Much like Begin to Hope and Far, this record generally continues to juggle the same genres Spektor has inhabited up to this point.

Big grooves, smart beats, it's all technically on-point, but it lacks an original pace or narrative-pretty much neutering any melody or songcraft from the get-go.

Sun Kil Moon's Mark Kozelek revels in the succulent melancholy of sad autumn evenings in the backseat, garlanded with the shadow words of life's heaviness, clearly woven by a master of spiritual spelunking.

It's simply one of the best rock records of our so-far shallow year.

While the dotty cant of Mahon's guitar playing skews in Sleater-Kinney's direction, Internal Logic is largely an exhibition of the dramatic power of restraint.

Mesmerizing

Caulfield continues to showcase some seriously well-crafted shifts between proggy meandering movements and pop hooks.

Natural History is an invigorating listen, which may say as much about today as it does about the band.

With earnest piano, pulsing atmospherics and windswept vocals opening the album, the title track signals what's to come and lets you know that, had there actually been a film, it would have certainly been a drama.

It's this balance of aggression and harmony that make El-P so engaging--and Cancer for Cure so triumphant.

As a follow-up to 2010's sinister compilation Delicacies, Unpatterns stands decidedly in a shadow.

Vows is a step ahead of your average candy-coated pop. [#48]

Worst-case scenario: that initial dreamlike spell wears out its welcome long before the album's 38 minutes are up. Best case: you've had a stressful day and True really hits that sweet, relaxing spot.

If you're looking for the quartet's usual twist in its sobriety, there's a Sondheim-ian feel to Keane's particularly ardent brand of complex pop melancholy this time out to go with its new sense of directness.

Talbot's a great craftsman--half a spin of Ghost proves that--but he's at his most compelling when he's sketching in the margins.

It feels less like an overly ambitious second album, as might be expected, and more like a pivotal and dramatic step forward into relevance once again.

If Beach House's last record was a teen dream, this is an adult version: Bloom is a matured, ethereal journey.

The indie scrappers' fifth album is as cocky, defiant and shouty as earlier efforts.

While The Only Place loses much of the simplicity that made Crazy for You such a breezy, fun listen, there's only room for growth in records to come.

As in the case of its predecessors, A Different Ship is keen to stow multiple genres.

Largely favoring grayscale tones and sedated sentiment, Lower Dens' highs achieve with an understated ability to evoke emotion.

Old age should be so much fun.

Time's All Gone takes you back in the day and pulls you into the moment all at once.

With Jones these days, you may not know exactly what you're getting, but you know it's going to be great.

A surprisingly optimistic take on his trademark jazz-fueled rock.

[Josh Tillman] distinguishing himself as more than a back-row howler.

There's simply a gentle swing to Watson's woeful, unavoidably Buckley-esque warble, containing an epic elegance worthy of the most intimate of adventures.

Cheers to Torche for proving a heavy-rock band can be optimistic and sincere-without sacrificing any of the edge.

Exercises, is a downcast and reflective paean for the '70s underground. The chamber-piano infused into these eight experiments is sometimes utterly heartrending-those pulsating synthesizers sound like they could pump blood and breathe oxygen.

You can't help but be pleasantly surprised and impressed by how much this effort doesn't borrow from its predecessor.

This ain't no Chickenfoot; this is the really really real deal.

Orcas find a space that floats between velvet vocals and Pioulard's field recordings in a time frozen between dreams and a reality beautifully faded by the sun.

Familiar yet thrilling, Blunderbuss is a masterful introduction to a man we've known all along.

Their unholy powers combined, they give us Hair, a raucous, psychedelic guitar skirmish that transcends descriptions of its creators' individual works.

Its tracks are beautiful storms for restless times.

Lighthearted melodies and delicate instrumentations mask Cynic's New Year's darker lyrics, adding a layer of complexity that requires multiple listens.

Those who have spent endless hours tripping to various corners of the universe with Spiritualized on the stereo might be surprised by how earnest and grounded the great Spaceman sounds here.

Gorgeous tracks are as eerie as they are sonically cosseting, all weirdly effected electronics and gossamer vocals.

Expanding on the theatrical tendencies of its reverb-drenched debut This Is For the White in Your Eyes, the darks are darker, but there are also lighter lights.

A faceless debut; a din of the same guitars, horns and urbane 20-something tropes--and lichen--as "Rules," but immobile and, sadly, ambitionless.

The record feels its finest when the finger-picking guitarist keeps things simple and mellow on the acoustic, filling the remaining space with his warm, husked vocals.

On Mouseman Cloud, Guided By Voices frontman Robert Pollard is up to his same old genius.

On Ugly, the Jersey trio strikes an expert balance between grandiose metal riffage and brain-searing.

Through the whimsical vocals and fantastic use of organ and percussion, Races has brought us something that is universally relatable.

The result is an album that is altogether pleasant, but just doesn't do enough to distinguish itself on the map from the rest in its genre.

Several voices are at play on San Francisco quintet Young Prisms' second album, yet all find proportion evenly awash in its blurred shoegaze swirl.

Another outstanding entry from the electro-enclave, Brooklyn-based Bear in Heaven's I Love You, It's Cool is a slick ride.

Winston has grown since the release of her initial 2010 EP; however, it would have been nice to hear her stray a bit from the indie-pop formula that's garnered her a following in the first place.

At once stoic and graceful, her brief debut is as chilling as it is hypnotic, her lonely, minimalist guitar reeling you in as her hushed, unflinching vocals sing of all the things you'd rather not know.

It's a mess--not without some tidy bits--but what's better: these songs could be the death throes, finally, of these guys' unfettered id.

Luke Roberts lets his folk refrains reveal their simple, moving adornments at their own pace.

[Happy To You is imbued] with a new coherence, grandiosity and ambition that totally overshadows the quite well-developed debut album.

It's lightweight stuff, as easy to wash off as a day of surf and sand. But it's difficult to deny the buzzy delights of her aggressively rough-hewn pop.

If these are supposed to be feel-good songs, they sure do work just fine.

It's not so far from under The Shadow, but that doesn't hinder this album a bit.

It's hard to say what it all amounts to apart from a collection of partly-cloudy-late-afternoon-sunshine, on-and-off '80s jams.

The songs are accomplished and take surprising turns, shot through with a mellow fury that's endlessly appealing.

Port of Morrow is transition time for The Shins.

While the lyrics are a little repetitive, the catchy rhythms make this a solid album for spring.

What the album does do, however, is sets the band on that coveted trajectory upwards.

What's great about the record is the transformative effect of art school meeting R&B.

At times the lyrics come across as naïve and disconnected.

For as much as this collection of songs feels like a band getting together to jam for fun, Break It also feels like one of the more cohesive albums in Bird's oeuvre.

A mainline noise-punk onslaught that roundly refused to cease and desist.

Memoryhouse push their indolent, Sunday morning music as far as possible into the depths of recollection.

When Mouse on Mars are able to fuse their exasperating experimentation with a headstrong beat, it's like the best party you've ever been to.

It's part frustration, part chase with moments where everything seems to, accidentally, come together in passing moments that strike with more emotional effect than a compilation of soulful tearjerkers.

The record's informality causes it to stumble a bit-Warren Spicer's words occasionally work better as quips than they do as lyrics--but its faults are more than overwhelmed by its sense of communal grandeur.

Ghostory's an altogether lush affair with plenty for both fans and newcomers to sift through.

A delicate collection of near-gospel songs for the brokenhearted.

I Am Gemini is more of an auditory theater piece than a traditional record.

Visions refuses to rest on its laurels.

Extremely loud, snarling and exciting, it takes the duo's signature mash-up of '80s metal, '50s girl-group and '70s arena-rock sensibilities and cranks up the tension to Adderall-overdose levels.

It starts losing its nuance halfway through, creating a distraction from the effort as a whole.

The result is his best and most kinetic solo album yet.

From the album's very first strains, you know something mysterious, maybe even mystical, is afoot.

[Producer Patrick Carney] allows the band to retain their innate sweetness while ever so deftly smudging the edges of their sunshiney sound.

The album is a bit of a departure for Islands in sound and even more so in content, but rather than a misstep, A Sleep & A Forgetting fits neatly within the band's catalog.

There is ... a marked orchestral fluidity throughout, which lends itself to the experimental instrumental passages that permeate the record.

Remiddi is able to successfully channel trippy psychedelia of beyond.

For all of the exploring, Shearwater is at their most affecting when they stay at home.

Barchords is too subtle to change the world, but it will turn your head.

Something is a huge leap of cohesive maturity.

Ester's a strong debut from a band that will hit its stride when it learns to connect as much as it concocts.

Six Cups of Rebel isn't bad, but it is heavy-handed--and nowhere near his strongest.

Collaborations with Queens of the Stone Age's Josh Homme, Lanegan's fellow Gutter Twin Greg Dulli and original Red Hot Chili Peppers drummer Jack Irons inject a little more heavy and sleaze to his rock.

Future This delivers the same formula, but does so with perhaps one too many tracks.

Fans may take a while to warm up to this new material, but turning down the volume isn't always a bad thing.

"Beggars" and "Leave It," are tunes fit for the space age that spans genres so easily that it leaves you wondering what this talented group could create if they grabbed a map and pinpointed exactly where they aim to be going.

Le Voyage is as thrilling and replete with the unexpected as one might imagine a trip outside the Earth's atmosphere would be.

A study in subtly, Tamer Animals proves that more of less isn't just memorable--it's damn near magical.

She never gets quite where she's going, but it's good to have her back.

Dominant Legs' missteps are kept in line by irrepressibly bubbly synths for a smile-inducing listen.

It's thankfully not an album of covers, and thus a wonderful return.

Through and through, fans will be happy to see their former drinking buddies up to their old antics.

It is, in effect, the only acceptable historical document of the nearly incomprehensible phenomenon that was The Smiths.

Dead Son Rising is a dark experimental work that reminds us why Trent Reznor is an obvious fan.

Four decades on, and there has yet to be anything that hits on this kind of organic, brain-melting, structured psychosis.