As the pieces continue to invert themselves halfway through their running time, the album begins to resemble a child’s ambitious science experiment gone haywire. For this, Signal Morning shines.

The swell of the strings is as equally terrifying as it is comforting, and Hysen’s fragile vocals always contain at least a small sense of peace. Picastro have created a record that is relentlessly bleak but nonetheless a rewarding and enjoyable listen.

In both songwriting craft and execution of recording, The Coldest Winter For A Hundred Years is exceptional.

Any band that can turn over vocal duties as often as they hold onto them and somehow make all the music sound like their own is a band worth watching, and despite its inconsistency and even its lack of imagination, there are a lot of thrills to be had in this hour.

Wolf Alice have come up with the goods again with their second LP, and in Ellie Rowsell they have a frontwoman who hypnotises and enthralls at will.

With Open Here, Field Music sound like they’re not only investing in their stability but in their future as well.

The shrill production manned by Ben Hillier over-amplifies the percussion and bass textures, making the entire project muddy in a way that can’t be intentional. While the joy occasionally breaks through (the glitchy From the Mouth is a blast), Melt Yourself Down kneecap themselves repeatedly on 100% Yes.

Fans of cult art punks The Embarrassment, rejoice! They mostly revel in the more cutting side of post-punk, but there's a sweetness that balances the sharper notes.

The wondrous sonic beauty of Morning Phase sheds light into Hansen’s otherwise absence of presence, so when the swelling, cinematic strings of Cycle open the record, it’s as if we’re surrounded by an omnipotent being coming down from the heavens.

Some the hooks are among the best the band has ever written... [Yet] the 10 songs never feel like an Album so much as it does a collection of songs, more like productive jams from a group of middle-aged friends unwinding or celebrating than actually adding any kind of blues to their songwriting chops.

More ambitious in execution, but just as considered, she’s just beginning to dig from past experiences instead of writing a collection of short stories. That way of thinking goes in tangent with the rest of Big Thief, who are also emboldening their compositions with a wider palette.

An album of incredible songs.

Their best full length yet.

The album hones a clear message about how society is marred with malicious leeches and false prophets, but it’s just one side of many--most of all, this is Spoon mostly letting loose their perennial white funk, kinda square but almost always rhythmically enticing.

At its weakest, the album is merely boring with the lamely typical Can't You See, an album opener of distorted rumbling and vocals so low you'd strain to make them out. Arguably worse than a bland track is that the album actually offers some hope for a reasonably enjoyable experience.

At times it can be strikingly absurdist, the benefit of a frontman who knows how to insert humor naturally into the dourest of settings. But Higgs also loses sight of his own lyrical virtuosity when keeping with the band’s regurgitated precision-playing. Everything Everything continue to convey their bottomless ideas effortlessly, chained to the rhythm, even if their dizzying dance is beginning to show signs of fatigue.

Holiday Destination is Shah’s third LP, and is her most accomplished effort to date--superbly executed with an ability to make an austere backdrop insatiably compelling.

Down in the Weeds is at odds with itself—where the band balances music that is ambitious in scope with some of Obert's most nakedly personal work. But just like his complicated and sometimes narcissistic persona, there's a good argument to make about how his over-the-top approach perfectly suits him. That aside, Oberst and his cohorts' generous offering does take them on new, unexplored territory while remaining true to his wry prose.

Be it through incremental shifts and changes or grinding genres together to hear what comes out, Wye Oak know their influences in and out and work skillfully to blend them or highlight their differences as the song calls for it.

As cumbersome as this album can be, its unapologetic excesses baked into its track length and Haino’s sometimes grating vocal, the zero-constraint approach at the core of this mutually beneficial creative merger is compelling.

Fear Inoculum already feels like an event—It's the kind of grand statement that will equally delight and confound, where Tool allows themselves to highlight their technical prowess with uncompromising integrity. Though the lengthy tracks convey great character and complexity, it's best to experience its ambient soundscapes and strapping guitars with a full, uninterrupted listen.

Burst Apart is a passable follow-up to an incredible record, but that's all it is. Passable.

Stapleton’s writing is solid, but his vocals, arrangements, and instrumentation imbue most of these songs with something remarkable.

Even if this record isn't perfect, it's clear that she will become an influential figure in high-brow electronic music.

X’ed Out is unmarred by any narcissistic disposition, or pretentious or elitist demeanor, but it makes no creative sacrifice. Bravo.

Admittedly, R Plus Seven is a challenging album, one that doesn’t quite unravel itself on an immediate listen. Yet for all its complexity (of which I’m still trying to comprehend myself), it never comes off as ham-fisted or impossibly inaccessible.

We know better than to call Push The Sky Away Nick Cave’s best album, but if you want a portrait of the artist, as an artist, the album qualifies as “essential” even by the strictest definition.

They may have been marking time slightly of late, but let your fears they'd never rise again be dispersed; this is the best Fall album of the century bar none.

Bambino is a record that is kaleidoscopically colourful, staying in charge of a viciously artistic wall chart of sounds and turning it into something impressively cohesive. In the groovefest that is Need a Little Spider and the deliciously sleek Double Dutch, there are some downright bangers on here for good measure.

The album’s title suggests something close to perfection, and 99.9% isn’t too far from being the ideal electronic record.

The Man Who Died avoids the stigma of outtakes releases because it’s an ideal entry point into one of the most distinctive, fascinating musicians of our time.

New Leaves may tackle some subtle rites of passage - small in scope but difficult for most men to deal with--but they’re approached with such delicate grace, it’s hard to question that this may be Kinsella’s finest hour yet.

These delicate people really know how to solidify a pretty picture, especially when they offset their lovin' spoonful of virtue with some muffled resonance. This time around, the Kings are downright cheating instead of tirelessly studying to make the grade.

On the surface, Haiku Hands is a party record, but dig deeper and it becomes a powerful testament to female friendship and the power you feel when you’re supported.

The entirety of Redemption sounds as morose as his parched rhymes, with an effective backdrop of bleak bass drones and minimal synth lines, but not as much when he attempts to slow down his delivery. Stick for his soul-bearing lessons, even if he treads on familiar and worn-down musical paths.

These are songs that mostly get to the heart of the matter with open-hearted directness, and in balancing the coarse with the refined there’s a clearer sense of what Scott wants to find even if she struggles to understand the conditions that affect her most deeply.

Taken as a whole, Monomania is arguably their most imposing, and by far their most courageous, proving that Deerhunter have a frontman who’s willing to open up his soul to fit the demands of the stage.

His songwriting style remains largely unaltered: eloquent, abstract, stream-of-consciousness rambles, tiny bits of which manage to lodge themselves in your brain. But his talent is most apparent as a composer.

Most of Short Movie lingers over energetic yet contemplative sounds, which Marling then pairs with her voice, an instrument as soothing as it is commanding, and every lyric is delivered with a kind of conversational cadence that hints at a slight curl in the corners of Marling’s lips.

On a song-by-song basis, this is a consistently solid album.

In honesty, a whole album of perfectly-executed retro soul can be a little wearing, but the craftsmanship carries it through, and the sheer joy of hearing a band go against the grain in the way that this band do, makes I Learned the Hard Way fully deserving of your time.

The record’s lack of organization and resistance to stasis work against its accessibility. Those willing to mine such a dense work will be rewarded in a visceral sense, but may be left groping in the darkness for a specific, externally-fabricated meaning. Either way, the abstractness and wandering abandon of Mutant define not only the album, but Alejandro Ghersi’s approach to music.

It's all powerful stuff and it can only be GY!BE.

Key Markets doesn't disappoint. Their commitment to their aesthetic and their ability to use it to say new things is unflagging.

The album is strong but is a marked change in direction, nonetheless.

My high expectations for Boca Negra, misguided as they were, have been consoled, if not met, by the realization that if any act can legitimize avant-jazz beyond its narrow niche (never mind my aforementioned doubts), Chicago Underground Duo have the verve and creativity to enable it.

Despite minor quibbles what you have here is one hell of a late-night record, with plenty of wistful longing and just enough sunshine to keep you off the suicide hotline.

James Blake is an absolute treat for the ears.

He rarely reveals much of his true intent throughout, relying upon platitudes that, while truthful, make Hadsel sound a little thin in places. But Condon knows his audience well, resorting to a heavily cinematic atmosphere that will have his listeners contemplating their own aspirations rather than focusing on his. Just like he intended to do.

It may be Power’s most fatalistic declaration, but also his most engagingly diverse, and his marked exasperations do reflect a not-so-distant dystopia that suitably aligns with today’s societal disconnect.

Rachel's albums are consistently greater than the sum of their parts.

Lindén had some false starts in trying to realize her true vision with Warnings, and it shows—the effort she went through to craft a sound this painstakingly meticulous requires time and patience. And though we know how far she and Balck can push themselves, we're still not quite sure who exactly they want to be.

If you hear ten seconds of any given song then you've heard its entirety, yet you haven't experienced the song. It's that sort of an album.

For a debut album from a gal who can’t even legally rent a car by herself, this is very impressive. She attracts to a wide audience, displays restraint and obscurity at appropriate times.

Bloom is a little over 21-minutes of relentless noise pool of percussion and clatter that’s somehow relaxed by the gently pressed piano keys that methodically pierce its surface, a contrast that rests the mind over the length of this track when it might otherwise induce anxiety.

They've deftly struck the balance between breaking new ground and retaining their sound while making a record that has – bold statement alert – NO bad songs on it.

The Money Store might be the very definition of acquired taste, and will most likely alienate the vast majority who attempt to give it a spin, but it's undeniably an extraordinary record.

They play to a more jangle-pop register on the bouncy Public Bodies before bringing back the fuzzy guitars and haunting tones on What We Do It For. The only throughline here is that the songs themselves are interesting indie-rock.

One of her most consistent and wonderful collections of unique, heartfelt, and depressing songs yet, even if it’s somewhat hampered by the need to make it “as cathartic and minimal as possible.” While Andrew Sarlo’s production is occasionally sedate, the writing is still exemplary.

Overall, it’s an improvement over the yawnfest of "Takk," but not nearly as consistent as one would like.

Picking highlights is futile; the record might run for less than twenty minutes but it burns brightly for the whole duration.

Manipulator stands as Segall’s most intricately woven and patiently developed work.

Those looking for a sombre accompaniment for the wintry evenings ahead could do a hell of a lot worse than pick up this superb record.

The creative zeal McCombs displays on Mangy Love, and his willingness to take some chances, even if low stakes, engages both the heart and the mind.

Woods consciously goes for simplicity, not depth. The musicianship complements that goal appropriately on Strange to Explain, an album that hazily focuses on themes of dreams and sleep. The wah-wah guitars, Mellotron, and gentle, upbeat drums match the laconic subject matter to relaxing and pleasant, if forgettable, effect, sort of like a dream.

The most striking aspect of Ode to Joy is how weary Tweedy sounds. From upfront political themes (Citizens, which wavers and rumbles with minor harmonies, lines about white lies, and distorted guitars) to thoughts of personal tragedy (White Wooden Cross), there's one clear conclusion: Tweedy is beaten down. But Tweedy is at his best when he's processing that exhaustion.

If APTBS have fallen off your radar in recent years, then this is the one worth reintroducing yourself to their work.

From the thumping, industrial charge of I Exhale to the sublimely hypnotic techno of Low Burn, Underworld are in full form, giving meaning and substance to every single minute with hardly a wasted moment.

It’s not that Diamond has recorded a masterpiece, since quite a good portion of this is decidedly B material. It’s that the good stuff represents Neil at his best, exploiting his considerable knack for melody and structure to the fullest.

While his music has reached new heights of production and depth, his penmanship remains pedestrian.

Keep It Flowers is an edgy, brash, and well put together statement that mostly goes down easy.

Quite eponymously, the album is a grand performance, and one whose stagecraft is the sole work of a brilliant ringmaster in Clark.

But the band is grounded in humility, always playing against each other with a drifting timbre that’s inviting and likable. But tucked within their textural progressions lay deftly written songs that honor their long-lived inclination to remain emotionally and intellectually independent.

Overall, her empowering message points at the daily toxic attitudes that female celebrities deal with. Screen Violence also projects confidence in a musical sense with its grand synth-pop and new wave, resisting and challenging the misogyny that unfortunately reaches far beyond our screens.

The original was Etten taking tentative first steps to collaborate, while this album sees her pass on the songs completely. It’s a fitting legacy for an album that’s about moving on stronger, but not without forgetting about the heartache it took to get there.

Syd hasn’t quite molded herself as a pop luminary, but the self-determined themes on Fin do portray an independent woman who’s fueled by the power of love.

Rather than a credible follow-up, it’s another great album in its own right.

Ultimately, what it all boils down to is that, as much as an album can be, it's pretty damn close to being flawless; not only matching the quality of The Reminder but actually bettering it.

Overall, these tracks feel more like the B sides of Random Spirit Lover, maybe the acoustic B sides, the tracks that didn't quite make the cut but would definitely be of interest to ardent fans.

Maybe the lyrics fall a little on the simplistic side, which is frustrating considering the themes here can be pretty bleak despite the sunny and airy sound. But overall, Devastator is a more than enjoyable return for a band that always felt deserved more attention.

Throughout these skeletal observations, Horn turns cryptic when she's about to give out more than she should—stressing ominous implications while using the mundane as a backdrop of her stories à la Raymond Carver, a writer she cites as an influence.

It's a good album, revelatory in that Liars can carry their sound into different realms of possibility, a translation carried out by different instruments.

The album is stacked with jaw-dropping moments, underpinned by seismic emotional shifts.

It's curious how much of the content in here could bring back what is fast becoming an increasingly extinct way of emoting--the fact that it feels this intimate should be something to be thankful for.

Bonfires on the Heath is another shrewd effort for the London based band.

This is probably the hardest Low album I’ve heard to appreciate, but it’s certainly worth it.

Gore is a listen as complex and engrossing as we’ve come to expect from Deftones, and they continue to be a band that matures organically, becoming more and more fluid in their own craft.

Courtney might give the impression that he's aiming for a low-stakes, minor effort to pass the time in Magic Signs, a stopgap until moving on to a relatively more ambitious project. But he couldn't be more in his element, shifting in and out of focus as he recaptures his youthful wonder.

Even with its faults, The Magic Whip is remarkably cohesive; not a single track is superfluous, flippant, or jarring.

It could do with one or two songs being trimmed, but there's enough variety to keep things engaging, if at times it lacks incisiveness. Still, my criticisms are largely comparing the band to their past work, which happens to be exceptional.

Even at his most open, there's still this sense that his character-driven songs wouldn't exist without revealing the backstory of his Canadian roots. His sentiments are more palpable and poignant, but his approach is as casual as always.

You may well have to look elsewhere for music that will one day remind you of 2013, but this is still a great, brief blast of noisy, off-kilter rock; a consistent debut which sounds better each time you hear it.

Bradford Cox has created a work that musically and lyrically will attach itself to your consciousness, reflecting exterior experience and encouraging inner association with the former.

It’s almost as if Pinhas isn’t quite committed to offering this much of himself to anyone, as if, in spite of this written and performed maelstrom of odds and ends, he’s proceeding with caution.

While rallying for a new cycle of nostalgia, Yuck's debut ends with beautifully rendered confirmation that they mean to do more than simply appease the Alterna-boomers: They're asking for attention, so lend them an ear.

It makes a complicated formula sound so effortlessly simple. And that's not something you can do with little effort or care.

Embryonic is a true 21st century freak-out and it's only appropriate to end this decade with such an ambitious, intrepid undertaking.

Compared to Rock and Roll Night Club, 2 is a more polished and refined take on his brand of minimalist rock, structured around his keen songwriting.