Despite its relatively minimal instrumentation, virtually every song here crackles and hums with distorted, altered familiarity.

It's primal, visceral, addictive stuff – a perfect mix of sweet and evil unlike pretty much everything else out there.

After a few listens, hidden melodies reveal themselves and easy-listening bass lines guide you through the ruckus. Or rather, you get used to the disorder and appreciate the songs for what they are: weird experiments from a prodigal songwriter.

All six tracks are taut, catchy and depressing, 'Fire In The Ocean' in particular--making you wonder what could have been had they stayed together.

Some of the 80s references take a few listens until they stop sounding goofy, and MacLean’s deadpan vocals occasionally grate next to Whang’s light and floating tone, but once your ears adjust, there’s a lot to appreciate.

This offering sets him apart from other acts and may secure his spot in the canon of bedroom crooners.

Mayberry may be better known as the husky voice of HSY, but it's with Anamai that she's truly getting at her roots.

It's a more solid album than the critically acclaimed debut that put him there in the first place.

The songs are still full of lush guitars and dense, clattering percussion, but offer the added bonus of being more grandiose and emotional.

Like a lot of shoegaze, a uniform production and lots of layers mean the tracks have a tendency to lack distinction from one another. But this happens surprisingly rarely.

The hour-long LP often plays out like an experimental 80s fever dream, but it’s still anchored by The Weeknd’s broody sonic DNA.

An intriguing tension exists between the lo-fi production touches and pristine hi-fi sounds, and similarly between Cook's joking/not-joking attitude.

Less adventurous is her sex-on-the-dance-floor lyrical fixation, so it's those playful touches that set Femme Fatale apart from most cornball dance pop on the radio these days.

While Briedrick produces artful, not too noisy drones through vintage analog gear, Balabanian’s vocals have a distinctly soulful quality.

Less immediately rewarding than their debut, but worth taking the time to get to know.

Now, two years after the barbershoppy crew’s breakup, the Justin Timberlake of J5 delivers his solo debut, with predictably solid results.

Oddly, Lasers is Fiasco's most commercial-sounding album – but think of it as club music with a conscience.

The crisp production makes this more accessible to newbies, but it’s definitely still a Souleyman album, successfully capturing the raw, unbridled energy that’s fuelled his jump from the wedding party circuit to indie rock festivals.

The way Ought confront modern bleakness is understandably disaffected but ultimately moving and celebratory, in the idealistic tradition of punk.

When the album is taken as a whole, its full beauty is floodlit--a rare experience in the age of singles.

Green Naugahyde is very much a return to their glory years, which makes it a great introduction for new ears and a satisfying addition to the catalogue for long-time fans.

On his first solo album under his own name, the songwriting is just as sharp and hooky and the emotions sometimes just as plaintive, sad and angsty as on past projects. But this time Bogart hits upon the most fully realized pop idol version of himself by embracing the demented, neon-coloured camp aesthetic he's always loved.

Thankfully, At Mount Zoomer is a formidable collection of catchy indie art-rock that won’t disappoint fans of their acclaimed debut.

In contrast to the neoclassical leanings of Antony and the Johnsons, Hoplelessness is about this particular moment and sounds very of the moment, thanks to beatmakers Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never. Combined with Anohni's trembling and vulnerable vibrato, its grandiose sounds crescendo into a sprawling political epic that could inspire spontaneous bursts of interpretive dance.

The album makes every effort to showcase the band's deep back catalogue, and represents their second coming--it speaks to the new generation of fans they've gained. There are worse ways to be remembered.

The slower grooves still swing hard while allowing Jones to show off more of her impressive vocal range, although it's difficult to say whether her deep funk crowd will be able to handle the shift from the typical shuffle beat barrage they've come to expect.

No, the sound isn’t all that different from what Petty does with the Heartbreakers, but the Mudcrutch album has the looser feel you get from old buddies jamming for kicks.

This is hot.