A sonically interesting mess but proof that not everything they record should be released.

Trouble follows the critically lauded 2006 masterstroke, "Destroyer's Rubies," and Bejar's band, returning from those sessions, makes it feel like a solid rock album.

Trill but fatalistic ("Part of the Math"), rock-tronic and soundscapish, Homies crams a mixtape on 12 inches of wax.

The results are as ebullient as they are confessional.

Let Them Drink is a time capsule buried sometime between 1967 and 1973.

Four songs clocking in at nine minutes or more, Föllakzoid's III unfolds subtly and gradually to steady, hypnotic rhythms inspired by their Andean forebears.

The locals' penchant for grandiose concepts and elongated immolation remains, but part one of Tao avoids letting the song cycle run away with the songs.

Revelation notches BJM's 24th release, as potent a psychedelic experience as you'll find in 2014.

Call Me Insane follows the formula with a couple of minor detours.

It plays like frantically turning the FM dial in the car, the neon strangeness of L.A. looming ahead.

The music roils and rumbles, allowing the group's folk roots to peek through, but it only sometimes rages or roars.

The salsa-imbued "Green" celebrates heritage and familial commitment as the LP culminates in a dreamy slow-burn.

Fitting trajectory, Felt loosens up on the seriousness gripping Suuns' last three albums into kaleidoscopic microcosms of Krautrock pulses, guitar ambience, and post-punk eruptions.

Throughout, stories curdle grim and scary, violence always hovering on the periphery.

Armed with a gorgeous warble that sounds like a gothic Chris Isaak, Peck soars over the sparse arrangements, which prove a natural complement to all the reverb, tremolo, and twang.

This is Escovedo's most diverse collection of material since 2006 John Cale production The Boxing Mirror.

Despite the melodrama, the LP's perfectly done, every note in place.

A difficult listen with subtle rewards.

Primitive and Deadly fares best when Carlson's emotive solos are afforded due perimeter.

The dancehall rhythms of the title track, originally a hit for the Staple Singers, with Neville's super soul vocals, plus the loud, proud funk of opener "504" serve up instant highlights.

Where's Rick Rubin when you need him? Lead-off "Hammer of the Gods" misses his flat sonic anvil in the separation of oracle from ocean, though succeeding burp gun "The Revengeful" discharges like one of the überproducer's concrete beatings.

Marnia, a fantasy as daunting as it is revelatory.

The result's an oddly illuminating listen, perhaps their most austere, pushing Clinic's more off-the-wall elements to the fore--as if the band's fun-house psych mirror got turned on itself.

Uncovered, the longtime local's second covers album, both respects its material's wellsprings and celebrates them through a different, and at times unrecognizable, lens.

Folklore has less of a sense of urgency than 16HP's previous recordings, but it seems to indicate the band is comfortable in its skin, albeit shifting around.

Svanangen's bright falsetto holds his miniature musical tapestries together.

Second LP We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed continues on the path blazed by their 2008 debut, all urgent joy, jubilation, and communion.

Just how bad can an LP produced by "Neil Young & Booker T. Jones with Duck Dunn and Poncho Sampedro" be? Not bad at all.