It's hungry, vicious synergy that the Detroit duo's got going here and one can only hope that it's something they can eventually translate into something longer than an EP, or at least something with more depth.

There is always a feeling of constructive clarification at the heart of Clay Class, and that reappraisal of the traditional sense of progress is something that is cemented by the ideology shining through the holes that Prinzhorn Dance School so artfully poke through the fourth wall.

The Horror is one of the label's most tenacious offerings yet.

It simply, like her two (arguably better) albums before them, hurts too good to be ignored.

With Clear Heart Full Eyes he's established himself, tentatively, as a man apart from his band.

While sonically it's different from anything else on Rich Forever, it's a product of the same insecurity machine that produces the rest of the tape's insistent cajoling.

Visions is exactly what it sounds like: it's an aesthetic and conceptual vision, one utterly unique to Boucher, and it's both strange and satisfying.

The record's understandable missteps are minor in comparison to its joyful evocations, and though Lindstrøm seems to be attempting to approach new territory, he does it in considerate measures and comes away with something that still makes perfect sense.

What could come off as a gimmick, however, instead plays like a focused foray into day-glo disco.

Though its pleasures may not be quite as direct as his work with Crayon Fields, and its tempos remain thoroughly slow, it remains a standout among a rapidly-increasing number of hardware and software-driven thrillseekers, more than ample evidence that O'Connor's work is worth taking notice of.

Baldi manages to find a comfortable place in between the all-potential pleasure-all-the-time approach of his first two records and the potential for all-out sad dude sonic violence, delivering a criticism of and break-up message to computer music by jettisoning every aspect of his work that could possibly be labeled as such.

Better to think of this one as a purposefully delineated double A-side.

Nada Surf have not reached outside their comfort zone with The Stars are Indifferent to Astronomy.

The ubiquity of the Weeknd has saturated their latest mixtape, and ultimately Echoes of Silence struggles under that ubiquity.

Too bad, then, that I Love You is underdeveloped.

Chairlift are perfectly capable of producing a really good album; Something just isn't it.

It's not so much disorienting as it is illuminating to revisit ØØ Void, Sunn O)))'s second release from 2000, recently reissued by Southern Lord. After all, it sounds exactly as you remember-or exactly as you'd imagine-which is to say: glacial-slow riffs, suffocating drones, mind-numbing minimalism.

Though at times deeply affecting, Voyageur is not the great statement of a record one might hope for after a four-year absence.

Luckily, as his focus on formative heartbreak has slowly graduated to the trials of marriage and children, Owen's catalog has likewise matured in sound.

With El Camino, the Black Keys have essentially twenty minutes of worthwhile music, at least as far as partying is concerned.

For either Reid or Hebden completists, Live at the South Bank is a useful and worthwhile artifact. For someone seeking entry to the catalogues of two vital artists, this is a thorny and difficult listen.

The seamless blend of cutting-edge textures and an obvious deep respect for the essential building blocks of classic techno make Sepalcure a pretty resounding success.

[A] lovable shamble of a rock record.

A seriously solid and enjoyable album.

What they've done is only pretty good; it's clear what they can potentially do is far more amazing.

More than any other melodic recording this year, Earth Grid feels truly timeless.

New History Warfare has enough range that it seems to have opened up a whole new fanbase that might otherwise have no interest in avant-garde music.

This freak of a record is almost obscene in its flippant disregard for the core elements of such a well-defined thing as what Boris is supposed to sound like... as crazy and over-polished and un-Boris as it is, New Album is still a new Boris album. And, apparently, that still means excellence.