Emerald City is vividly imagined yet subtle in tone, with conflicted character sketches unfolding around somber synth melodies, creaky electronic effects, and fuzzy acoustic guitar strums.

The source of Swing Lo Magellan's charm, for it truly is a charming collection, is that it's a record that doesn't try be anything other than exactly what it is.

Springtime Carnivore doesn’t always showcase the full extent of Greta Morgan’s talents, but it gives more than enough reason to be excited for her future projects.

Reznor’s letter paints Ghosts V: Together as hopeful and Ghosts VI: Locusts as fearful, but the moods evoked by both are too richly layered to just dichotomize the two records along such bold lines. ... Locusts harbors pockets of peaceful reflection (such as the one-two respite of “Trust Fades” and “A Really Bad Night”).

Overall, Rico’s inaugural efforts are cathartic, ballsy and just plain fun. Nightmare Vacation solidifies the emcee as quite the furious force to be reckoned with.

Second Line brings few changes, especially lyrically, but Richard largely makes up for her retreading with some of her sharpest hooks to date.

One of this record’s biggest achievements might be building out the character of Jenny while managing to not sacrifice her central mystery.

Whether soft or loud, these 12 songs are exquisite.

The debut from this 19-year-old British talent is very impressive and easy to listen to even if it’s not particularly trailblazing.

In keeping with the understated, meditative quality of the lyrics, Principe pushes his voice to notes of particular emphasis but conspicuously avoids the acrobatics that might otherwise attract attention: rarely does anything so lovely appear so unassuming.

It’s a disappointment to hear the band retreat into their old shell on their latest, The Invisible Way.

Only a tender take on Tom Waits' "(Looking For) The Heart of a Saturday Night" gives Peyroux the glimmer of modernity Perfect World so desperately craves. [Oct 2006, p.80]

Punk in sentiment, pop in sound, and political for the fact that it exists, All of Us Flames weaves justified fury into a testament to community, borrowing from sounds of the past to envision a less destructive future.

The first four songs alone are a revelation of sustained focus and fury. ... It would be impressive if Gigaton retained the thrill and invention of its first half, but that’s a tall order. There are invariably duds mixed amongst its 57-minute runtime.

A Man Alive is an endearing listen and has all of the elements of a complete work—even pop-centric singles in “Astonished Man” and “Nobody Dies.

Oh Sees’ most obvious strength has always been their own restlessness and commitment to exploration, and as Face Stabber’s dozen other tracks ricochet between super-potent pysch, punk, noise and funk, they prove that this is still one of the very best and most adventurous rock bands on the planet.

They sound like anonymous technoids coming to grips with what it means to want the world in musical terms that will most certainly put their faces on the map. Better invest in some robot helmets.

These damaged siren songs are a harsh counterpoint to the organic flow of "The Tipping Point," but nonetheless deliver an honest and abrasive diatribe within The Roots’ legacy of civil commentary and inspired musicianship.

The extra material here from those same home sessions finds the group working through early versions of tunes that would find full flower on later releases. ... Those tracks do, like the other “session highlights” and studio tapes, flesh out the story of the Beach Boys’ year, but they were rightfully left off Wild Honey.

Rose declares on “Swimmer.” “I hope you’re listening to me wherever you are.” With a record as authentically beautiful as Mythopoetics, we should be.

A delightful concoction. [Feb/Mar 2006, p.98]

There’s no room for filler here; momentum carries on and roams wide but never eases.

The world needed a rough-hewn reminder of how achingly powerful two guitars pawing and scratching at each other while a rhythm section spars alongside them. Works For Tomorrow does just that.

Foxing have long been one of our most ambitious bands, but Draw Down the Moon confirms they’ll keep going for broke for the foreseeable future.

While Loss of Life still gives no compelling answer to the question “Who is MGMT?,” it also doesn’t need to. The album makes it obvious that the duo are most at home behind the boards, uniting their musical memories from Oasis to Roxy Music.

These songs feel heavy and significant enough--due to dynamic production and hooky choruses--even if we don’t know exactly what they mean.

It’s far more organic than any of the prefab productions that dominate the airwaves these days. The backing horns and sprightly pacing keep the music sounding effortless and bewitching, a traditional approach that’s been part of LaFarge and his namesake band’s signature sound.

After traveling through 13 tracks, unaware of how much time has passed or all the strange places in your mind you’ve traveled to, arriving at “Their Eyes” does have a very similar feeling to stepping out into the sunlight after the dark cocoon of the movie theatre--a little unsure of what you’ve just seen.

Given the fact that every other entry on the album was worked up in the studio, the various early takes offer added intrigue. The order of the set list remains the same (a snippet of the discarded song “Harry” being the only additive added to the running order) but given these early unheard versions and the additional takes that take up much of disc two, the genesis of these performances clearly is clearly illuminated.

The disparate releases are as oil and water as ever, with a new song on each disc that doesn't fit at all, and only the final one, "Til Dawn (Here Comes the Sun)" isn't negligible.

Sleeper is an album worthy of adorning your shelf until the shelf itself crumbles.

The sweeping brilliance of that standout track ["In Durance Vile"], though, is matched in emotive resonance on nearly every piece on Fleeting.

In the past, Solange dabbled with genres and moods like finger-paints; with True, she's made some bold, inventive brushstrokes.

This whole album is good, just know that up front.

A Black Mile To The Surface does not disappoint. It may not be a no-hitter (nothing here is as immediately visceral as, say, “Shake It Off” or as instantly gorgeous as “Simple Math,” perhaps), but the band still looks and sounds strong.

In typical BH fashion, there are moments on “THE LIGHT,” “WHAT’S THE OCCASION?” and “DEAR LORD” that lean into vulnerability, tenderness and slight existential dread. It’s easy to pinpoint BROCKHAMPTON’s growth as evidenced by their latest project, but deeper parts of their creativity are tapped when outsiders—who happen to be insanely talented—are allowed to infiltrate their unit.

This is top-flight stuff, and not just because I needed to glancingly reference the band’s name before signing off.

Drake’s consistent use of global beats and international artists carry the bulk of the weight throughout More Life. Elements of grime and British street culture, along with trap, Caribbean dancehall and Afrobeat give a warmth and freshness that keeps the mood brisk.

On its own, the album is loud, sometimes cranky and also the least essential entry in Simpson’s catalog so far.

The album illustrates Veirs’ recovery across its 14 tracks with a deft and assured hand.

Armed with little more than a guitar, some rudimentary tape-tracking recording materials and a a treasure trove of inventive vocal harmonies, Pratt’s darkly ambitious compositions are fleshed out into alcoves of aural mischief, served mystical and with a kind of dark magic, vacillating as they do between optimism and pessimism.

His debut may have taken a decade to gestate, but we’ll probably still be unpacking its innovative grooves in another.

It's the band's fussiest, most elaborately conceived work to date. [Nov 2006, p.83]

Throughout five mesmerizing tracks, Texas Moon invites listeners into that special world. It’s a world where time moves at a delicate pace and where that classic American road trip detours through the scenic route.

Out in the suburbs, the Cymbals Eat Guitars boys had plenty of room to stretch their legs and creative muscles, but it would have done some good for them to have been reigned back in, even if a little.

Honesty gives God’s Problem Child heft.

The Hold Steady’s most musically adventurous collection of songs so far, pairing singer Craig Finn’s vivid storytelling with arrangements that go in some unexpected directions.

There are a lot of varying moods to digest over 40 minutes, but it gels well.... The demos provide a glimpse into the working process.

It all sounds more ominous than Necks’ last effort, the slow developing and endlessly relaxed Open. But none of the Necks’ 18 studio albums throws off an overly contented vibe--just a contemplative air. So, if whatever the trio’s thinking on and trying to relate to listeners takes another 25 years to suss out, it probably would be to the audience’s benefit.

In Spades carries a few more of the maniacal stretches that have marked the band’s most interesting moments, especially in the use of Dulli’s voice.

Poetry has always been another tool in his box, but here more than ever, it seems that the lyrics serve as an instrument, not to be separated from the rest of the music, and helping to create a seamless but showy overall sound.

It nudges toward a slightly more experimental sound--lulling without being tedious, compelling without diddling into pretension, and always perfectly mesmerizing. [Jun/Jul 2006, p.114]

What subsequent listens reveal is the startling evolution of Newman’s songwriting.

The confessions on Older Than My Old Man Now can be startling.

Liars might not be as singular as the band’s past albums, but even a relatively normal outing from these guys is still a puzzle that takes time to solve. Rest assured, it’s time well spent.

Faith No More appears to have not only written a collection of songs that stand up to the lofty heights they set for themselves from past releases, in some ways they have exceeded them.

It's Kafka meets Mahler at the hipster club, and it's easily one of the musical highlights of the year.

While this sampler doesn’t begun cover the whole of his efforts, it does boast enough essential songs to qualify it as an adequate introduction.

Atmospheric and evocative, Gold In A Brass Age is as easy an entry point to Gray as it a continuation of an impressive career for already-established fan. It’s an album that demands a listen in full, rather than piecemeal or on shuffle, allowing the whole mood to permeate.

Lost Songs splits the difference between some of the more overly emotive/dramatic Trail of Dead featured on recent albums, and the frenetic, exciting Trail of Dead of its the early years.

Squeeze excels when it provides the perfect soundtrack for punching a hole in the wall, or at least fantasizing about it.

When so many songs are clever rather than honest, Lane delivers no-nonsense reality.

Seeds is quaint in its psychedelia, but it's not a hallucinogenic cocktail like Shades of Blue.

More than anything else, it makes you think.

It’s one of the most challenging and rewarding releases Perfume Genius has ever attempted. ... Ugly Season continues a hell of a winning streak for Perfume Genius, a group that has ascended beyond expectation.

A Swollen River, A Well Overflowing is playful at its core, taking familiar images and refracting them or replacing them with changelings.

Inhabiting a space similar to Romy’s recent album Mid Air or Ibizan favorite Everything But The Girl’s “Miss You,” Sorry I Haven’t Called successfully melds confessional poetry with intricate dance sensibilities.

Too many of Hold Time’s tracks fail to leave an impression, blending into one another.

Even in their nascent form though, the songs provide ample evidence of Phillipps’ growing strength as a songwriter.

But where the band’s U.S. breakthrough, "And the Glass Handed Kites," sometimes felt sprawling, its follow-up achieves some much-needed clarity, distinguishing one song from the next and reining in the reverb with throbbing bass hits.

Despite the squalid fervor that juts out in contrast to “Catching the Rich Train,” the surprisingly sedate opener, the trio is still working to arrange its raft of influences in some way that makes sense to its members.

It's a brief culmination of practice making perfect, with Earl and his band showing why they make a new album every year--because more and more often they are getting it right.

She’s still a sprinter on Three Futures. But she looks back at what’s been lost with accrued wisdom and a literary eye for sensual detail, resulting in one of the year’s most thoughtful left turns.

Desperation’s greasy, grimy garage rock sounds natural.

Here’s a skilled guy treating one of his favorite records with the utmost respect, and the results are predictably lovely. They may not be necessary or essential, but they are lovely. And that’s what counts the most.

Cage Tropical is an elegant ghost that slips into your dreams and leaves you with only vague memories of the experience. That would be fine if Frankie weren’t so close to doing something really haunting.

There’s a faint despair in these songs, but he makes up for it with his undying devotion to capture them as vividly as possible--in a way that doesn’t glorify the subjects’ predicament, but highlights their quirks and shines a spotlight on their wisdom. There’s an innate comfort that comes with listening to Gunn’s music and The Unseen in Between is that Sunday afternoon moment of self-care that you need in your life.

You don’t emerge from the LP with a sense of linear narrative. Across 16 songs, relationships fail and prosper and then fail again; hope deteriorates and grows, only to deteriorate again. What Zach Bryan is is a moving portrait of life’s knottiest, in-between moments.

For those who self-identify as Tom Waits Fans, Glitter and Doom Live succeeds on pretty much every level.

By eschewing ambition in favor of intimacy, the album is both comfortable and comforting. While Barnett and Vile don’t travel far from their established sounds in their collaboration, the sum of their contributions yields fresh results.

The band’s new album, Every Country’s Sun, doesn’t necessarily represent a significant break from their norm, but it does offer a consistency that allows an easy flow from one track to another, all the while relying on sonics rather than singing to convey their passion and intents.

All of the emotional turmoil that this record holds makes it a thrilling—and kind of frightful—experience from start to finish.

Sorry You Couldn’t Make It represents yet another late-career experiment in a lengthy one filled with them, a back-to-basics approach by an artist who’s seen it all. There’s no telling where Swamp Dogg goes from here, but if his most recent handful of releases are anything to go off of, it’ll likely sound nothing like Sorry You Couldn’t Make It. But it also means that no matter what genre he tries on next, the results will be astounding.

Leo’s vision has crystallized. The songs are shorter and tighter than anything he’s seared onto tape, and his complex melodic phrasing arrives pitch perfect.

Bateh’s sequencing is masterful, but take some of these songs out of the album’s broader context and many lose their steam. It’s not particularly kind to the casual listener either—this is an album for those fully committed to being a fly on the wall of this jet-black joyride.

What’s most surprising about this set is its stylistic range, encompassing the lunar soundscapes of Sigur Rós ('Sätt Att Se'), the groove-based jazz of Weather Report ('Maleras Finest'), mutated bossa nova ('Det Tar Tid') and Eno-esque ambience ('Bandhagen'), all intercut with shredding rave-ups featuring guitarist Reine Fiske ('Fredag'), who ensures that 4 won’t be consigned to background-music status.

This album not only surpasses its predecessor but raises the bar for any band, indie or otherwise, mining the past for inspiration.

Change’s power mostly emerges at unhurried paces, so the shimmying, percussive highlight “Naysayer” instantly stands out amid a sea of casual strolls.

The album recalls so many of his best old tricks while altering the presentation just enough to give it a necessary freshness.

There are no outright misfires, but some songs... remain mood pieces that never build up enough sense of occasion to find structure within Banhart’s listless wistfulness.

While Pedestrian Verse feels like the most comprehensive Frightened Rabbit LP in the band’s nearly 10-year career, it also forgoes some of the band’s restless charm in the process.

Though it mostly lacks the direct punchiness and instant gratification of an album like Schlagenheim, it provides a unique musical escapade that dashes deftly between genres and the depths of the human experience like a charging bull. Black midi isn’t here to charm you or to prove anything—they just want to take you to hell and back.

Outside of a filmic context and stamped with the name Pearl Jam, several of the songs fall flat, dragging down an otherwise upbeat and enjoyable release.

In Ghost Colours achieves its success by striking the right balance between its competing genres--rock and electronic--without sacrificing either.

Understandably, The Caretaker’s stories are often not pretty sights, even if the music always is.

Working with God shows us that the Melvins are indestructible at this point. Where their single-mindedness might grate from one perspective, from another perspective, they’ve become the picture of dependability we can only hope all bands would reach.

Schmilco is an acoustic record but not a slow one--thank God--which proves the right vehicle for the band’s loosest, most unadorned set of songs since its debut. There’s electricity here, if not much electric guitar.

Perhaps the biggest hurdle for Friedberger's solo endeavor will rest in separating herself from the past nine LPs she's released with her brother, but Last Summer succeeds on its own, casting a softer light on the singer's chaotic image.