The textures are jagged and distorted, the lyrics are mostly nonsensical and feel spontaneously captured, and the whole thing sounds like an awkward genre-fusing experiment that doesn’t feel like it warrants its own noted release. That’s not to say there aren’t moments with elements to enjoy, if not just moments with potential.

Haiti lacks a clear narrative. Still, this hardly harms the project. It simply constrains it to being particularly strong rather than transcendent.

Pedestrian may have similar mechanics to Yuck’s highlights underneath, but it’s stripped that fuzzy distortion and slathered in a thick layer of schmaltz as a replacement. The end result is a struggle, one that’s scattershot due to it’s need to include now-ancient methods to survive.

One often loses a sense of location and chronological time, transported into a sublime realm, Blunt reveling in understated craft, melancholic freedom, and undiluted authenticity.

Songs like “Carpenter” and “Set the Fairlight” have some of that old-school Islands mentality, displaying Thorburn’s ability to write infectious grooves. But these moments are few and far between and easily overshadowed by the homogenous tones of “Natural Law Party” and the flighty “Marble”.

Where Shall We Begin is as strong a debut album as we could have hoped for. It sounds incredibly considered and carefully put together, from each song choice to the instrumental arrangements.

It’s not bad music per se, but lacking Weiss’ sharp drumming and the virtuoso guitar work the two are so good at, there’s not much left of what made Sleater-Kinney exciting.

On Reflection, we truly see the breadth of her resourcefulness as an artist: both as translator and purveyor of gut feeling. The elemental building blocks are all you need to shape something completely new.

His choruses don’t jump out at you so much as slink by, which is not always a bad thing, but maybe not what you want from pop music. ... Every song on Changephobia sounds like it has an inch-thick layer of dust on it, but if you take a finger and smear that off, there’s a beautiful ice-cream paint-job below.

Although this is an album about oneness, we are here for Peng, and these moments where we feel closest to her as a person are some of the most rewarding.

The album is the sound of Penelope pushing back, deciding that the closing of motherhood is not the end of her life. She’s confident and resolute in spirit and vision. It’s art defined by ageing and it’s all the more powerful for it.

There’s a depth and sensual nuance to the album that most of her contemporaries lack.

At its worst, The Tunnel and the Clearing sounds akin to lovely if too-inoffensive loading screen music. At its best, it’s bewitching and intriguing. Overall, Schott still has much to give, and much to offer this particular genre of minimalistic abstract pop, but she may need to do more next time around to take her considerable skills even further.

This album embraces you like your favorite seat, preserving your outline intimately in its fabric.

Monthly Friend is serviceable indie rock at best, but it’s hard to meet it with anything greater than apathy and indifference.

Blood is an undeniably fun album brimming with indie-pop sensibilities and anthemic energy that makes listeners want to sing along.

Cavalcade is an experience album, one that lingers long after it’s over. It calls to you from the basement.

Overall, Frontera retains the qualities that fans of Fly Pan Am always appreciated about the collective, but this time around they feel disconnected. That is not to say the album is bad, it simply appears that it cannot be properly appreciated without the aid of the dance performance by Animals Of Distinction.

At times, take the cake feels like it’s at an ennui crossroads, trying to define listlessness while side-stepping its intentions. But how many artists have we seen hover around an emotional bullseye on their first album only to hit it on their next go-round? Even if take the cake doesn’t show PACKS’ full potential, it still gives us much to look forward to.

Throughout Showtunes, Wagner demonstrates that theatricality and showmanship can manifest in many different and sometimes subtle forms. He may not draw in many new fans from this one-act performance, but it’s still one of the band’s most intriguing and well-executed productions nonetheless.

CHAI see no line whatsoever between taking on whatever issues get to them and being able to completely bliss out, and it’s this very energy that continues to make them absolutely essential. WINK is simply the warmest, most open way they’ve chosen to engage in that battle yet.

While Mannequin Pussy may not have necessarily progressed hugely, they have found thrilling new ways to implement the sounds that made Patience such a success. Most excitingly, the little glimpses of new ideas and chemistry suggest it’s just a stepping stone to what’s next.

It’s music for mending the soul and opening the eyes of skeptics to what music – what really good music – can do for us. No matter what walks of life we come from, there’s legitimate emotion attached to Mdou Moctar’s music, and it should shake any living, breathing being right to their core.

The lightness of touch and tone on The Power of Rocks imbues it all with an easy energy.

With Indian Yard, there’s a feeling we might not yet know the full identity of Ya Tseen, but a future release without such reliance on partnerships will surely enlighten. There’s enough thoughtful layering and earnest emotion (“At Tugáni” is where he shows this most, notably in a song named after his son) in Indian Yard to merit further exploration.

With The Monster Who Hated Pennsylvania, Jurado has released another moving and memorable album, gaining further traction in what might be considered the third phase of his career.

Haram feels like the truest representation what they set out to do at the start of their journey as a duo. As a result, it finds them asking the questions everyone is avoiding.

It’s a rich tapestry of sound, message and meaning with multiple layers to unpick with each listen.

Like anyone daring to take a glimpse into the future, Hutchings is met with confusion, astonishment and alienation. Fortunately, he assimilates the tools, knowledge and creative bandwidth to acutely document them, and more importantly, navigate them in a useful, inherently joyous way.

It’s a topsy-turvy balancing act that she’s playing, but for the most part it’s successful. Clark flips between that groovy funk of the 70s, then back to her guitar rock days, and then, sure, she employs some more experimental and electronic moments that might come across as jarring to some. But it’s also just part of the brand that is St. Vincent in 2021.

On her sophomore effort, Monsters, Kennedy doubles down on the eclectic nature of her music, offering up a lengthy set of songs that range from experimental electronica to a capella ballads.

Although it’s not without some flaws, mainly lying within its familiarity, Anything Can’t Happen is a terrific album from Dorothea Paas, whose career will hopefully only go up from here.

There’s inevitably a Portishead vibe throughout, but it doesn’t hinder the sound of Ice Melt or reduce Crumb to imitator status – it simply compliments the ethereal sound they’re going for, and remarkably succeed at.

Seek Shelter isn’t the big, era-defining statement, but a transitional album for the quintet, opening up the possibility of rock’n’roll in their arsenal. While this stylistic choice doesn’t fit 2021’s overarching trends, it proves just how good Iceage are at transforming their sonic interests into full-blown epics.

Squid’s music is full of: humanity and the inherent hope within it. It’s what makes Bright Green Field a joy to return to time and again.

Van Weezer is the definition of a modern Weezer album: if you go in expecting it to be as dumb and forgettable as other recent Weezer albums, you’re going to get exactly that.

It helps make clear that Endless Arcade is a quiet record that helps reaffirm Teenage Fanclub’s enduring appeal: their songs can help dull the pain. And pain there is.

Yet another impressive and experimental addition to Dawn’s discography, Second Line proves that this prolific artist is not running out of steam or fresh ideas any time soon.

Something about The Fellowship makes one want to listen to it again and again, but it’s not something that can be put to words, it needs to be experienced — just like a lifetime and the memories made in the process.

Where Superwolf imagined Sweeney and Oldham as blood-splattered riders or jealousy-crazed sailors turning into godless cannibals and sodomites, Superwolves has them sitting on the porch and watching the sun set as their children play in the high grass. ... That makes for a less gripping experience; the predecessor’s bitter, sexual tone made it unique and unforgettable, working off of the subconscious urges of the post 9/11 George Bush Jr. era, but the sequel’s gentle acceptance of the world and all therein allows something thought impossible on that first album: forgiveness.

if i could make it go quiet does a pretty great job of playing to Ulven’s strengths while also branching out. Her newer territory might take a moment to adjust to, and may not always entirely suit her, but so long as she keeps singing about the experiences and feelings that are her own, she will remain captivating and exciting.

In Standard Definition is possibly going to be far too weird an album for some, but those that are curious about what d’Ecco has to offer should definitely go on this zany musical experience.

These 12 songs deal with death and loss – themes that have never felt so tangible for so many. Yet, Field Music pull off this balancing act for one simple reason: this was their very gift to begin with.

Sweep It Into Space has all the ingredients for a pleasant listen, while doing little to separate itself from the rest of their discography.

His newest resembles an above-average B-sides compilation: something to tie over the diehards while they wait for his next official album.

Instead of wry irony or wallowing in hopeless abandon, Pale Horse Rider achieves something more like a fellow soul joining in on watching a fire in the distance.

It is the soundtrack to rousay’s year of insularity, isolation, and adaptation, and harmonises beautifully with anyone who’s undergone similar feelings of repression and growth during this period.

This music is fast and hard, but there are fewer risks than it might at first seem. Those hoping for the band to push themselves in a new direction are going to be slightly disappointed, while those who have vibed with this collective since day one will likely appreciate ULTRAPOP for what it is – another album by The Armed.

CLAMM are strongest when processing their internal states of mind.

With “Get Up! Come Walk with Me/Composition 7” – as with Broken Mirror: A Selfie Reflection in its entirety – White, Holley, and a cast of energized musicians question the post-human age while celebrating the creative process.

When they really let themselves down is on the sappiest songs.

The band’s shape-shifting compositions create a forward momentum well suited to a journey through different levels of Hell on Earth.

Iglooghost surveys beyond the sensory, straining to activate neurons in unexplored areas of the brain. As a result, elements that shouldn’t work somehow end up sounding cohesive, vibrant and new.

That’s what How Many Times is: another record about lost love. Yet, what saves Rose’s version from sinking into tired banality is the earnestness of it all: she displays the full gamut of her emotions in the songs, from longing to anger, yearning to acceptance.

For such a prolific, genre-blurring artist, we are lucky as listeners that all the pieces Ryley Walker’s set up over the past decade could coalesce in such a fine, tight 40 minutes.

Dry Cleaning seem a working-class band, but they are not a political band in that same sense. This concept is mimicked across many post-punk bands past and present, but instead of trying to stay firmly between those politically-charged guardrails they have stepped outside of them and created their own scenic route.

Head of Roses, also Wasner’s Sub Pop debut, is her most direct record yet, full of what is definitely her clearest, most emotionally stirring work to date.

These tracks strut with a more upbeat cadence and disposition, without straying from the same earthbound concerns that marked Erez’s previous material.

Is 4 Lovers is the band’s most playful album to date too, oscillating between The Beatles, Lenny Kravitz, Big Black, early (aka: good) Muse and The Rapture.

The tracks on G_d’s Pee AT STATE’S END! share a sense of triumphalism brought about by the communion of music. The album soundtracks the end times, while offering glimpses of hope.

On Half A Human, they’ve taken steps to create songs that better reflect their states of mind and, as a result, have uncovered a new confidence and self-assuredness. Regardless of their music’s reception, their changing circumstances, the world at large, they’re right where they want to be.

What Silberman’s managed to accomplish with Green to Gold is admirable. Instead of quitting music he’s pushed forward and accepted his limitations in pursuit of his passion.

sketchy. may not be their out-and-out best work, but it’s proof that they still have the guts and the songwriting ability — as well as their ever-present, obvious earnestness and candor — to do what endeared their work to so many in the first place.

Collections From The Whiteout excels in storytelling and lyrics but doesn’t always prove the easiest experience. However, this is an album that becomes more comfortable with each progressive listen, unwinding in the listener’s consciousness like the sung stories themselves.

It’s clear that OH NO will not be remembered as one of Xiu Xiu’s most stellar records. Yet, as usual with collaborations, it’s likely that each listener is likely to find their own tracks they ditch, just like different ones will stand out, given the varying degrees of artistic touches these additional musicians bring with their own aesthetics and histories.

Most of this review has been spent trying to use genre to back the record into a corner, but there is still so much ineffable that can’t be captured in words. Menneskekollektivet is impossible to pin down. That’s the thrill.

“Movement 9”, at just two and a half minutes, puts a resplendent cap on proceedings, the LSO’s strings tying things off with forlorn grace and pomp. It’s like an echo of what’s come before, the tremors from the encounter between Sanders and Shepherd resonating out into the infinitude. It leaves us in no doubt that we have just witnessed a meeting of monolithic proportions.

Benny and the rest of Griselda are a force so reliable and prolific that they should be boring by now. But The Plugs I Met 2 suggests that we’re just getting to know them.

There’s some pleasure to be had here, but for all of those except those of us pawing the floor with anxious, somewhat embarrassed memories – and as the album cover even seems readily to acknowledge – this is perhaps a pill best left unswallowed.

It’s effortlessly buoyant, especially now that he’s reclaimed his image; he’s not the sad and desperate crooner he was once made out to be. Wise sounds more liberated because he is. This serpent is brandishing new skin, redefined and transformed, not by the will of others but by his own love-led volition.

Most of the takes on Songs From Isolation are engaging, if not provocative alternatives to the originals. Some are less successful, even if they constitute an ambitious undertaking. It might have been worthwhile if Williams had picked at least a couple of tunes more essentially divergent from her own style and energy.

More often than not, this album is deeply enthralling, providing interesting textures, head-swaying grooves, tight rhythms, and an awesome display of synchronicity amongst the bandmates at almost any turn.

On one hand, Muddy Time is clearly a love letter to Doyle’s beloved predecessors, most readily perhaps Robert Wyatt’s Rock Bottom as well as Eno’s earlier vocal flirtations. But it’s also perhaps the most complete vision of Doyle’s works yet.

On World’s Most Stressed Out Gardner, Chad VanGaalen indulges his inner experimentalist more than on its more recent predecessors, albeit with the same giddy, goofball disposition we’re used to.

For better or worse, Chemtrails Over The Country Club is 100% a Lana Del Rey record that fits quaintly into her discography. Anyone following her up to this point shouldn’t bat an eye at how sharp of a left turn this is compared to her previous album. She’s absurdly contrived, but the allure is far too captivating to look away.

Even though there are only three tracks here, and a total of approximately 12 minutes of music, Lout represents some of The Horrors’ most expressive, uninhibited, and memorable work – a potential indicator of what might be an entirely new trajectory for this band, including, perhaps, their best creations yet.

Clocking in at a hair over half an hour in length, Driver is similarly brief in nature as the albums which preceded it, but it stands apart from Adult Mom’s first two records in that it’s a more polished, bigger and brighter collection of songs, in spite of how its lyrical content may seem.

The Moon and Stars: Prescriptions for Dreamers is June’s strongest whole document so far; it has such a crystalline, atmospheric take on her favored genres that it seems to exist both within and without the confines of those styles. Her singular, moving, astral take on songwriting appears fully formed with this album, and it’s as exciting as anything to see a promising artist truly deliver.

Moffat’s storytelling is utterly masterful throughout, tragic case studies abounding.

Poster Girl is a step forward in a somewhat more concise direction for Larsson, but it could have used some fine-tuning to fully commit to its vision. She has created an album that is unapologetically romantic and fun but lacking in consistency production-wise.

Only on a few songs does the album bear some weak spots, the most obvious being “Here For Now, For You”; with its under three-minute runtime and lack of evolution, the song feels like an obvious breather. Overall, however, Johnson and company sound completely comfortable throughout The Pet Parade, as if they’re working from a home-field advantage.

Pretty much every song on When You See Yourself manages to convey what the past few Kings of Leon albums missed. This is an at times muscular, at other times breezy collection of songs, recorded with care, removing bombast and occasionally returning to the rough live sound of their early days.

The music of Angel Tears in Sunlight is in no hurry, but stick around and it will take you to zones that breathe with ancient life.

While some tracks could stand to have their ideas explored more fully – in particular “Default” which ends suddenly right as things start to swell – this is still a satisfying listen from start to finish.

Show Me How You Disappear may not hit the highs of her previous work as far as aesthetically pleasing noise, but it is a clear step-up for Medford’s songwriting talents. This may not suit everyone’s fancy, but for Medford it seems she’s finally found her footing.

Usually, Blanck Mass records should be listened to at intense volume, whereas In Ferenaux is so densely packed and beautifully mixed that headphones whilst walking alone late at night are your best option. Trust me, you’ll thank me for it later.

Across the eight tracks of the album, she shifts between intimate personal reflections and extensive ambient meditations with the elegance of tides swelling and settling.

While Balsams was supremely confident, something special, The Cinder Grove reaches even further forward and inward at once, arriving on some far-flung shore that is entirely, supremely Johnson’s own.

With All Bets Are Off, Tamar Aphek has crafted an impressively eclectic project, forging elegant balances between minimalism and maximalism and coalescing her affinities for a variety of musical styles.

For an album called Carnage, on the surface it appears to have none, but the inner turmoil of Nick Cave’s psyche is full of it. He fantasizes about long lost loves, but also about shooting you in the fucking face, and it’s this toying with our emotions makes Carnage one of Cave’s most maddeningly beautiful records.

Yes, it’s a more mature album than those initial shots that audiences lost their minds and virginities to from 2004 to 2007. But it’s also a rich, passionate and clever album that, even if it ends up being underrated, deserves full attention and praise.

The Shadow I Remember is a confusing exploration of Baldi’s hopes and dreams, which don’t materialize at all. There’s so much to unpack in his words, but he makes it hard to care about them.

Believer’s songs push and pull against each other, and the end result leaves one feeling like not much ground has been covered. It’s bolder than most new albums in recent memory, especially coming from a label as big as XL, but too often their sound comes off as a bizarre experiment. They are capable of more.

Little Oblivions doesn’t so much feel like a step to a higher point as so much as a stumble that Baker has made to look as graceful as she can.

Sparke deals more in intangible feelings and imagery than precise and name-dropping detail, and the fact is that most of Echo was completed prior to the pandemic forcing a rift between them. Lenker’s instrumental contributions are minimal; she plays gently beside Sparke on a few songs. ... Indeed, the production helps maintain the focus on Sparke throughout.

Clocking in under 30 minutes with only nine tracks, Cool Dry Place is a lovely breeze of a listen, and truthfully, a nearly flawless record. Except for a couple of moments of autotune and lo-fi weirdness, Kirby generally plays it safe, musically, which leaves one wanting a tiny bit more from a talent like herself.

A laser-focused record that’s their longest studio album since The Hawk is Howling, but has a lightness of touch that feels nothing of the sort.

Their insistence for organic compositions stands out thoughtfully on Open Door Policy, and it reminds us precisely why we fell in love with The Hold Steady in the first place. Despite them being slightly aged rockers, they haven’t forgotten what it means to rock out and to give in to the desire shout at the top of your lungs when you are struggling.