While there's a bit less winsome lilt and a bit more loud fuzz, the songs still sound like a bulked-up amalgam of early Pavement, Television Personalities and your favorite shamble-rock outfit. Why change it if it works? [No. 136, p.61]

This is an album of mostly beatless soul whose heart nevertheless pumps vividly and loudly throughout its 17 tracks. [No. 136, p.61]

Tweedy is a certified master of the simple, effective melody--time and again, he's built something grand from the pieces of something small, and trace evidence of this trick is splattered all over Schmilco. [No. 136, p.60]

All the elements anyone would want from the band are adroitly balanced. [No. 136, p.59]

Cosmonaut is a mostly understated genre-jumper that serves as the platform for frontman Bid to exercise his dry wit. [No. 136, p.59]

Having carved out a signature sound from the start, Local Natives continue to sound both fresh and familiar. [No. 136, p.57]

Another low-key masterpiece wrapped in spooky twanging guitars, heartbroken harmonies, droning tempos and lyrics that often don't rhyme, delivered in Brett Sparks' deadpan, rumbling baritone. [No. 136, p.57]

It's an immediate, obvious highlight of Wasner's career, and of the year. [No. 136, p.57]

Discerning Anglophiles will warm to the charms of the Divine Comedy's 11th album, Foreverland. [No. 136, p.55]

Everything about the resulting album elevates what could've been a gimmicky lark into something affecting. [No. 136, p.53]

The fantasy and the fantastic continue, and his soft sculptural Dadaist lyrical sense of romance will always go with DevBan's trembling, lilting melodies like cheese and chocolate. [No. 136, p.53]

The title track suggests maybe they've found a perfect merging of the '70s and the heavies, as it shifts from funky shuffle to skulking stomp. The rest is still King Crimson than King Diamond, but that's not a bad thing. [No. 136, p.61]

Red Fang soon settles into a comfortable cruising speed, with a devotion to mid-tempo exceeded only by Slayer's commitment to thrash. [No. 136, p.61]

If Morning Glory was Oasis' Rumours, then Be Here is its messy, glorious Tusk. [No. 136, p.59]

A fascinating, headbanging and improbably accessible listen. [No. 136, p.55]

They whip out churning rock tunes with burning guitars and solid hooks, switch things up with softer, melodic ballads, and evoke the glory days of Southern rock with impressive ease. [No. 136, p.53]

Ruminations doesn't set out to be a grand statement, but it's all the more rewarding for keeping the focus on Oberst's word-rich language and emotionally direct observations. [No. 136, p.59]

A pleasant surprise. [No. 136, p.56]

It's a darker, more nuanced album, and Jones, now 37, sings with more depth and soul than she did in her youth. [No. 136, p.54]

A brave, provocative and thoughtful addition to the Tuckers' canon. [No. 136, p.51]

About 45 seconds into song after song, the chorus punches in loudly--predictably and, ultimately, annoyingly. [No. 135, p.57]

Ultimately nothing curtails The Sides And In Between from taking large, genre-defying outbound steps. [No. 135, p.57]

While RZA has never sounded so alive, Banks has never sounded so, well, dead. This hot/cold, menace-and-moody pattern--it's what most of Anything But Words' song structures are all about. [No. 135, p.51]

Same Language is excellent ersatz Russell. [No. 135, p.53]

Like any record geeks, they deftly reshape their heritage into their own original catalog. [No. 135, p.53]

Between Waves might be the least Relapse of all Relapse titles, but that's what genuine eclecticism looks like. [No. 135, p.53]

There's melody and rhythm, but mostly the overtones float through the ether, seldom resolving into anything approaching a song, although the overall effect is soothing and dreamy. [No. 135, p.54]

At the core are lyrics abstract enough to keep you coming back and digging for meaning until the next moles record, however many decades off that might be. [No. 135, p.56]

Harcourt holds nothing back, transcends theatrics and reaches the top. [No. 135, p.59]

Trentemoller's flawless ear for melancholy, melodicism and atmospheric drama gives Fixion the feel of a soundtrack to a gothic/cyberpunk indie film and provides further evidence of its creator's electropop mastery. [No. 135, p.61]

A record that still manages to seamlessly blend doom, ambient, noise and post-rock. [No. 135, p.61]

Even My Woman's back half, which features Olsen's two longest, most challenging songs to date in "Sister" and "Woman"--though neither come anywhere near "White Fire" levels of morose--succeeds largely due to Olsen's remarkable ability to make her loneliness sound like so much more than just that. [No. 135, p.61]

In truth, Springsteen himself might not be able to pull off the grit and glam of Pretty Years, but Cymbals Eat Guitars makes it look easy. [No. 135, p.55]

Shape Shift With Me has catchy anthems, heavy rock songs and speed rants; it's yet another excellent, and complicated, Against Me! album. [No. 135, p.52]

They plunge once more into a spontaneously generated maelstrom of corroded noise and spasmodic rock action, letting the music flow like lava oozing destructively through the streets of your town. [No. 134, p.55]

Vacancy has a more organic, "big indie rock" real feel to it as opposed to something automatically designed to blast from convertibles and iPods in high-school lockers. [No. 134, p.53]

Cameron's vocals have a dramatic quality hat crosses the detached phrasing of David Bowie with Nick Cave's tortured rasp. [No. 134, p.55]

Her first solo LP in a 40-year career is as diverse as it is good, and plenty of Bagsian punk fury is in evidence. [No.133, p.53]

Rigorously minimalist like a rock in the road is--a lump, emotionalessly excavated from nature's chaos. [No 134, p.55]

"No Future V" and "Stable Boy" benefit from amping up the electricity and volume, which makes S+@dium Rock a solid TMLT companion piece but not a primary choice. [No. 134, p.61]

Occasionally, Tremain struggles to find a home amid the Collis' calm chaos, though his restrained and sustained bass lines are a non-cluttering foil demonstrating the importance of song dynamics, which isn't always a priority with math rockers. [No. 134, p.61]

The album features covers of songs they love, with folky, stripped-down arrangements that feature Amanda's smoky alto and Jack's rich, bass voice. [No. 134, p.59]

They play rustic country/rock that constantly struggles to keep upright as it stands on the poly-genre curveballs that the musicians toss Schneider's way. [No. 134, p.59]

The Avalanches bag production, they roller-coaster; got to be jokers, they just do what they please. [No. 134, p.51]

Blood Orange moves swiftly, wipes clean his chill-pop slate and goes for stark, ham-handed topicality hop and loss as applied to menacingly atmospheric tones. That Hynes does this without losing his sense of pop and tunefulness is a sweet accomplishment. [No. 134, p.52]

The success of the Amazing in general--and Ambulance by proxy--is the band's uncanny ability to touch on a wealth of styles without flying any specific philosophical flag, thereby remaining unique in tone and execution. [No. 134, p.53]

Songs like "Driving School," "M Train" and the deathlessly compelling "Crazy" sound unerringly alive and modern, making this an excellent archival release. [No. 134, p.59]

Kinsella's mastery of pop melodicism in the service of heartbreakingly beautiful and unvarnished sentiment is again on full and perfect display. [No. 134, p.59]

The songs have a somber, ambient feel, even on tunes with uplifting subjects. [No. 134, p.57]

If Factory Floor emobodied a dynamic tension between paralysis and movement, claustrophobia and cathartic release, this outing functions similarly but tips the scales slightly toward the former categories. [No. 134, p.57]

Hypercaffium Spazzinate finds the band reenergized and more characteristically succinct. [No. 134, p.55]

Bonar sings with a bright pop voice that creates a startling contrast to her dark, disturbing tales. [No. 134, p.55]

Its busy arrangements, brimming with the atomic energy of colliding guitars, synths, bass lines and drums, largely belong to no version of the band we know, instead a succession of growth markings scrawled in graphite. [No. 134, p.61]

The result is the most dynamic LP of Russian Circles' career. [No. 134, p.61]

Things start strong, with some of Barnes' tightest tunes in ages. [No. 134, p.58]

Her witty wordplay and ironic humor offers a bit of relief from heartache and confusion that colors the record, but it's those shattered emotions that are the most impressive. [No. 134, p.57]

Although one of his most accessible, it's not constrained to formula. ... It was worth the wait. [No. 134, p.54]

It's hardly revolutionary, but Episodic is an immediate, righteously enjoyable half-hour. [No. 134, p.57]

Sounding like a cross between Explosions In The Sky and Blade Runner’s director cut, No Man’s Sky may be the backing track to an untenable make-believe world, but it’s also an example of the vast and powerful reach of well-placed series of notes. [No. 133, p.61]

The entire thing was tracked in just four days, and the pent-up, wind-tunnel sound and throat-shredding vocal runs that drive its 11 tracks reflect a renewed sense of urgency. [No. 133, p.61]

Pushing his backing band (featuring Willie Nelson’s kids Lukas and Micah Nelson on guitars and vocals) into a stomping Crazy Horse vibe, Young provides the album’s frills with his keening voice and bracing guitar. [No. 133, p.60]

Gone are the moments of meditative brooding that made up much of Quarter, replaced here by a bold, tenacious resolve across eight taut, meticulously detailed tracks. [No. 133, p.59]

Plaid's sweet spot is halfway between cross-eared sonic doodling and IDM convention, the midpoint where you can hear both ends. [No. 133, p.59]

The combination here of light electronic production, show-stopping African vocals, Mumford harmonies and heart-on-your-sleeve pop is hard not to love. [No. 133, p.59]

The result is a modern dream-pop classic, a victory more major than minor. [No. 133, p.59]

Helter Seltzer offers a master class in grandiose indie-pop and how to maximize the potential of the simplest of sounds. [No. 133, p.58]

It's a record best described as 13ghosts' illegitimate lovechild with Captain beefheart. [No. 133, p.57]

Wild Things does its darndest to plug the electro-dance ice-pop void left by La Roux's sophomore let-down and the absence of new Robyn, Annie And Dragonette albums. [No. 133, p.57]

As with his main gig Ex-Cult, Shaw’s detuned, smoke-trailing vocals are the runaway engine to which this crazy train is hitched. [No. 133, p.57]

The result is another set that perfectly captures the scruffy energy of its live shows. [No. 133, p.55]

The distorted, shimmering sound world proposed by My Bloody Valentine's Loveless and perfected on Fennesz's Endless Summer is used here as a gorgeous facade behind which endless layers of processed guitars recede like ocean waves reaching for the horizon. [No. 133, p.55]

For all its listenability, Centres is still wildly inventive. [No. 133, p.55]

Much of Cistern feels deliberately nebulous, washed-out and distended. [No. 133, p.55]

Like Bazan's best work, Blanco is simultaneously uplifting and melancholic, hopelessly hopeful and beautifully dented. [No. 133, p.55]

There’s True Sadness, whose songs touch lyrically upon all things sad but with various shades of unsubtle sound to guide them. [No. 133, p.54]

The vocals are on point in Ashcroft's non-plussed yet quintessentially pop-edged delivery, but these arrangements lean more toward boredom and self-servitude. [No. 133, p.53]

Blame current remastering techniques or the prescience of its makers, each of these collections sound future-forward (then) and very now (wow). [No. 133, p.53]

Just like one's real family, Arthur's Family will lift you up, tear you down, make you face your despair and allow you a glimmer of hope. [No. 133, p.52]

This is Radiohead's deepest, darkest pool of devotion and doubt in a career marked by almost nothing but. [No. 133, p.51]

Numsuwankijkul recruited a new group of players for Over There That Way, and the decision pays off handsomely; this is a much more introspective, vulnerable album that benefits from a lighter touch. [No. 132, p.55]

He's back again, doing what he's always done--speak his shattered mind while some band choogles in the background. Mostly they supply adequately sweaty R&B and P-Funk-meets-AC/DC riffing. [No. 132, p.61]

Tyler has crafted eight instrumentals that augment his lilting fingerpicking with stately keyboards and brisk beats. Aside from a few minutes of white-line numbness, it’s a salutary combination. [No. 132, p.61]

Down In Heaven is the third full-length from Twin Peaks, and it’s undoubtedly their most solid collection. [No. 132, p.61]

A typical triumph of both will and skill. [No. 132, p.61]

It's a sandbox of a record, less interested in establishing a specific musical identity than a general sense of (renewed) creative potential. [No. 132, p.61]

There's so much good music here, performed affectionately but not reverently, that it's a keeper. [No. 132, p.60]

[The songs] are luminous and affecting enough to outlast much of the bullshit shock therapy that silences that same fickle chattering class. [No. 132, p.59]

The Quins bring pathos and depth to sleek Katy Perry/Lady Gaga-esque electropop, true, but reaching for the golden ring too often dilutes the inventiveness and creative abandon that once made a new T&S record such an exhilarating proposition. [No. 132, p.59]

Haden can find that sweet, glacial pace that makes a song seem both inevitable and important. But his deliberate delivery of lines such as "Oh the Depression, it ruined us, it ruined us, it ruined us" can be distracting and turn songs into history lessons. [No. 132, p.59]

It’s easily their biggest-sounding: a bright, trebly, disco-poppin’ melody feast bursting with keyboards, harmonies, Tinkertoy production flourishes and chorus after towering chorus of fizzy, whiz-bang pop goodness. [No. 132, p.57]

As usual, it's mostly successful as a mood piece. [No. 132, p.57]

A looser, more causal and countrified LP than a formal Heartbreakers release, these longtime friends use Mudcrutch to have some fun, jam out and exude a little bit of that old-fashioned Laurel Canyon psyche-twang sound. [No. 132, p.57]

Krug's mushy, mixed-down vocals and the lack of dynamic range often sucks all the life out of the music. [No. 132, p.57]

Atomic offers rare glimpses into the band's writing process and exists as an anomaly in Mogwai's catalog that's sure to intrigue diehard fans, but offers little more to anyone else. [No. 132, p.57]

It's a bit mad, but what else would you expect from the Melvins, which in-and-of -itself is a shame. [No. 132, p.55]

As meticulously milquetoast as the entirety of this is, there are deadly sharp adult contemporary hooks on "Over & Over" and "The Pin," though the pervasive electronic beats, the obnoxious layer of acoustic strumming and raise-your-beer-and-hum choruses are symbols of a band lock-stepping in with whatever goes over best with casual listeners. [No. 132, p.55]

As fine a record as you're likely to hear in 2016. [No. 132, p.54]

“Teaching Little Fingers To Play” is a bit hokey and clichéd. But on “If I Lost You,” the vibe connects massively: Serene loops and swift beats recall vintage Portishead, while Manson’s lyrical meditation on insecurity is stark, vulnerable and remarkably honest. [No. 132, p.53]