Pierce has called Brutalism his most honest work yet, but personal detail aside, it’s an incisive album about the prevailing mood of the moment: anxiety. The lyrics might be grim, but the music encourages us to stick it out.

It even sounds like producer Ted Hutt tried to mimic Jon Landau’s production, since singer Brian Fallon sounds like he’s singing through vintage mics. It works incredibly well, though, as Gaslight earnestly blast through 12 tracks of melodic punk.

If you've been a fan since their early days, you won't be disappointed, and if you're just discovering them, Valentina is a good introduction to the influential band.

[The songs] are confessional and vulnerable, yet so strong. Of the quiet songs, only the grungy dirge slows things to a crawl.

For long-time fans, this three-disc (or vinyl) release won’t disappoint, though it’s not a total departure.

It's tempting to hate it for failing to recapture their earlier unhinged, chaotic glory. But doing so would be to miss out on how good they've become (despite themselves).

The record’s second half loses some immediacy, partly due to the hazy nine-minute epic Slow Death, but not enough to diminish the overall power.

Arrangements are unfussy--at least by today’s standards--and Cash’s rich, familiar baritone is in fine shape.

Besides turning out impeccable vocal, guitar and banjo performances, he infuses each song with a timeless minimalism undoubtedly developed through years of propping up others.

Canada’s answer to the Fab Four, Sloan, are still charming after 23 years together.

The production is glossy and futuristic to a nearly avant-garde point, yet every song is a hit.

Ya boy is back with another dark soul-saturated album in the vein of "The Blueprint."

Cautious listeners should be warned that this is a very dark and strange album, but wrap your head around the dissonance and general creepiness and you discover one of the more startlingly original takes on 60s rhythm and blues ever put down to disc.

Its low frequencies, irregular rhythms and slow-burning dance beats creep into the songs and draw us in deeper.

As Perfume Genius, American singer/songwriter Mike Hadreas has become synonymous with dark and emotionally heavy piano dirges that are as vulnerable as they are elegant. His third album contains many such songs, but also ratchets up the drama with help from co-producer Adrian Utley of Portishead.

Like any growth spurt, Age contains the obligatory awkward phases, like the reggae-inflected Afterparty. But the Hidden Cameras have always taken risks, and this time the payoffs are much bigger.

It requires some patience, but it's worth sitting through the less immediately gratifying moments for the final section's payoff.

Like 2005’s pleasantly surprising "Playing The Angel," Sounds Of The Universe, their 12th album, is a triumph, though more cunning in its method.

The album favours a downtempo pace, and Smith’s superstar potential is apparent on close-to-final song Tomorrow. But it’s the mid-album entry The One, with its swirling string arrangements and ambiguous tension between defiant lyrics and aching delivery, that suggests Smith’s ascent is far from over.

The acoustic Clumps strips down for a particularly moving two minutes, but for the most part, Loveless commits to the stunning sonic evolution. Embrace it.

The skittering electro-jazz rhythms, classical melodic complexity and mind-bending liquid acid funk are so unique that the closest comparisons you can make are to other Aphex Twin albums.

This is much more about capturing their inimitable onstage chemistry with sizzling fuzz guitar solos, unexpected fusions of styles and the kind of relaxed confidence that only comes with this kind of history.

This is just silly fun and quite heartwarming in a goofy way – well, as long as you’re not horrified by the idea of your little miracle joyfully singing along to songs about farts.

As good as it is, it’s clear that Vernon still has room to grow. A few songs could have used a little extra instrumental kick, and while his songs are great, you can tell he has more to offer. Keep an eye on this one.

Like the best singer/songwriters, Callahan is an English major's lyricist, and by deftly blending the personal, the political and the mythological, he again leaves us plenty to pore over.

The album's middle is slow, contemplative and ambient, allowing Marshall's deep-seated melancholy to reveal itself.

A very good showcase for Jones's evolution as a writer and musician.

While New Wave will probably compel you to pay attention to singer Tom Gabel's rasping rants, it's still a record that's pretty damn fun to dance around to.