Ceremonials abandons so many of the musical avenues she mapped out on Lungs and focuses instead on a monolithic sound that is certainly affecting but is becoming increasingly conventional in 2011.

While Endless Arcade may not quite match the standard of consistency Teenage Fanclub is known for, it’s an excellent reminder of just how much songwriting talent has called this band home for the past three decades.

Krystal may not be as charming or musically distinctive as its predecessor, but if a breakup has left you with nothing to do but “curl up and die,” then Matt Maltese’s second album is the calming, pillow-crying record you need.

What Path of Wellness lacks in sonic urgency, it makes up for with a vintage classic-rock swagger that livens up the material considerably.

The music in their latest release, Whatever's On Your Mind, stays on a pop path that's decorated with tinges of folk, blues, electronic, and whatever else they feel like throwing in.

Immunity has just enough unforgettable glimmers to justify Clairo’s buzz. The question is whether listeners who weren’t already head over heels for her previously released music will hop on board too.

Ask the Night is about the longing for transformation, for escape to someplace intangible but achingly beautiful. Its futile desire for transcendence provides the listener exactly that.

Even if nothing on here rises to the career-best heights of 2003’s Apple O’ or 2005’s The Runners Four, it’s another strong album from a band whose sheer continued existence (and refusal to bend to conventional recording standards) often feels like a triumph of absurdity in the face of encroaching hopelessness.

The album would truly shine overall if it didn't contain too many songs that are less songs and more experiments in sound. That's not to say this is a major problem, but instrumental, orchestral arrangements seem strange when they come 12 songs through a 15-track LP.

Public Service Broadcasting put that political and economic disconnect into sharp relief, placing human lives and industrial mining on a broad spectrum that let both sides be heard.

While Lee’s preachy lyrics often feel forced and rarely reach beneath the surface of the issues, the man known for homespun sing-alongs retains his catchy strumming and perfect blend of sweet and funny musings, making it difficult not to root for him.

With the exception of a few songs, the album tends to fade into the massive sea of post-rock and new wave revivalists. Even the Yeah Yeah Yeahs can’t get away with it anymore. When songs do work, however, they shoot to thrill.

Why foist all of this upon a fanbase that's gracefully aging right along with you and is thus a little more malleable than either of you were in your mid-twenties, a little more open-minded, a little more down for whatever? The answer, clearly, is "Why not?"

Man of the World may be missing the danceable spirit of Baio’s earlier work, but it’s the album we need in 2017: a juxtaposition of hopeful music and apprehensive lyrics, vocalizing concerns many of us are feeling but few can so masterfully articulate.

Cut Your Teeth is a rare fusion of focused anger and unadulterated dejection; Necking are a punk band, but above all else, they’re convincing and relatable.

Admiral lacks the strong, emotional storyline of 2008's April and retraces too many of his past musical steps. It's a beautiful, melancholy snapshot of a musician dealing with his past, but he's taken this picture before.

It’s an exhausting listen, alternately frustrating and overwhelming. But it’s never boring.

It’s an album that rewards close listening. Awake, though, doesn’t feel like much of an evolution for Hansen or his music.

By adding cleaner production, synth and string flourishes alongside poppier and catchier refrains, De Augustine largely hits the mark on Tomb. With a few curveballs thrown throughout, the warm and comforting lull of Swim Inside the Moon is long gone, replaced by a fascinating record that updates his prior work without losing any of its intimacy.

When Butler isn’t taking cues from the music he grew up with, he’s more prone to wander around in just-nice-enough piano balladry. But when he is, he ends up with something which seems to bear his own identity more than it could otherwise.

Listening to it feels like sitting down and soaking in the stories of someone who has seen it all, written in a direct, uncomplicated and emotionally resonant way.

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

In Somewhere Else, Sally Shapiro dip from toe to calf in new soundscapes and are enlivened by the feel.

What the band is doing is creating a unique template of dark, post-punk, garage-y rock, often controlled and sometimes unleashed, that marks The New Life as one of the better albums released so far this year.

From a purely sonic standpoint, these new versions are impossible to disregard.... The deluxe edition bonus material is more hit-or-miss. Since the Led Zeppelin vaults had basically already been emptied, Page tosses in a bonus Paris live show from 1969; the eight-track set has already circulated as a bootleg for years, and it remains inessential.

If Skygreen Leopards still sounds like its surrounding environs--and it does, kinda--the group works to summon a Bay from times past, rather than portraying its current digitized state.

Under Sitek’s guidance, Miranda has created an enchanting, promising debut that is ultimately all her own.

Like Jimmy Page’s previous deluxe remasters, these new sets are fitfully revealing, littered with extras that even obsessives will write off as fluff. But the albums’ scattered brilliance has only deepened in the past four decades. [Coda (Remastered Album): 7.5 / Coda (Deluxe Material): 7.0]

An inspired approach that sees Kirke aching to marry the romanticism of that roots music with dreamy, indie arrangements. This often means hearing fiddles, shuffling drums and Kirke’s heady voice seeping into each other across the album, as if filtered under some gauzy haze. At the record’s strongest points, these misty arrangements still retain clarity.

At the end of Come Home To Mama, I find myself most appreciative of Wainwright's confessional style of writing, how she reveals her main characters' flaws without shame.

The music is richer, more atmospheric and stranger than ever. This sophomore release is more collaborative than his debut, but the main aesthetic-electro-ambience buoyed by airy, dreamlike vocals-remains the same.

Perfectly enunciated lyrics, layered instrumentation, infectious melodies, rinse, repeat. The sound wasn’t broke, so Bishop Allen didn’t bother fixing it.

While the songs on to hell with it may read heavy in subject matter, rarely does PinkPantheress bask in the dour.

Alpha Zulu may not be the best Phoenix album, but it is another reminder of their artistic stability and growth, a genuine triumph for a band with seven albums in tow.

Here Come the Rattling Trees is a wonderfully delightful thing to have on in the background while doing just about anything. As a cohesive statement, though, the album falls short of gelling, piecemealed as it is from fragments of a larger artistic vision.

It's not a shining example of the craft, by any means, but it's still enjoyable, a soothing late-summer soundtrack devotees of either parent band will particularly love.

Liberman may be more structured than her early hits, but it’s still got hooks worth singing with friends, even if the piano steps off the main stage.

A happy-trails present to fans and entry point into a farewell tour, Croweology isn't remotely practical, but it is fun, a loose revisiting of Crowes songs resculpted in a good-natured, gather-round-the-campfire style.

Summer Camp's debut Welcome to Condale is a rather diverse affair for being essentially a good-time summer pop record.

Her sound on Sensational is seductive and hushed, and she adopts a poise that can easily draw a cult following. Give into de Casier’s allure, before her enchantment becomes far more than just a whisper.

Grohl and company could have continued to make mundane arena rock. That they’ve managed to hunker down and create a collection that proves that they aren’t ready crawl fade away just yet.

The beauty of The Killers is that you can start at any point. Each album is as good as the last and those that came after it. To that end, Wonderful Wonderful works as a perfect introduction or a delightful continuation.

His latest is his first true departure, and the unfamiliarity is at once a challenge to absorb and also a fascinating turnabout from an artist who is demonstrating that he is more willing--and able--than most to subvert the expectations he’s created for himself.

Them Crooked Vultures sounds best when they don’t toy with that formula; the experimentation gets messy.

Why You So Crazy is fun for the brain and the body. Weird enough to find something new with every listen, while remaining as slick and infectious and delightful as much of the Dandys’ dandy discography.

Man, does Music City bleed through the album, leaving a hushed honky-tonk throb with gritty production.

The difference between old and new is more distinct on tracks from The Silver Globe. ... They’re not required listening, but it is interesting to hear Weaver recontextualize these works and, in turn, provide a reminder that songs are living things. And if you’re looking for something to tide you over to Weaver’s next proper album, Loops in the Secret Society might just do the trick.

You’ll hear more of the 924 Gilman Street punk raucous of bands like Op Ivy, Blatz and Black Fork on these dozen cuts. And that’s a great thing. This is punk rock for 2013, and it’s still fabulous.

Just like real fireworks, there's a "gather 'round" quality to this spectacle, but don't forget some earplugs.

While this may not be their magnum opus, and they aren’t reinventing the wheel—or even trying to—Vivian Girls keep us wanting more than just a Memory, but a bright future full of raucous tunes.

For good or for ill, The 1975 have mastered the 2018 sound—a hyper-sweet confectionary of computer rhythms and dance beats and electro-breath echoes that is the hallmark of far too many albums. But underneath the puffy synthetics, they’ve also proven themselves capable of real rawness, an album for the good times as well as the tough.

I’m Going Away is another absorbing mile on the Furnaces’ flight from indie-rock convention.

While bedroom indie-rock is a beast Shamir has yet to master, it’s Revelations’ message of survival and optimism that sticks with you. And so one hopes Shamir finds his way, fully realizing the album’s flashes of greatness.

Much of the joy in Reset comes in instances like these where Lennox and Kember wholeheartedly embrace the sounds of the past with a distinctly contemporary approach.

These songs politely roll in like a sleepy cloud of fog, each one a little puff of mist no more distinguishable than the one before it. There are highlights, of course.

Fine Line is entirely inoffensive, but it’s also open-ended, and maybe those questions are the reward. Maybe Harry Styles just wants to keep us guessing.

Though the record meanders into aimless moping in its final third, most of the 10 tracks are bold, heavy and among Interpol's best.

Although the handful of newly pared-back songs would theoretically give him a broader space for these more approachable laments, the band don’t yet sound comfortable in this zone, and their work often masks Kiely’s hideous charms. At its best, Most Normal, which Gilla Band produced themselves, reflects the group’s newly gradual creative process.

A fun romp through the most succinct Jack White material in a decade, a collection of songs that will thrill crowds across the world until White moves on to whatever his next project is.

At times, Houck’s revelations can get lost into an aimless fog of luscious sounds created by these music industry veterans—especially evident on “Fences,” where Phosphorescent’s meditations on a relationship in decay get obscured by a samesy blur of pedal steel and organ. .... But the upside of Revelator’s polished and highly cohesive sound is that even relatively minor switch-ups can prove thrilling by comparison.

On The Third Gleam, The Avett Brothers take a step back from all that gloss and shine and just focus on the songwriting, the harmonies and the dynamic between three musicians in a room. Hearing The Third Gleam is like stepping into a sunny, peaceful clearing after hours of running through the woods.

Antenna to the Afterworld is both a more imaginative album than its predecessor and a more fully realized vision.

Black Tambourine can be amateurish: "Can't Explain" seems as if it's being held together with chewed-up licorice and broken guitar strings. But it also builds to a fine frenzy that fans of Vivian Girls will find pleasantly familiar.

Still, his range is admirable and 4 × 4 appropriates just enough familiar tone to act as a mainstream dance sampler for the under-initiated.

Though these 11 songs aren’t always as sharply drawn as his best material, there’s plenty to love here.

The result is another opus-de-Americana washed in experimental folk-rock—a zealous, if unfocused, tale of back-road pain and otherworldly redemption.

Odludek does its job well enough as it pulses forward, though it strangely doesn’t stick as deeply as you might expect.

The self-harmonization superimposed over extreme syncopation and electronic looping on nikki nack sometimes teeters on too heady.

While playing catchy, well-crafted songs isn't necessarily a bad thing, it is sometimes less than exciting.

Pretty much every song, when listened to individually, is far from lacking emotional impact, indicating that Paul’s sweet spot exists within the realm of midtempo, linear songs. To have nine such hymns packaged into one album is itself a gift—call it a token of friendship.

Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action is a fiendish and fun record.

On Doves’ fourth LP, Kingdom of Rust, the music is more granite than limestone, continuing 2005 album "Some Cities’" move toward cacophonous beauty.

Potter’s roar makes every song worth listening to, even if each one more or less preaches the same point—something along the lines of “All you need is love.” But there’s an argument to be made for singing about love frankly.

The stories are brilliantly disconnected but often uninspired, evoking the stunning introspection inspired by sun and sand without ever quite accepting its challenge.

Glazin' draws from the swagger of glam, the hooky middle-ground of '70s punk and '60s rock 'n' roll, but also demonstrates a clear understanding of the way those sounds have already been appropriated by millennial garage pranksters (like, most notably, the Black Lips).

Nothing about this album makes a lick of sense. If you’re a longtime obsessive fan of the group (and really there is no other kind), though, you don’t really care if it does. Like fellow prolific weirdo Jandek, it’s enough that Smith is still out there spouting off against all odds.

Stage Whisper may not be the full-album experience fans of IRM were hoping for, but Gainsbourg makes up for it with the sheer wealth and variety of material presented.

Longtime Glass fans might observe parallels between PREY//IV’s sound and the music of the band in which she was emotionally abused. In continuing to explore that group’s abrasive, icy sound, she reclaims the power that her abuser attempted to steal from her. And in collaborating with her partner Jupiter io, formerly of noise-pop band HEALTH, she brings her own softer, foggier edge to the blistering rave music with which she’s often associated.

Reacquainting oneself with the band now that they’ve found a new identity as a quartet is the work’s initial pleasure, the Easter egg hunt of picking out reference points being the second. The third—deciphering the meaning—is the most important, of course, and the one that’ll determine where Printer’s Devil ranks in Ratboys’ discography. In the meantime, just enjoy hearing Steiner, Sagan, Neumann, and Nuccio take the band in new directions.

While the characters on CAZIMI aren’t always at peace, it sounds like Rose is. Even as she experiments with new sounds, textures and situations, the country-rock queen remains a reliable source of genuine stories.

What's it sound like? A lot like Segall's proper solo material, frankly.

The resulting album is an imaginative indie-pop chronicle of millennial malaise. Throughout, Donnelly sings in a thick Perth accent, and her vocals are dotted with audible laughter, theatrical flourishes, inspired instances of talk-singing, and other oddities. It’s almost as though her stories can’t quite be contained within the limited space of the songs themselves.

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.

Another perfectly solid Cloud Nothings record that expertly straddles that imaginary knife Baldi was balancing on earlier.

She's pushed her own skills as a vocalist, drawing more from her jazz side even when singing pop or country. In the process she's created some of her finest art, even if it frequently sounds too casual for that word to apply.

The album feels like a strange reaction to our troubled times, misplaced optimism rubbing uncomfortably against our current straing ubiquitous outrage. It’s not a bad thing to hear Parker sound so nestled into a comfy chair with all his needs met, but it wouldn’t hurt to have him in the trenches with us.

AURORA’s release packs a moody, but unexpectedly positive punch, throwing her amidst a sea of artists who do the same.

This isn’t a nihilistic record, especially with the wistful but bright closing sentiment of “Common Mistake”—where Baldi sings “You’ll be alright, just give more than you take.” But most of the talking is done by Gerycz’s sledgehammer drumming and Baldi’s layered guitars, a hallmark of all great Cloud Nothings songs.

Run through with kitschy soundbites from retro sci-fi flicks and news broadcasts, a few tracks expand the band’s musical palate ('Sonic You' is their first downright lovely tune) but the rest sink into a predictable groove of dumpy bass-lines and puckish drum fills, and mining far less satisfyingly sassy lyrical territory than the band’s debut.

It’s nothing revelatory, but it works--with all the right pieces of pop music history in just the right places.

Unlike many retro-revivalist bands, they've got Hames' sassy vocals front and center, ensuring that the band's both smiling and showing its teeth.

The occasional misstep aside, Capricorn shows another side of a young artist who is still growing into his full potential. Not only can Eddie 9V play the blues, he’s got plenty of soul, too.

Hour of Green Evening remains engaging even at its most lethargic. ... There’s a mystical, almost hallucinatory quality to Becker’s songwriting.

Lidell’s chops are fine--he flat-out rips shit up while guesting on Brandt Brauer Frick’s stellar forthcoming album and the more individual-minded tracks on Jamie Lidell hold up with the strongest of his career--but to stay contemporary and competitive, he’s also at a turning point where he has to do more than simply go through the motions.

Makes Me Sick Makes Me Smile is the soundtrack to the nights we spend wrestling with if we should forgive them or just forget the whole thing. Instead of trying to neatly package the mess we make, Pretty Sick create something that sounds as massive as the way it all feels.

Reflektor is very well an intellectual triumph, but--in a first for this band--it’s almost never an emotional one.

Sometimes the love-y theme becomes a bit cloying. ... Even on a collection of highly structured songs with little room for improvisation, Banhart remains the distinctive artist he’s always been.

Avondale is Ferry teasing at the possibility of something more and never quite delivering.