The ease with which you can get lost inside Range Of Light is no dismissable feat.

There’s a sense of maturity and control present, without losing their trademark edge.

You can enjoy Salad Days for its unadorned flow and easygoing weirdness, or you can stop, reflect and be moved by its fresh honesty. It’s worthwhile either way.

The issue on here is that not enough tracks combine both of these two, cool, newfound elements--Kinsella’s vocal and lyrical growth and the expert jamming that surfaces throughout.

The album’s strongest moments come when Felice settles on his deep, lush baritone and considers using it in favor of poetic lyrics or complex instrumentation.

We know that there’s still plenty of life and love and pain to come, but we’re pretty okay with it. In fact, we’re ready to hit the road and let Lost In The Dream pull us in again and again.

Sonically, the capricious trio has brought about a fresh positive energy while still delving into the darkness that has always been present throughout their career.

Hauschka’s ingenuity to rework his instrument into a entire orchestra is astounding. But his ability to avoid the usual, overtly romantic notions of forgotten cities and instead replace it with a portrait of refined desolation is equally impressive.

Simply put, their sound has organically reached a more developed state. Each song brings something new to the table with few tunes just bleeding together.

Piñata might be long, but it moves fast.

It seems breathy, angelic, and narcoticized is the default setting for indie rock female singers these days. And we may also need to reel in that trend too. But hey, if it ain’t broke... Which it is not on It’s Alive.

For now, this band’s M.O.--Graves’ machine gun mouth racing the bands’s nerve-strung music to the finishing line of each 113 plus/minus-second blast--is welcome in the currently, often drowsy world of indie guitar music.

Float through this album right when you wake up or right before you go to sleep. Either way, it’ll calm you down and make you think.

This latest iteration of gauzy grrrl garage rock does the sound right by tightening the hooks and adding more forceful rhythm.

As a debut album, Eagulls proves that this band has tremendous potential.

Within what the Black Lips claim is the their most rootsy release are sly, glam-tastic details dished out with a sometimes laggard energy. It makes for an album that digs in deeper with each listen, like cool new boots trudging through mud.

With No Mythologies To Follow, MØ has established herself within an emerging circle of powerful pop dominatrixes but with her own distinct sound full of versatility and vitality.

What was once an instrumental electronic project has now, in the hands of Joseph Mount, become an inventive, layered, modern pop act, perfectly capable of standing on its own and defending its place among the genre’s very best.

These songs are Polaroid snapshots of friends, families, lovers, cul-de-sacs and empty highways. Some are perfectly, sentimentally fuzzy, and some don’t quite make it into the scrapbook.

Confidence and a greater level of comfort can be felt all throughout Cosmos.

The home stretch of the album is where the band really opens up, unleashing haunting melodies and intricate movements that create a soundtrack for a virtual fever dream.

It’s not that Schoolboy Q is the best lyricist; and there’s not an immediately profound life lesson here; there are no mind-boggling internal rhymes; but Oxymoron is amazing mostly because it attempts to heal past bruises with more bruises. Schoolboy hides nothing and everything leaves a mark.

If you can get past the (New York-ishly cynical?) temptation to corner this band into an indie frame, you can revel in the depth and intricacies that the band has managed to unearth from and on Manhattan.

With her experiences and experimentation, she has combined and refined her sound to make it something that is similar and yet totally separate from anything she’s done before. St. Vincent isn’t afraid of being different or taking risks, and thinks we shouldn’t be either.

In addition to featuring some creative tongue-lashing, You’re Gonna Miss It All expands on the musical ideas and tendencies that made Sports such a hit.

Gendered pronouns do not appear on the album, thus the record feels distant, as if Rostron is isolated from the listener, a tactic that makes the album intriguingly impersonal yet universal.

Their latest album, Voices, showcases more maturity and focus than their previous work.

Listening to Galore kind of feels like growing up, as it perfectly balances a combo of bittersweet nostalgia, hopeful optimism and an impending sense of something bigger and better to come.