Transcendental codification.

Sour Soul eschews the Tony Starks comic book concept narrative of the past two efforts in favor of some good old-fashioned coke rap and braggadocio.

Houses of the Molé is signed, sealed, and delivered so powerfully that one can overlook the fact that it's basically Psalm 69 or The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste Part II.

The post divorce rant "Better Off Without" and bittersweet Kelly Hogan duet "Come Back Little Star" about their late friend Vic Chesnutt are among the treasures here.

With every repeat spin, Sermon reveals new truths, divine grooves, and exquisite inspiration.

Phosphene Dream, count backward from 99.

Houndmouth pulls it all together into a packed album without faltering.

The Besnard Lakes have perfected psychedelic harmonies and slurring melodies, but they're so much bigger than that.

Blitzen Trapper's fourth album and Sub Pop debut delivers a more polished, coherent vision while not sacrificing the Portland sextet's vividly eclectic contortions through alt-folk and garage rock.

Some of his warmest melodies.

With new mixes from original producer Glyn Johns (the Who, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin), Griffin's varied folk-rock collection marks another high-water mark in her beautifully arcing career.

Elbow is a sad lot, likely to lead to a life of Merlot, Silk Cuts, and a straight razor or two if you don't watch out. They're gorgeous just the same.

No filler, not one outtake, Friend and Foe succeeds in living up to the hype of Menomena's first LP by growing wiser with every loop of sax and blast.

Pallet deserves equal billing for his album arrangements, which lend The Age of Understatement its epic splendor.

There's growth here even amid the stumbles, Elbogen realizing with closer "Bruises To Prove It" that black and blue are "still better than a torn-up heart."

Whether Combs is telling stories ("Dirty Rain," "Rose Colored Blues") or waxing political ("Bourgeois King," "Blood Hunters"), he makes every track feel like a visit from an old and dear friend.

Hailing from southern Algeria, this Tuareg desert blues troupe twists Tinariwen's template with their second full-length.

Dirty Projectors has never done so much with so little, a rare feat reiterated by the disarming, insistent standout, "Gun Has No Trigger."

One Day is a rollicking carnival ride that turns its off-the-cuff attitude into something approaching transcendence.

Miller indulges his appetite for electronics and repetition alongside psychedelic excursions.

The Love Is Hell discs are far more dense and dark, making the songs a fun challenge to crack open, though it isn't difficult to determine what a no-brainer it must have been for Lost Highway to favor the brilliant Roll over the more spotty Hell discs. [Review applies to both EPs and 'Rock N Roll']

The Pulp frontman embodies entertainment, presenting pop anthems as masterpieces, and Thorburn pours just such confidence into Arm's Way.

Ghost is not a lot of fun. Still, it's an accomplishment, because it's an angry album.

There are blunders ("Attention," "You Don't Understand Me"), but Lonely consoles with the strongest and most diverse album from any of these raconteurs in years.

The bottom falls out of Wolfie's second half --'Rome' declines, 'Countdown' never reaches orbit, and 'Girlfriend,' no--but closer "Armistice" beats fresh out of the dryer on golden Versailles pogo. Merveilleux!

The NYCers fourth LP pulls from the trio's usual obsessions--shoegaze, noise rock, 120 Minutes circa 1988--with zero interest in making things easy.

Though culled from improvisational jams, this instrumental exploration of psych's deep catacombs never feels anything less than deliberate.

The Argument is the first outing for the Dischord flagship band since '98's End Hits, and offers substantial improvement over that LP's uneven sonic experimentation.

Fever hinges on bouncing beats and an inspired brand of feminism.

Happiness in Magazines is a huge stride forward for Coxon, who here seems to have jettisoned his scattershot aural experimentation in favor of meaty melodies that actually stick with you.

By the time the album closes on the warm, wandering "Goldtone," Vile and the listener remain dazed and confused, but smiling.

In short, Burst Apart, as truly beautiful as its compositions are, is haunted by Hospice.

Portraits polishes, buffs, and ups the oomph factor on 11 tracks that find guitars and organ keys emerging as the most prominent instruments on "Just Ask," "Better Than," and "Rabid Animal."

Last year Sturgill Simpson combined psychedelia and country music to great success. Israel Nash takes that idea to a tangential place, with results equally successful yet more likely attuned to those who reject anything with a twang.

New Moon is a near yearbook, a simple reminder of the talent and fruition of Steven Paul Smith, friend, comedian, and one of the greatest songwriters of this generation.

The first two discs rock with transcendent grace, but stumble on disc three, in part because their last studio albums were uneven.

More structured and electric than Either/Or, but without the overproduction of Figure 8, Basement is the next logical step.

The off-kilter, old-fi production, mixed by Thom Monahan... pays generational homage like Prince or Beck.

Across 16 tracks, the 64-year-old Virginia native and his ace band largely play it straight, and the album leaps with energy and celebration.

Deeper--his third LP--plunges into his most self-assured head space yet.

Grizzly Bear did what's often impossible for lesser acts: shrugged off the overheated tongues of the Internet, refined its sound, and put out a solid disc.

There are hints of everyone from Pink Floyd to the Animals here, but somehow the Coral feels remarkably now.

It's a bold, scattershot declaration that leaves vinyl junkies ready to track down Fucked Up's coinciding (but not included) 7-inch single, "Couple Tracks."

Soon to be a jukebox staple at every down-at-the-heels dive and java joint in hipster America, More Adventurous has the potential, and the songs, to go a lot further.

Full of old-school gallop and intelligible vox, the Digipak configuration bonuses a DVD plundering three unflagging hours of live footage from Germany, a run of nights covering peak LPs The Avenger (1999), The Crusher (2001), and Versus the World (2002).

Streaming melodies ("Liar"), Sam "Quasi" Coomes' organ ellipses ("Gone"), and the top down, spark-throwing "Conventional Wisdom" rush head-on into the 21st century like Hunter Thompson's hovercraft.

Everett's double-album masterpiece, a definitive catharsis.

Dirt Farmer thus proves a revelation, not only through Helm's amazingly rich vocals but also in the return to his Arkansas roots with a perspective and emotion that testifies to perseverance and faith.

Singer Mat Brooke, formerly of Band of Horses and Carissa's Wierd, embraces the sunlight so rare to his home base of Seattle, leading his merry quintet on a journey to the happy place with a peaceful, warm, and affecting debut.

Animal Joy has a focus and progression.

Van Etten is in control like never before.

10 songs over 35 minutes at first feeling slight--yet not a sax bleed, organ snap, or female choral echo combs out as less than true-blue.

Way Down Low rivets with a fluid emotion lingering on Edmonson's subtlest articulation.

With flashes of post-hardcore ferocity, country-fried slipperiness, and surf-rock hedonism bundled together in a full-throttle hook machine, Heart dances, burns, and most importantly, rocks.

By coming back down to terra firma to detail her disconnection with love, Björk reconnects with the people of Earth.

Parker Millsap's sophomore LP kicks off raw and raucous, "Hades Pleads" chugging a howling blues that immediately showcases the 23-year-old's growth from his eponymous 2014 debut. The Oklahoma songwriter's eclectic roots reach likewise stretches impressively.

The members' varied stylistic interests mean the music avoids homogeneity while staying true to a collective purpose.

More than 15 years in, the Old 97's remain vital and enthused, making one wish all bands could age with this sort of spunk.

AM's a heavy seduction, restless and all the better for it.

Free of his former band's birthplace, Pete Doherty now exacts revenge on Shotter's Nation, whose opening briar 'Carry on up the Morning' rings instantly Libertine, as does the stumbling tempo and frontman's stutter-step lyricism on 'Side of the Road.'

Angst has a new champion.

It's a Corporate World is not without its playfulness, but what emerges most is restraint and nuance from the Detroit duo, as well as the general pop earnestness that drives the tunes.

For certain, the low-voiced local occupies artistic territory with Leonard, but Gold Record also spins reminiscent of Bob Dylan's summer surprise Rough and Rowdy Ways in its zoomed-out lyrical portraiture and employment of pop culture references.

Nostalgic, sure, but comforting, meticulous, and complex.

The Dap-Kings' most complete album closes with the stripped-down gospel thump of "Mama Don't Like My Man," a far cry from the rough funk of 2002 debut Dap Dippin' and a move that proves Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings have learned a thing or two since then. The hard way, naturally.

Anyone on the fence after 2004's Your Blues need only hear Bejar bark, "I tried to enjoy myself at the society ball" on the luxurious "A Dangerous Woman up to a Point" to see his strength as a songwriter.

Nichols still pleads brilliantly for outcasts and losers, and Overton is impressively tight, polished, and raw for a decade-old band.

This time, she adds a healthy dose of Southern soul to the mix and the effect is extraordinary.

The real feel good "hit" of the summer.

The success, and devil, of Smoke Ring is in the details, however, as the tunes prove intricately textured while still retaining an inherently garage feel, unraveling new elements as they sink in with lethargic weight.

Camera Obscura's done it again.

As with most LPs of this density, momentum lapses between set-pieces, but The Argument's ambition demands respect, if only to pay dues to a man who waited 25 years to write his All Things Must Pass.

It's only 33 minutes, but it leaves the listener purple--proof that brutality can be catchy when provoked.

If All Here Now never gets joyous or bright, it's inviting all the same.

Standouts "1001 Pleasant Dreams" and "13" wipe down the band's more melodic side, while "Spider's Web" and "Let Yourself Go" sound just as urgent and bottom-heavy as anything MoB throttled 20 years ago.

The time away and working with such diverse influences has enhanced his writing skills, The True False Identity overflowing with dense textures and dexterous social and political commentary that bursts with feverish abandon.

Hearing the newly recorded album as a completed work instead of dismembered modules is a rollicking reassertion of Wilson's compositional genius.

By not being "smart" enough to subdivide their appreciation of pop into a series of echo chambers, Junior Senior comes close to recapturing the preteen joy of responding to music unhindered by stigma.

His genius has always been his ability to make a listen that's never really heavy and leans toward positively gleeful.

Two decades later ... these weighty collections still earn and own those [accolades].

Sprawling with gentle lamentations, ethereal timbres, and stringed instrumentation, both the song ["We Were Worn"] and sophomore album Argonauta expand upon her 2013 debut Life in the Midwater.

Two decades later ... these weighty collections still earn and own those [accolades].

With typical spots of self-indulgence, Badu whispers stoned nothings on the spacey "Incense" and offers to pop, break, and crochet for her common-law lover on 10-minute closer "Out My Mind, Just in Time."

Barchords plays as the rare album that simultaneously lifts and pummels.

Mixing standards ("Laura," "Lush Life") with an occasional political rap ("Where Are They Now?") might fall flat in lesser hands, but Wyatt's voice is the linchpin, and Atzmon/Stephen work amicably with it.

That old-fashioned indie-rock ethos of baring it all and hoping for liberation's kickback – they don't make 'em like this anymore.

Hard to imagine that the XX could construct a quieter album than the first, but that's what Coexist manages. The first-time poetry of the debut will always be more earthshaking, but the softer, silkier, and more tender Coexist proves the trio can be just as memorable in repeat doses.

The centerpiece, a righteous cover of the Clash's "Guns of Brixton" references Cliff's lead character, Ivan, from landmark reggae film The Harder They Come. A wicked dub, "Brixton Version," bookends the set beautifully.

The locals' strength remains in crafting massive soundscapes, from the onslaught of guitar and electronic quips on "Radio Silence" to the balladic stillness of "Only Child." Meiburg's agenda isn't political. It's sonic.

Other groups make music this simple, but few match Winterpills in making melancholy sound this soothing.

The family rollick of Mac Davis' "It's Hard to Be Humble" injects some fun, but the piano-tinkled "Stay Away From Lonely Places" shines with classic Nelson songwriting magic.

In Civilian, quiet despair sounds like anything but.

More than anything, Shields feels like a deliberate maturation of Arcade Fire's The Suburbs, trading adolescent angst for an older disillusion and heartbreak. The same tension exists between the two, especially in swelling closers "Half Gate" and "Sun in Your Eyes," yet here, they're more intricately expressed and controlled.

Offering plenty of catharsis, Eyehategod gives good acrimony.

Refined into a quintet after two years of touring, the band broadens its appeal on Leave No Trace, threading the needle between the Sahara and the synth-heavy romanticism of 1980s New Wave.

Her Space Holiday is a satisfying conclusion.

Smother, roiling in passion often disorienting in its envelopment, is difficult to penetrate, but there is ecstasy in the succumbing.