While Spiral, like Psychic, includes moments of virtuosic integration – songcraft complemented by innovative sonics, innovative sonics contextualized by songcraft – there are other (and more) moments where the album seems to lack a unifying aesthetic.

There is nothing particularly bad or amateurish about Pink, but it doesn't stand up to the vivid, beautiful sonic worlds Hebden has been creating for more than a decade... Unfortunately, Pink ends up feeling predictable, dated, and yes, kind of retro.

Together, on Sunergy, the two manage to find a similar language while also pushing the limits of the Buchla and of their compositions at every turn.

It’s the same Say Anything that we’ve heard before, only this time around, they’ve switched out their melodic focus for an expanded musical palette, which is ultimately a gift and a curse at the same time.

Lord Steppington is worth a listen for the production alone if you’re a fan of boom bap hip-hop. It’s just a shame because this could’ve been so much more if more of the focus went into writing.

Mann’s new record is smooth, moody, and a bit undistinguished.

Those that didn’t enjoy Skull Orchard before won’t be won over, but it doesn’t change the fact that those naysayers have conspicuously terrible taste.

This record is where it all began before they [Welch and Dave Rawlings] (with the help of producer T Bone Burnett) put out their first disc. In other words, Gillian Welch fans will appreciate hearing the original sounds of the band.

Saint Etienne will always be interesting, and may still have a classic album in them, but maybe they need to drop the intellectual tendencies and simply embrace the music of the idols whom they so clearly adore.

Earthling is a grounded, earnest, weird, and sometimes corny album. It’s is a hodgepodge of inspiration, whims, and deep contemplation. It’s also a very uncalculated album – nothing is hidden or shielded in irony or convoluted symbolism. Earthling wears its earnestness on its sleeve and that is an underrated asset.

They have limited their ensemble to traditional rock strictures with the odd brass section and string quartet thrown in at opportune moments, and there’s very little else that you could do to describe it. As they say, it is what it is.

It’s not bad, and it’s not great. What it is, however, is Antique Glow Part II. And that is a shame.

Sure, it may be slightly too familiar to some tastes, but Slugger still manages to be both comforting and challenging as a piece of pop music.

Deer Creek Canyon is full of songs to curl up with.

The precipice looms and, for now, the band seems content to wallow close to the edge.

Kylesa stick to their home-brewed brand of lyrically ambiguous sludge metal meets psychedelic rock with touches of Americana, some ‘80s goth moments, and a hearty smattering of doom.

Riggins' talent for shape-shifting, his ability to play comfortably with both Common and Paul McCartney, carries over to Alone Together. Riggins is full of ideas, and he wants to share them.

Despite the album's distinct musicality, it's hard to shake the feeling that Miss Red is culturally appropriating Jamaican dancehall. She is clearly devoted to the history of dancehall, and her music is endowed with the cultural and musical themes that are the hallmark of the genre. But at times Miss Red's style is too archetypal such as in "Dust" and "Come Again" where her vocal affect sounds manufactured and trained.

At 15 songs (including two instrumentals), (watch my moves) may overstay its welcome, but its best moments entrance and enthrall, proving that Kurt Vile takes his time to set a mood and a groove and invites us in for a hang we can’t resist.

Demolished Thoughts is stripped down, acoustic, almost drumless, but full of strings, evocative, but emotionally distant.

What we’re left with is an album that retreads a lot of familiar ground, but does it well, exploring a narrow but richly developed arc of ‘60s-influenced indie-pop.

As a curio from one of the most unsettled times in UK music (pre-grunge and post indie), it's interesting, from an academic rock nerd's perspective. For everyone else, if you're looking for an album that has all the hallmarks of a musical movement but only some of the flair of the leading lights of that scene, here it is. Warts and all.

Rakka contains some of Ripatti's most thrilling and unpredictable sound design, but taken in one sitting, it's hard to know what to do with it.

Vocals are delivered straight-forwardly, instrumental solos are kept to a minimum, and there’s a general sense of presenting things honestly in a documentary style. That fits the material which would most naturally be at home in a small-town church.

If Happy Hollow doesn’t astound lyrically, though, it swings with force musically.

Though the record cleans up some with the drifting “How Might I Live” and a quick hit of sadness from closer “Navigator”, these are but mild highpoints in a waste of still-milder mediocrity

Sometimes Pratt’s nervousness about being looped into a scene extends to her album’s production. Some songs are cloaked in hissing tape, and her lyrics can be difficult to make out.

Bridwell has a very clear vision for his band and presents it well. His smart lyrics match his previous standards, and the group execute the album well, but it feels too much as if they’re standing in place.