Another Splash of Colour: New Psychedelia in Britain 1980-1995, has plenty of meat on the bone for the uninitiated as well as the seasoned psychedelic music listener.

He just hides his eccentricities a little better this time. You have to look for them, but they’re there.

No surprises, but impeccably predictable.

They blast their way through what will be one of the best punk records you’ll hear this year, and their best album to date.

This Ain't Chicago does exactly what it's supposed to do: make you wish you were there.

It’s all quite pleasant, nicely played and sung and recorded, but perhaps a little distant. These tunes flow by like sunny afternoons and when they’re done you can’t remember much.

From the heads down deliberation of Alligator, Mississippi to the teasing double entendre of Sweet Tooth, White’s music captures a particular time and place when pop and pretense weren’t necessarily intertwined.

In the best cuts, the dance elements win out over doom-y post-apocalyptics. “AS A.W.O.L.” layers metallic-ringing keyboard notes (like a music box made of tin) over a sinuous, vaguely ominous beat.

The instrumental nuances make for a vibrant whole, but often times, less works best.

Outside Society serves as an excellent primer for the young person looking to delve into the genius of Patti Smith for the first time as well as an essential addition to the record shelf of any seasoned fan well versed in the catalog of this high priestess of rock 'n' roll.

True to its title, Believers does indeed have the potential to make faithful advocates of all.

An exciting and distinct new spin on the dreampop revival.

What Thundercat has created with The Golden Age of Apocalypse is the sonic equivalent to a power-packed issue of Wax Poetics, bringing together several disparate elements of one nation under a groove to build a challenging and soulful playground for his indelible skills on the bass.

I was kind of hoping for more hooks, but sometimes forget that every record can't be Singles Going Steady. When the White Wires release a greatest hit collection that might be just what I'm looking for, but in the meantime, WWIII will do.

A musical journey through spiritual and physical emotions, Electric Word will stir and soothe the soul.

With songs as downcast and despondent as “False From True,” “Worthy” and the title track, the steady ache doesn’t abide all that quickly. That said, Trouble & Love does find some cause to break the stranglehold of sadness and despair.

Brooding, menacing, haunting, even elegiac--we feel the Earth move across the emotional spectrum, rumbling through its soundscapes with eyes closed and amps set to stun.

The Fact Facer is a nuanced, multi-leveled listen that stands with the best things Amos--and anyone covering similarly adventurous terrain--has done.

The musicianship is so uniformly good that you forget about it and allow yourself to be swept onward by the songs.

Above the Prairie unfolds as a series of shimmering, seductive soundscapes that effectively convey the other-worldly imagery asserted in its title. Within this beguiling set of songs, a dream-like scenario with a nocturnal gaze unfolds.

This Is Glue is several orders of magnitude better than the already quite enjoyable Metalmania. Without changing the formula much, Sampson has somehow increased the impact of his ramshackle, ear-wormy songs and made them matter more.

Recorded live on the floor with his band, ChesnuTT's second album cuts the fat away for a lean, no-bullshit sweet soul program that hearkens back to the heyday of the O'Jays and Al Green.

Nothing is Wrong is a terrific follow-up for a band that delivers beautiful, powerful music straight from their own hearts and right to yours. Believe.

What you end up with on End Times Undone, is a trance-y, pop-psych, hypno-rhythmic romp that showcases a group of players that have magically meshed into a single hive-mind, behind the very talented Mr. K., at the top of his game.

You're Nothing is an album full of power--power which makes you think and react viscerally.

Americana is damn near as excellent an album as Davies has delivered since the ‘70s, a set of songs that will someday be seen as among his best.

He sounds like an old master these days, crafting material that would sound equally affecting if they came from the pen of Guy Clark, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Steve Earle, Alejandro Escovedo or any of several weathered and revered troubadours who blazed the path before him.

No matter how synthetic and mechanical things get, the stain of cosmic psychedelia never completely fades.

Both rocking and reflective, Small Town Dreams is chock full of the kind of ready for prime time anthems that effectively assert both his acumen and authority.

With heart on his sleeve, Wagner opts for sobriety, but when those strings swell, the effect can be intoxicating.

Don’t look for fireworks here, but rather smaller, quieter revelations that take time to unveil themselves.

While the tunefulness of these tracks may not be so obvious--and in many cases, almost entirely elusive--she entices her listeners to peel back the layers and discover the shimmering glow that emanates from within.

For all its shattered circumstance, Carry the Ghost makes the most of its heavy baggage.

It’s merely average, one likely to fade into memory once the buzz dies down and the fire goes out.

The disc turns more experimental as it progresses.

Surprisingly sedate for a final blow-out, Throw It to the Universe sends The Soundtrack of Our Lives down the road to retirement with beauty, class and grace.

Sometimes Django Django's ingredients cohere into an actual song, but a lot of the Scottish quartet's self-titled debut album is frustratingly sketchy.

It's an A-list of contributors for sure, but what's most impressive is how Hogan makes each offering her own.

Mudhoney’s new live set, L.i.E. (Sub Pop), collected from a 2016 tour, is bluntly, ferociously coherent, though it spans three decades, seven albums and one Roxy Music cover.

There’s nary a moment missed by the band to demonstrate that Sharon Jones is one of the greatest female vocalist currently operating.

While this is Hurray For The Riff Raff’s strongest record to date, it’s doubtful this is a peak. Keep Segarra on your radar.

GOB is heavyweight hip-hop from one of urban England's brightest new talents of microphone mastery.

For the Glory Fires, it's all about "Righteous, Ragged Songs," and Bains and the band deliver that in spades on There is a Bomb in Gilead.

It's the sound of songwriter matched to band that makes this record so deliriously good.

It's the sound of three guys blasting their way out of suburban torpor.

This record isn’t just Worthy--it’s essential.

The way the group interweaves its strengths on its take on Miles Davis’ “Nardis” shows the pure pleasure that comes from listening to experts who love their jobs doing them well.

Life Is Fine boasts some of Kelly’s best lyrics in years.

It’s a combination of old and new, letting Liddiard play to his strengths as a writer while letting a new band paint his compositions in different colors. That blend of comfort and risk makes A Laughing Death in Meatspace one of the best rock records of 2018.

Silver Age is another peak in a career full of them, and it's due to the quality of the material Mould uses to construct the suit, rather than the classic cut of the design.

The Take Off and Landing of Everything is another fine release from a band that has yet to steer wrong.

Going Down In History is pretty much what you’d expect from the genre veterans; catchy three-chord country with some distorted guitars and plenty of punk rock attitude and smart ass lyrics.

More than any previous Timber Timbre record, Hot Dreams simmers sonically with the chaos lurking just below these surfaces. Rarely does such calm feel so utterly foreboding.

Overall, This is Lone Justice: The Vaught Tapes, 1983 may just be the definitive Lone Justice recorded experience.

While there aren’t any revelatory moments of creative growth here, the best songs on Still Life suggest Morby still had plenty left in the NYC tank.

They’re as vital, fresh and relevant as they’ve ever been in 31 years.

It's a happy, bright trance, not necessarily to be avoided. C'mon. Dive in.

A musician capable of creating lush if sometimes unlikely arrangements, he uses his particular prowess as a means of fashioning spectacular soundscapes.

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

Despite how often he churns out work, this is steadfast and cohesive.

It feels like a declaration of purpose instead, made all the stronger for having passed through the crucible of Bachmann's doubts, through the armor breaks, and straight into-and from-the heart.

Eitzel and Butler work so well together one hopes that this collaboration doesn’t end with the remarkable Hey Mr [sic] Ferryman.

The album’s arrangements and standout musicianship--including pedal-steel and slide guitarist Greg Leisz and Henry’s son Levon on clarinet--is a reminder that Henry’s extraordinary production work is second to none.

Methinks come the end of the year, a lot of people will have adjudged it a keeper.

It is not one thing (folk) or the other (post-rock, post-classical experiment) or even, really a blend of the two, but rather something fresh and idiosyncratic and worth exploring.

These eight songs are indeed everything you'd expect from this reconfigured version of Comets on Fire with Chasny at the controls. It's a purely transcendental synthesis of heavy folk meditation and interstellar overdrive.

[Swing Lo Magellan] is instantly likeable. It makes perfect sense, but unravels into nonsense and complexity on second glance.

Growing up in the Nottingham projects may have given Bugg enough life experience to get away with penning “Seen It All,” but it’s his sonic aesthetic that give his tales truth.

The songs vacillate between solid, classic McClinton and ho-hum and you can’t help but miss the more raucous, wilder Delbert.

At any rate, Behind the Parade lobs another handful of Keene klassiks into the katalogue.

Locrian proves itself expert in simultaneously exploiting the warm blanket of beauty and the cold ice water of noise.

An exceptionally strong debut record, Soul Power will make you believe in the title concept.

Eleventh Dream Day acknowledges its past and could fit in comfortably with the big dogs.

Golden Sings both celebrates and transcends ordinary existence, finding revelation in small, perfect turns of song.

With Sleeper Segall sounds almost, well, mature, and emotionally invested.

I like the tumult and ferocity of the album’s first half, though I’m not sure the world needs another “Everybody do the [insert dance move here]” song or anything else entitled “Rock and Roll Baby,” ever again.

From start to finish, God’s Problem Child is a quintessential Willie Nelson record and there are few things in the world better than that.

Wainwright has a true gift for turning heartbreak into brilliant folk rock.

Like most prolific artists, Willie can be hit or miss with his offerings. This latest one lands the target dead on.

Biophilia is a delicate and highly tactile treat, a unique gem of innovation (pipe organs driven by computers, the mallet-tickled gameleste) and gentle real soul whose breathy endearing heights Bjork hasn't touched in a minute.

Bettie Serveert have always trafficked beautifully in lovely melancholy, and this melodic, varied and rocking collection joins a long list of fine records from the Dutch band.

Nobody has ever really sounded like Chrome but Chrome, and that makes Feel It Like a Scientist sound as fresh now as it did back in the bad old days.

Mick Harvey deserves every accolade that will certainly be festooned upon this album for not only showing us Gainsbourg’s brilliance but his own as well.

Small Town is a master class in chemistry, creativity and the joy of making music for no other sake.

It is great to hear them testing out other feels without losing an ounce of the consistency that has made them to toast of Chicago for all these years.

For those of you not so enamoured of the lo-fi, early ‘90s garage/punk crud the Memphis trio so brazenly and brilliantly pioneered, feel free to plug in your own “1” or “0” stars.

Some of the names here will already be known by fans, including White, Charles, Gentry, Dale Hawkins, Link Wray and Larry Jon Wilson; while others, such as Dennis The Fox, Gritz, Cherokee, Jim Ford and John Randolph Marr, may only be familiar to collectors. It's all great, though.

Father, Son, Holy Ghost contains some of the deftest songwriting of 2011, and is more than a worthy successor to the group's debut.

With The Westerner, Doe’s reached another milestone, a rugged, reliable individual who reflects the sturdy independence that characterizes the west at its best.

It’s intense and contradictory, a bundle of bravado and doubt and vulnerability and longing that stays with you for a long time after the last chorus fades.

The most conspicuous element of Last Summer is the simplicity of the music.

All in all, it makes for a rich and resilient brew, and maybe, just maybe, the kind of opus that will propel Jurado towards the greater accolades he so clearly deserves.

Skelethon ranks among Aesop's greatest work yet.

These fourteen songs bob and weave, rise and fall and generally make a first class racket in the best way possible.

Quite simply, Songs to Play is an excellent Robert Forster record.

From the opening cut of “Earthen Gate” the songs nudge, heave, shove and then finally bulldoze their way to your hearts.

The quality of the songs and Hawley’s ability to completely inhabit his songs make Hollow Meadows another triumph in his remarkable discography.

The Something Rain is not just the band's best since they reconvened in 2008; measured against their earlier work, these nine songs shadow the younger Tindersticks in all kinds of compelling ways, trading in youthful adventure for expert-like craftsmanship.