Newcomers may be a bit overwhelmed by all the frenzied drive of their delivery, but the combination of irony and assurance guarantees populist appeal.

On Oni Pond, their fifth, is quite possibly the closest they will ever come to being considered de-cluttered.

Divine Providence apparently isn't a realm for the faint of heart, but those with the verve to vent their all may find it a welcome retreat.

Badwater is more accomplished but also less astonishing, a victory of craft over pure sensation.

Immunity pounds and pulses with pneumatic energy, its rhythmic tracks (“Collider” but also “Open Eye Signal”) gleaming with machine-precise hedonism.

Ultimately, Whispers suggests a kind of sublime sensibility, sentiments that will hopefully encourage all potential fellow travelers to quickly get on board.

Crocodiles play with great passion and honesty, and the album tackles every human emotion. Consider it an instant classic.

Songs like “Preludes,” “Tracking Shots,” “Tangletown” and “Rescue Blues” find his pliable vocals emitting that certain verve and swagger.

Whenever they appear close to becoming unhinged, that rowdy, reckless approach is even further affirmed.

While there is nothing particular off about this quiet, solid collection--consisting of little more than Hitchcock’s voice over quite acoustic guitars and the occasional piano and cello--it’s still a pretty muted, low-energy affair that is not immediately memorable.

Heaven isn't 100% bliss, but the Walkmen have taken themselves and their fans one step closer.

In the end, Pure Comedy isn’t anything close to the laugh fest the title implies, but it does provoke a deeper reaction regardless.

Neil Young and Crazy Horse just never disappoint.

If you like the Scottish band, you should probably pick up No One Can Ever Know. If you're interested in the remixers, they have their own material to explore. There's nothing here that either camp can't live without.

Ultimately, Dagger Beach isn’t the easiest listen--“bewildering” and “bizarre” are perhaps the better descriptions here--but for sheer daring and intrigue, Vanderslice finds fruition.

Clark's talent is undeniable, but only when he's not flogging it half to death.

As evidenced by the rabid tones of Radium Death, his eighth album and perhaps his most demonstrative, Whitmore is both resolute and resilient.

Flowers is his third solo record and, unsurprisingly, it’s a collection of lush, textured compositions that, intentionally or not, accurately depict the graceful, exciting and endless landscapes that Iceland is so famed for.

"Det Hester!" and "Dresinen" vary the formula a bit with, respectively, squelchy synth-bass and fuzzy electric guitar, while the album-closing "Aldri Ska Me Ha Det Goy" is a oozing slo-mo ballad that layers Endresen's vocals to suggest The Four Seasons Sing Pet Sounds.

The point of Alright is not to churn out hit singles but to create an experience for its listeners, to create a concept album. Lindstrøm has successfully done so!

All ten tracks evoke surreal circumstance, given a delivery that's atmospheric, amorphous and hypnotic.

His latest is a bit of a challenge, but worth it for those willing to put in the time.

Sadly the momentum's not maintained once DeCicca and company quickly slip back into their plaintive posturing.

The record is a slow built; one that will likely take a few listens to finally grab the listener. But when it does take hold, these songs are hard to shake loose.

Though only nine songs long, Saturn’s Pattern is as close to heavenly as Weller’s ever been.

The quality [on End of Daze] is solid to great.

Nothing may not be particularly imaginative, but it’s so competent at its craft it’s hard to imagine any fan of the style complaining.

Finds the Present Tense reconciles past with future and makes for a compelling connection.