Take a spin through Denison Witmer’s 11 songs, and whether listening to an album stream or consciously and individually clicking through the individual tracks, distinguishing song-to-song shifts proves difficult, as Witmer chooses an acoustic guitar as his primary partner and additional instruments (hear: light percussion, occasional keys, and drowsy bass) are reduced to mellowing sleep-aids.

It can be said that this is the best recently released shoegaze record, or perhaps that it best recapitulates the classic sounds of a genre largely past.

Raven in the Grave is a step in the right direction, to be sure, but the melodies aren't quite as fresh on this album and the songs often lack the soundtrack-y emotional wallop that older albums relied on.

If, like me, your hillbilly musical tastes lean toward bluegrass, you're likely to forget this one.

It’s uncertain music from an uncertain man, an artifact that will continue to influence growing pains from the many Lynchian dreamers.

Hunx has returned with a reduced lineup of Punx (formerly the Punkettes) and a sophomore full length, Street Punk, which is a far more aggressive endeavor than its predecessor.

It's an improvement, and it reveals a band with plenty room to grow. In the meantime, these Jackpacks will continue coasting.

The album might be a brooding thought battle, but with the support of dreamy, female sopranos, the burdens become bearable.

Crocodiles try so much that it can be an exhausting listen, but still there is enough here to keep this outing from San Diego's noise pop outfit from wilting.

It ends with a glorious resolution of two notes teased from Northumbrian pipes, so perfect and final that the reprise of “The Last Ship” seems redundant. Such honest moments make this album a worthwhile, if not fully rounded experience.

Their sound yearns for those Pacific nights, with a hazy moon illuminating San Francisco Bay. It's going to take a bit more than sparkles and glitter, though, to propel their intelligently crafted dream-pop a bit further.

Mount Moriah is ultimately a refreshing debut whose flaws can easily be excused as growing pains.

Aiko’s presence produces an easy, lived-in experience. Sail Out never quite excels, though, because those big moments are all too few.

While All You Need is Now won't bring flocks of teenagers over to Duran Duran's side, it's certainly a commendable effort if for no reason other than it's the band's most relevant and listenable record in almost two decades.

It all ends too soon. OneTwoThreeFour is a 10-minute sprint, fitting of a band that's never released more than four songs at any one time.

It's too often a shell without a filling to serve as a ride from front to back, on drugs or otherwise.

Killing Time brandishes an entertaining personality that breathes fresh life into a tried and true trend.

Green shows a new depth and further proves the jump from shaking walls in a post-hardcore group to melting hearts with his current project was the right move.

Bandleader Adrian Pillado and the rest of the group work their way through their retro surf-influenced blasts of pop with ease.

With the jazz-flute-driven “Walking In Your Footsteps” rounding out the highlights, it’s these tracks that radiate the most, but the whole LP serves as a welcome illumination of the otherwise abandoned dance floor we call February.

Middle Brother is nothing revolutionary, but it is an enjoyable throwback to the good ol' days of classic Southern living.

It’s by no means Rogue Wave’s seminal work, but it manages to come off as an honest and hard-earned statement from a band that’s been dealt more than their fair shares of blows these past few years.

The masks are still up on Free Reign, and the hints at human emotion lying behind them aren't strong enough to attempt to pry in.

Dr Dee is more of a musical fog made for sipping tea while blankly gazing onto a desolate street.

The key word for this album is pretty.

My Damnation serves as minor evidence that Chelsea Grin might not become a throwaway copycat. Fans can only hope polish doesn't push these Utah rockers away from their current path and towards the poppier territory of their more famous neighbors.

Elsie begs for the late-night meanderings, sometime after the party, when your mind needs a personal escape.

The album is more a loving revival than a modernization of some of the Everly Brothers’ lesser-known songs. But when the duo’s influence can still be heard trickling into everything from Fleet Foxes to Animal Collective, it’s hard to claim that What the Brothers Sang does much more than reminisce.