The arrangements find a balance they haven’t always found. It may not always click—“Clean Clothes” and “Did It Really Exist?” in particular don’t ever really take off. But mostly it does

Ultimately, My Other People feels like the work of a band in progress that hasn’t entirely figured out how they operate as an ensemble.

Their ability to drop a pop banger has been proven already – they can do it – but they just find reimagining what Cybotron would sound like as a future-punk band, and that exploration in sound proves to be a gripping listen here.

While Entering Heaven Alive lacks the thematic and musical consistency of Fear of the Dawn, it is no less striking with the depth of its musical diversity.

The result is a mish-mash of commercially viable tracks and more whimsical excursions that her fans will cherish but might leave others feeling warm, then cold.

Special is such a disappointment because you can hear the better album she’s capable of – but she insists on digging her heels in to crank out one-size-fits-all empowerment jams that can’t be resonating with anyone beyond someone just getting back to the elliptical for the first time in a year.

In the context of their discography, this colorful album is a strong addition to the enigma of Guided by Voices. It even manages to produce songs (“Boomerang”, “Flock”) that will likely one day be considered essential. Outside of this context, Tremblers and Goggles by Rank is a smashing and replayable album that only sometimes forgets that people are listening.

The 14 cuts on Found Light are more inquisitive and exploratory (and even experimental) than before.

The bad news is that The Other Side of Make-Believe suffers from a gaggle of forgettable material. The good news is that the record shows us all that Interpol are willing to try a few new tricks as they age.

It’s perhaps the first time Bird has made his songs so easily accessible to his audience.

It’s mainly miss. The limp steel guitar backing “Cold in the Summer” is too low-key to maintain any interest whatsoever; same with the forgettable strummed final track “Wind in My Blood”.

On MUNA, the group has crafted a collection boldly exploring how being queer is composed of joys and traumas, and there’s no shame in messily embracing both. As they put it on their first album, we are loudspeakers.

His most experimental, wandering, and gorgeously unkempt album to date.

Putting her body and feelings out in the open makes them real, especially when portrayed so artfully as in songs such as “Patron Saint of the Dollar Store” and “Heart Swell”.

Absent an infectious melody and accompaniment that establishes rhythmic and/or ambient contrast, her voice tends to grow monotonous and disengaging. But when the aesthetic balances are in place, as they are for much of Sometimes, Forever, then Allison glows like a moon reflecting a dying sun, one of the substantial artists of her generation.

Yet by the end of Closure/Continuation, the main feeling that’s left behind is a sense of limbo. Wilson, Harrison, and Barbieri remain top-notch musicians, comfortable in songs that require technical proficiencies well above the average rock or pop musician. At its best, the album captures and rejuvenates the cerebral and melancholic mood that is Porcupine Tree’s signature. But in the end, the uncertainty innate to a title like Closure/Continuation hangs over the proceedings.

Farm to Table is a record to dwell within, not one to merely be impressed by, making it a fitting and remarkable sophomore effort for an artist whose debut turned so many heads.

Sometimes their vocal melodies aren’t particularly strong. Yet those songs seem to be written to have the vocals at their center. Instead, they end up as tracks with really solid rhythmic backing, interesting guitar playing, and a sort of void where the song’s primary focus should be. The good moments here are worth lauding, but the trio could use a few more of them.

There are at least a handful of worthwhile inclusions here, and Shearwater’s overarching purpose is admirable. Regrettably, though, good intentions don’t necessarily equate to good execution. For the most part, The Great Awakening is a plodding creation whose occasionally fascinating nuances and continually astute insights are marred by persistent musical tedium and hollowness.

When musicians play with each other for years, they build an intuitive understanding of their creative sensibilities. It’s clear that they love making music with each other, and their mutual passion is emblazoned in this deeply compelling batch of heavy rock songs.

Knowing about Matmos’ back catalogue or Schaeffer (or electro-acoustic music in general) isn’t a requirement for getting with Regards Ukłony dla Bogusław Schaeffer; it’s an entertainingly strange, multi-layered immersion on its own.

The problem with Headful of Sugar isn’t that it’s bad. It’s that if a band is going to tell people one more time that, “Nothing in this life is really free”, they’d better have a profound, distinctive way of doing it, and Headful of Sugar doesn’t quite get there.

The contents of Welcome 2 Club XIII testify that there are plenty of good miles left in the tank.

One cannot listen to the Cactus Blossoms without purposely being reminded of the Everly Brothers. If the Minnesota band continues to produce good music, the opposite may be true down the line.

While the set’s melodies are not pronouncedly hook-driven, they are indeed entrancing due primarily to Olsen’s consistently sensual tone and precise phrasing.

They are simply terrific to listen to and always seems to be what they are – without frills or pretension. The Last Thing Left, from start to finish, is sure to be remembered as one of Say Sue Me’s very finest.

By weaving in and out of broader and more intimate concerns, Rolling Blackouts Coastal Fever create an album with a wide scope that ties together. The rooms might be endless, but they make sense as a single structure.

C’mon You Know might be his best solo album so far. Even if his singing voice or public persona turns you off, there’s substance here. Just don’t expect to be taken on some mystery tour. You know, the magical kind.