Though unlikely to win legions of new fans, this is another impeccably crafted psychedelic rock record sure to please fans of the genre.

Lysandre, while far from being reviled, received only a moderately positive response, one that was tainted with apprehension and frustration at its lack of ambition. A New Testament is even less ambitious, yet still enjoyable.

The record is, ahem, a solid debut that should provide a jumping off point for something great next time ou

There is also a vibrato-drenched version of "Moon River" that seems more of an afterthought than a statement, but even that hangs in the air quite well. There is some pretty astonishing virtuosity as well as clear thought, and that's what sets this record and Orcutt apart from the excesses of technique. The man makes music as well as notes.

Although decidedly a step up from their last effort, the sloppy and forgetful Sidewalks, Lightning still finds the duo stuck in the same routine.

Where their last record, Black Masses, sped, this record swings.

The sense that this project comes from a place of honesty and respect is clear. Unfortunately, as ever, [Jamie Stewart's] voice remains the double-edged sword that cuts the enjoyment of his work in either a "love it" or "hate it" direction.

Carved into Stone is a bit hard to warm up to, but it finds the band reaching out and, in doing so, writing their catchiest material since they snapped our fingers and necks so many moons ago.

It's a shame to find Grizzly Bear spinning their wheels.

It certainly sounds diminutive in scope after the triumph of Iteration, and, despite the new gear, there's not much that sounds especially new or exciting here, just the usual Com Truise stuff in a slightly reduced register.

Wall of Eyes is an album of background music, a cinematic compilation that feels like a collection of songs that just weren’t good enough to be on its predecessor. It’s too jammy, too undercooked, too unedited — an overextended comedown without the requisite high.

While Wale remains fairly proficient throughout, that clever, memorable wordplay of old is what's most notably absent from this session, and that's a shame.

Too often, they rely on imitation of their influences, rather than pushing the genre forward in a compelling way.

Essentially a pared down version of last year's singles box set--minus the singles, of course, and with a couple of additional tracks--it brings together acoustic takes on old favourites, a handful of covers and a muddy live cut.

DAMN. is the first time in Lamar's career that he hasn't broken new ground, explored old themes in new ways or exhibited sonic growth.

With a lazy pace and slightly detached vocals from Standish, these eight tracks seem to sway like strips of bleached cloth hanging in a light breeze.

The songs are engaging and incredibly catchy, but lack emotion ― that intangible quality that will take this feel-good record and give it staying power.

Forced Witness is perhaps too heavily grounded in the sounds of the decade [early '80s], to the point that a "heard it before" spectre hangs over the album.

The short, sweet The Way packs enough pop-tinged punk energy and emotion to satisfy Buzzcocks faithful, at least.

"Black Health," "Sober-delic," "Edgar the Elephant" and "Cardboa Negro" are the most compelling tracks, showcasing a midtempo churn where McDonald's rock'n'roll pedigree really shines. ... Despite the presence of these successes, Death still sounds like a band treading water.

Gallery falls short of living up to what Idle Labor promised, feeling more like a case of the leftovers.

The lesson should be that there are some great songs buried beneath all the studio trickery, and focusing on that would serve Dr. Dog much better next time out.

These songs feel ripped from sets you'll most likely never see, as the technical skill of Villalobos conspicuously reminds the listener of the less boring record it could have been.

There's more of the same on Dormarion, the singing drummer's reliably affable third album for Merge, which has a little something for everyone, but stops short of total engagement, like a slightly too tipsy party host.

Bringing in a slew of analog instruments, mostly to give each track its own disposition, Lissvik pulls together swinging piano, shuffling guitar, drums and loads of modular synth lines, and though he does a great job of keeping the album instrumentally diverse, he falls into the same textural and spatial avenues throughout much of the album.

The production is on point and the rhyme patterns are above average, but there's a distinct lack of cohesion.

While the band's earlier material sounded lo-fi out of necessity, Underneath the Rainbow disappoints due to its inauthentic attempt at sounding like an album recorded long before its time.

"Big Bank" and "Today" are two of a handful of songs plagued by lazy flows and bars, the former rife with braggadocio duds like "I be on that Little Caesar's shit, hot and ready." Still, Black's raw pen game and unabashed authenticity show promise; he just needs to heed his own words.