What drew people to Tuttle's music to begin with was that delightfully dissonant combination of sweet singing and monster-shredder guitar playing, and that's just not what this album delivers.

The result is that Pyramid is an imperfect and uneven album that satisfies two different audiences, as the front half is packed with wandering jam band noodling while the second half tightens into a slightly more focused and rhythmic set. It's just a shame that Jaga Jazzist wasn't able to give the listener a more cohesive and unified version of what they were trying to achieve with Pyramid.

Overall, this is an album that blends choral and electronic to create something that amounts to little more than unobtrusive background music. It lacks both the cultural depth of world music and the dynamic disco beats of their earlier offerings.

You can't fault µ-ZIQ for branching out of the staid EDM clichés that oversaturate the electronic music landscape, but unfortunately, Chewing Corners is a little too disorganised.

While Sex & Food is a disjointed effort with Nielson's usual ingenuity wavering at times, fans will undoubtedly find favourites in certain tracks. It's an anxious, up-and-down affair, with moments of reward sprinkled within its lethargic haze.

His songs no longer have the raw-nerve urgency they once did, which makes Upside Down Mountain a pleasantly peaceful listen, but lacking the power and urgency of his best work.

The star power of the record's guests overshadows the album's best moments.

Seven Davis Jr's debut attempts to stay afloat on the strength of a few strong tracks, but ends up sounding stretched a little too thin.

There are admittedly some palatable textures here, an inevitability given the roster of talent, but so much of it is obfuscated in genre confusion and poor arrangements.

Although Simian Mobile Disco have the ability to give each track its own distinct personality, Live is a mere curiosity for even the most refined technocrats.

Pangaea Ultima is a cleaner, sprawling affair, but one lacking the ingenuity of some of Moore's more esoteric works.

On their debut, Museum of Love have created a tight debut that seems more interested in its primal appeal than it does its cognitive.

With a few of its tracks trimmed off, No No could have made a great EP, but as it stands, it's equal parts fun and frustration.

Although Slay-Z's flat lyrics might be a little uninspiring for the sober listener, its vigorous beats and dizzying pace are perfect for settings that require more moving and less thinking.

Tthe net effect is ultimately an uninspired collection of tracks that do little to offer a close listener anything new.

This collaborative album, It's Hard for Me to Say I'm Sorry, casually sits somewhere in the middle between tonal ambience and noisy dissonance.

The New Abnormal is not a bad record, but it is a frustrating one, made by a band that feels pulled in a dozen different directions.

Goodman remains a sharp and confident songwriter, and buried underneath the noise there's still plenty of charm here, but dialing back all the bluster would have gone a long way.

Rather than phoning in the record fans expect, AC/DC made one that suits their own needs.

The tech-house producer has attempted to cultivate his dusty electro landscapes, leaving the listener with seven hearty compositions built upon loose and fertile groundwork.

American Nightmare is not convincing or consistent.

There's nothing here we haven't heard done better somewhere else. Sum 41 can and have done better.

Unfortunately, the band play it safe on No Coast.

Using the album as a full-length thesis on the blending of Berlin and Manchester sounds causes Living With Ghosts to feel rather analogous and tedious, at times.

Throwaways make the ten-song album feel low on substantial ideas: there's enough material here for a solid EP, but it's rather thin for a full-length. Still, as a modestly enjoyable throwback to 2006, it gets the job done.

Glass represents Hunn's most mature musical sensibilities to date; however, the instrumentation throughout the album is so sporadic and indecisive that it's unclear what its ideal listening setting might be.

Clocking in at just over 30 minutes, it doesn't overstay its welcome, but unfortunately it gives up most of its best moments by the halfway point.

Where Wake in Fright felt lean and energetic, The Long Walk is bloated and tired, not so much a fulfilling, purposeful exercise as a slow crawl to nowhere in particular.

Smalhans is an enjoyable listen, though it's creatively limited when compared to Lindstrøm's previous work, not providing much more to the listener than a feel-good album.

Five Spanish Songs is satisfying enough for its 20-minute runtime, but it definitely lacks the heft of his recent work; without his distinctive lyrics, it doesn't really feel like proper Destroyer.

The songs--though sparely produced as usual--sound picked over, like they've been played too many times and have lost their fire.

The cut-and-paste bursts here are beautiful, but they're few and far between.

Animal Races is an homage to a bygone era, and a terrific one at that, so while it's far more influenced than it could ever be influential, it does have the potential to inspire sentimentality among those who lived through the era to which it devotes itself.

Unfortunately, Keith is treated to some friendly fire here, as most of his cohorts outshine him.

On Calling from the Stars, Miss Kittin's ambition comes off as both a blessing and hindrance; it's a cycle of ideas that unendingly feel very close to wearing out its welcome.

There are great moments that fulfil expectations of Jesu as a dissolving whirlpool bath of glass shards, but these flashes don't carry the full weight of the album.

While these eight tracks rarely involve an epiphany either narratively or musically, their anecdotal nature is a reminder that not every story has an ending, and that the memories that stick with us are often the ones we don't fully understand.

Too bad the music isn't as varied. In replacing keyboardist Sasami Ashworth with bassist Devin O'Brien, Cherry Glazerr have gone from wiry and versatile to big and bulky, but their titanic low-end quickly becomes stiflingly repetitive.

American Man seems to fall into the same [alt country-lite] formula, leaving little space for new ideas. They make up for that with enthusiasm and just enough grit; for those who like their country punk-y, raw and simple, American Man is a breath of fresh tobacco.

Rather than offering a bold new step in Reznor's long, winding career, Not the Actual Events feels more like tentative first steps towards something bigger.

The interludes and instrumentals only serve to interrupt the flow of the record, and it becomes clear the album is a bit of a mixed bag.

Aphex Twin has made a good move here by giving a similar feel throughout the EP, but instead of having a few so-so tracks alienated by a standout one, the entire release ends up being fine but unremarkable, especially when pitted against the behemoths of his back catalogue.

K.T.S.E. is a strong start with an anticlimactic finish. With a bit of additional time and effort, it could have been so much more.

Vår exhibit an ambition to spiral as far as possible down into some dark abyss while maintaining a constant impression of strange beauty.

Her drive and influences are there, but, moving forward, the search for hooks may remain her greatest challenge.

This record accomplishes what it sets out to do, engaging the listener with indisputably catchy moments, if a little inconsistently, throughout.

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.

Despite their proficiency, the Messthetics' individual talents don't entirely gel as an ensemble yet. Their debut is flashy, but it won't bring them out of the shadow of Canty and Lally's more famous projects.

Visuals is drenched in grandiosity, but many of its songs are devoid of proper exploration; instead of pushing the limits, they often feel idle.

If more attention was paid to crafting better songs, rather than just sounds, Howl would have been much more fulfilling.

Mark of the Blade is a bit hit-and-miss. Musically, the new touches work well and flow with the rest of the album, but the clean vocals in particular feel forced and sorely out of place.

Though Hail to the King failed to live up to the royal expectations of its titular disguise, The Stage's grandiosity smells of overcompensation; Avenged Sevenfold's crown lies somewhere in between.

For Tweedy diehards, these intimate reworks may come off as a nice fireside chat with an old friend, but those less familiar with the singer are better off starting with the originals.

This isn't poppier than anything they've done over the past decade or so, but few individual songs stick out like good pop songs should.

If Whine of the Mystic was the boozy night out, Thought Rock Fish Scale feels like the groggy hangover. It doesn't hurt, but its lethargic haze makes you wish it were still last night.

On paper this is a solid album, and Plaid have pushed all the right buttons, but they've pushed those same buttons many times before.

It's frankly still a pleasure to hear Lindstrøm masterfully keep everything in check, but there's a distinct lack of the full-throttle joyousness that he's capable of. If it was his intentional choice to temper that instinct, it was sadly misjudged.

The Behind the Green Door EP contains some of the most comfortably weird grooves we've heard from Laurel Halo.

Spooky Action is an incredibly simple record that's rescued by a primal energy and emotional output that artists half Loewenstein's age wished they possessed.

Unfortunately, a lack of cohesion drains this album's momentum entirely.

Too often, it is more than halfway boring. It isn't uninspired or weakly performed. Rather, it is boring in spite of the overwhelming bombast, the booming bass and pounding drums, the huge vocals, the wailing guitars; it is boring because rather than electrifying you, it distances and anaesthetizes.... The good news is that those songs are, most of them anyway, pretty great.

The Art of Hustle has vision, but it's occasionally weighed down by Gotti's efforts to recreate the success of his biggest single yet.

Big Box of Chocolates, like its name suggests, can favour quantity over quality and a mix of good and not so good, but if you take it as it is--an easy-going record made by '70s rock enthusiasts--it packs enough good vibes to keep you listening.

Medium Rarities isn't essential. A few tracks stand out, but the real excitement lies ahead. Mastodon's last few albums have crept up the top 10.

For each song where the more minimal sonic approach comes up short, there are places on Temple where it succeeds.

What Trouble lacks in focus, it largely makes up for with ambition and dexterity.

It's a remarkably ambient record that is also hard to settle into and relax around; it definitely rewards active listening.

The record is, unfortunately and overwhelmingly, a bland release from a band that feels like they're stuck going through the motions.

falling or flying may fall a bit short of the expectations set by her debut, but it does fly in the face of what you'd expect of someone on their second outing as a solo artist. It's a solid effort despite some missteps — among the clutter is some of the best material of Smith's young career.

Nihilistic chugging riffs permeate the album from beginning to end, thundering away and drilling a particular tempo into your head. But this repetition isn't served by the sort of groove that previously was a keystone to Electric Wizard's sound.

There's a lot to like about Songs My Friends Wrote, especially the way it celebrates lesser-known tunes — but unfortunately, not a lot of the charm and wit that Corb Lund fans have come to love.

Oyamada's work as Cornelius over the past 20 years has defied genre, logic and time; on Mellow Waves, it sounds like he's on cruise control.

As tracks like the bombastic slow jam "Ascension" and the Drive soundtrack cast-off "Disclosure" add a bit of auditory depth to the album, much of Chiaroscuro runs at a dreary autopilot pace.

The problem is that Earle's melancholy has taken primacy over his songwriting, which is uncharacteristically generic here, making this subdued and plodding release a career low.

Conscious is merely competent--never truly exciting.

We All Want the Same Things won't quench the casual fan's thirst for new drunken bar rock anthems, but for those willing to listen a bit more closely (and quietly), Finn's solo work still provides some stories worth hearing.

They would have been wiser to trim more of the fat from the 12-track, two disc affair. In comparison to Death Magnetic's thrash-first approach, Hardwired features more mid-tempo material reminiscent of the band's divisive Load/Reload years, which bogs down the record's second disc in particular.

Guv I [was] an all-around more solid record, making Guv II feel a bit more like leftover parts than an essential second act — but Cook's knack for songwriting is nonetheless clear. At the very least, this sequel is an extra show of musical prolificacy and a good portfolio-stuffer with which to chase more work as a hired gun.

Where it stumbles as a concept record, it only sometimes succeeds as an art-rock record. As it turns out, an important idea does not an important album make.

Technically flawless, but focused to a fault, Albert Einstein is further proof that Alchemist could benefit from a mistake.

If you don't love Kweli, Gravitas won't change your mind, but lifelong fans will definitely find a lot to appreciate on this slight but enjoyable album.

Ducktails have an expert ability to create a dreamlike sound; hopefully, the next record will be bolstered by a few more memorable songs to make it a dream worth remembering.

Yes, Pianoworks does have its beautiful moments of levity; Cooper is great at that. But the experience of listening to it feels very passive. It's happening, but you, the listener, are not so much involved as you are just in the vicinity. It doesn't wrap you up and envelop you the way Eluvium works often do.

For the most part, the rest of the album is less head-turning, which that can translate to forgettable. Still, it's about time Taking Back Sunday shook things up, so the high points make Tidal Wave an effort that should please dedicated fans and appease the sceptics somewhat, as well.

Striking a balance between sinister and comforting, it's a compelling sign that Cold Specks remains an artist to watch.

Daybreaker sounds stripped down, not a step up.

Grace/Confusion could have been a great 20-minute EP. Instead, it's a listless 40 minutes that works best as background music.

Take It Like A Man is a disjointed affair with a slippery identity.

The Competition may be Lower Dens' most accessible album, but its best moments come when the band slow down and strips back their sound.

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.

While the arrangements are relatively unadorned compared to the original versions, Campbell's voice is strong, and the overall results are a dignified last letter to his fans. There may be little appeal beyond that.

The vocal delivery throughout (care of guitarist Woody Weatherman and bassist Mike Dean) is pretty weak, especially compared to Pepper's attention-commanding style, and that, combined with a somewhat jarring mix of fast punk, smothering, Sabbath-ian metal and good-ol'-boy Southern rock, just whets the appetite for the return of Pepper and the big rock.

This is well worth having for fans that have worn out Mare or Terra, despite the fact that the immersive, soothing qualities that balanced the angularity on his previous releases have been ditched in favour of often shrill, jarring timbres.

On Visibility is a Trap, Dalhous deliver another handful of terrific dark ambient music that will hopefully give way to braver, newer waves.

After challenging themselves on Whorl, Simian Mobile Disco push their craft as far as their comfort level will allow on Welcome to Sideways.

Sensorimotor as a whole isn't as strong as Lusine's previous efforts for Ghostly International.

Interpol are far past the point of trying to recapture their glory days, but even their attempts to change things up come off as a mixed bag. Prospective fans and diehards alike are better off starting at the beginning.

Everyday Life has more blunders than hits, but let's give Coldplay some credit — they've got a "go big or go home" attitude that's entertaining, even when it misses the mark.