certain glee to FOB's pop absurdity because their cheerfully careless genre-bending has no reverence: fitting all these sounds and jokes into a pop song is all a game and it's one listeners can share, whether they're playing spot-the-allusion or just succumbing to the sugary hooks clustered within one track.

It's also nice to hear vocals like Carey's which gently suggest a Brian Wilson sense of harmonizing instead of fully pushing the point--refreshing given so many of Carey's compatriots in indie-leaning rock music.

Natalie Merchant is not a progression so much as a deepening and, as such, it offers a quiet comfort for anyone who has ever loved her music.

Ultimately, with Love Me, Barfod has crafted an album of highly engaging, emotionally resonant pop music that's as creatively rewarding as it is accessible.

For quite some time, it has been obvious that RX Bandits have wanted to be more than just a ska band, and on Gemini, Her Majesty, they appear to have evolved into something else altogether, and though some veteran fans might miss the old sound, there's no denying these guys have the chops to pull off this new and inventive approach.

With all the elements in place, the late-era The Violet Flame sits on the top shelf of Erasure albums, and considering all the greatness in the back catalog, that's no easy task.

With more life, richer texture, and an inspiring attitude, Beautiful Lies is Birdy's declaration that she is more than able to make her mark in the big leagues and join the ranks of the alternative pop pantheon.

The songs jump from pounding metal excursions to tightly wound modern rock to synthy weirdness, each one ripping cleanly through the speakers with nary a ragged edge or stray shard of feedback. Take any track and let the guitars loose, add some unhinged drumming, do some howling instead of harmonizing, and almost every song would be vintage Segall. Wrapped up tightly in slick modern clothes, they are something new. ... Harmonizer is an exciting and intriguing addition to his bursting-at-the-seams discography.

Gracie Abrams focuses in and doubles down on the wispier ruminations of prior EPs, this time in full-on collaboration with This Is What It Feels Like contributor Aaron Dessner, who co-wrote and produced the entire album.

The record is very reminiscent of the Sounds' 2006 release Dying to Say This to You, because of the sassy, provocative vocals as well as the overall mood.

Samson's words are the star of the show, and their ornate depictions of rural Canada, soft romantic devotion and computer programming make Provincial a quietly beautiful experience.

At times, the extra grit quotient in Chesnutt's songs seems in turn to inspire a tougher approach on the part of the Junkies, but more often, the late songwriter's quirky, agreeably crooked structures are given a fulsome, flowing quality that would probably never even have occurred to Chesnutt as a possibility.

Aside from messing with his own formula, it's not necessarily the most groundbreaking or well-written LP Sartain has made and, taken as a whole, it feels more like an experiment than a major step forward.

The album's sound is so alluring that it sometimes threatens to overwhelm the delicate vocals and melodies. Still, Static is a vivid, poignant tour of heartbreak that's much more enjoyable than that description suggests.

Dream Get Together is the rare 2000s album that sounds better played end to end than it does broken down into pieces. A track might sound good in a random mix, sure, but taken together, the effect is somewhat magical.

Wave's formula of recounting painful memories and reflecting on how far he's come on the road to stardom starts to wear a little thin midway through Beautiful Mind, but he switches things up enough with the unexpected R&B vocal samples of "No Deal" and the booming, anthemic arrangement of "Mafia" to keep things moving along.

Deth Red Sabaoth sounds like what a lot of the Samhain/Misfits fans wanted the group's 1988 debut to be: a raw, dirty, D.I.Y. collection of comic book-inspired violence, thrust together by the unholy union of punk and metal.

The conclusion of Oneida's Thank Your Parents trilogy got some initial attention when word emerged that Kid Millions' signature drum drive wouldn't be featured, but such is the strength of the band that Absolute II functions both as conclusion and its own distinct release.

Their brisk, efficient indie rock hasn't changed radically, but the insertion of an instrumental here and an electronics-heavy track there makes for needed counterpoint.

If you give it time, The Information eventually reveals itself as Beck's tightest, most purposeful album yet.

While a good background album it may be, it's not exactly gripping. The songs are too multifaceted to feel cohesive, yet they never seem strikingly experimental.

That eagerness to sell out can be grating, especially when her 2009 debut slides into glassy ballads, but fortunately she's also picked up (perhaps unwittingly) on the underlying oddness of Aguilera and Perry, turning out purportedly mainstream pop that puts together familiar ingredients in weird ways.

Quietly fascinating, reaffirming that Halo doesn't have to make a grand statement to deliver another intriguing addition to her body of work.

Part of the problem lies in the wispiness of both White and Morrissey. Neither vocalist is a strong presence, so their voices wind up not as the focal point on the record but as an element in the tapestry.

12 proves that they refuse to simply tread water, and it's smart, heartfelt music from an uncommonly great band. If only more people outside of Canada knew just how good they are.

Snakes & Arrows is one of the tightest conceptual records the band has ever released.

One hears a variety of influences on this 2009 release, including no wave, psychedelic rock, art rock, 1980s post-punk, Brit-pop, and even folk at times; all of those influences serve Clues well, and all of them add to the intrigue on their promising debut album.

Not one for the skeptical, but Carnegie Hall charms: give yourself over to it, and Adams wins you over, first through his act and then through his songs.

Later lyrical transgression aside, the LP is a pleasurable thrill ride.

It's rare for a band to keep getting better over time, especially after 15 years, but the Ladybug Transistor have done it, and whether you've been a fan the whole time or you are just discovering (or rediscovering) them with this album, there is enough good stuff here to make even the coldest-hearted music snob admit that there is music being made in 2011 that's just as good as anything made in 1965 or 1977, or any year.

As the title suggests, it excels at capturing the kind of partly sunny heartbreak that can actually feel pretty good if you give yourself over to it.

Those who don't share his sense of humor or fondness for quick-shifting sounds may be left scratching their heads while listening to Enthusiast, but listeners who are ready for anything will enjoy the wild ride the album offers.

Take It Like a Man isn't White's best album, but it does give him a chance to take a musical detour, and with the Packway Handle Band at his side, this turns out to be a thoroughly enjoyable side trip that suits him well.

c rhymes. Best experienced end to end, Evermore: The Art of Duality is a dense journey worth taking, but one decidedly filled with more questions and ideas than answers.

It's a daring album, and in its best moments, the listener gets a sense of how fulfilling and soul-cleansing its production must have been.

Instinct is a vivid and varied debut, and ultimately a more rewarding listen than if Niki and the Dove had just explored one facet of their sound.

Well worth the wait, Blood, Looms and Blooms offers more proof of why Leila has been hailed by Gilles Peterson, Aphex Twin, and Björk since she started making music.

By owning her mistakes, she turns them into strengths--and delivers a winning first album in the process.

Heroes & Villains is the worthy and meticulously assembled sequel to Not All Heroes Wear Capes.

On Lightning Bolt, they've grown into that classic rock mantle, accentuating the big riffs and bigger emotions, crafting songs without a worry as to whether they're hip or not and, most importantly, enjoying the deep-rooted, nervy arena rock that is uniquely their own.

It's their most glossy, most consistent, most calm, and surprisingly, their most socially relevant album, despite their approach toward middle age on a teen-oriented punk playground.

You Can Have What You Want falls a little short of the last record, Can't Go Back, just because it isn't as jaunty or light-hearted, but it is still an impressive work that should go a ways in providing some proof that the band has more depth and power than one might have thought if they just stuck to the surface

Perkins has always carried the torch of vintage Americana, and he covers all his bases here.