With ten tracks and roughly 35 minutes, Heaven Is a Junkyard is beautifully executed from a musical standpoint, with Powers’ piano and synthesizer often providing a bright and cheerful counterpoint to the dark lyrics at hand.

Letter to Yu can be abrasive, like the buzzsaw lead on “Kowloon”, but mostly it gently persuades one to get in the groove. Something is inviting about the Chinese touches on Western dance floor beats. Bolis Pupul belongs to both worlds and invites one to appreciate the connections and juxtapositions between them.

Life Will See You Now makes no secret about exposing its tender heart, but luckily it has enough substance to rescue it from a Lifetime movie level of sentimentality.

Infinite Dissolution keeps the thoughtful onslaught going steadily.

This is an album with a brilliant sound, one that is as arresting to listen to as it is to puzzle over.

Toumani & Sidiki is neither a reinvention nor a encapsulation of the griot tradition, but rather a timely statement of the importance and endurance of tradition.

Whole & Cloven draws the listener in with each tune, but the shift to the next song is always a jarring one. That jarring works, though, shaking you back to attention, only to lead you down a new musical alley.

On The Window, Ratboys reach their fullest potential, expanding and stretching their collaboration, continuing to explore their multi-faceted musical face. They have produced one of their best and most rewarding efforts thus far, and the catchiness of their songs will make listeners return gleefully if the tracks don’t stick to them during intermission.

It's not much more than easy-listening funk, but it's freshly played, and the band sounds great together.

Pop formatting can be a tightrope, but Snaith walks it gracefully. The only component missing are notable lyrics, the words here just another sound in the mix--but that's hardly unusual for Snaith's writing, or even for a lot of music from the era he is referencing.

Unreasonable Behaviour is far from an easy listen. While Garnier is usually highly accessible, here he deviates in favor of a record much more tempestuous, menacing and genre-pushing -- all of which, though foreboding, is wholly more gratifying.

Delicate slices of low heart-rate brilliance.

Beyond its confrontational veneer lies a 19 track collection of a good number of 2011's hardest, freshest, most concrete bars imaginable.

A few dips and peaks throughout, but the elements seem to fall into place for a consistent and cohesive experience.

B’lieve I’m Goin’ Down is a quietly unexpected album. It feels very much like another Kurt Vile album, but close listening--or even not that close--will reveal some serious blues and some complicated dealing with it.

[The music is] touching and abrasive all at once. Quite an accomplishment for her “pop album”.

This is refreshing if not always easy or fun listening. E.S.T. could have continued making contemplative or gospel-tinged acoustic jazz in the Jarrett/ECM mode (the brief “Ajar” here is a fine example), but Svensson and his group have been frying bigger fish from the start.

Throughout That's What I Heard, Cray's voice is unstoppable. It knows no age and can hit the rafters with the most gut-wrenching testifying imaginable, then drag you through the gutter - or take you to church or the bedroom - with a menacing, sensual growl. That's what I heard, anyway.

Lindé is a well-polished triumph of musicianship and craft.

Mandatory Enjoyment may not break new ground, but if someone doesn’t continue to traverse this ground, there’s a danger of it sealing over. And that would be an unconscionable loss for avant-garde and pop music alike, especially when acts such as Dummy unify the two with such adroitness.

Albeit brief, with Crystal Nuns Cathedral, Pollard and co. have struck gold once again, delivering a hi-fi record that proves itself to be just as virtuosic and inventive as any indie rock album of recent memory.

The Whole Love proves the band is still moving forward, still changing, even if it's not in the lofty ways we expect it to.

We may want to make Grace a symbol of something, take her struggle with identity and expression and render it a simplified abstraction, but this rollicking, excellent rock record wants none of that. It’s a physical sound, a visceral set of emotions, a complicated set of fears and hopes to grapple with.

Even by Isbell’s lofty standards, Weathervanes is a big swing, and the band hits a home run.

With Blood Mountain, Mastodon have completed a three-album arc that most young bands can only dream of, culminating in a record that’s as thrilling as it is multifaceted, as melodic as it is bludgeoning.

The vast creativity and breadth of this project are impressive. Along with the great music, a suite of short films operates as a gorgeous visual interpretation of the music. Though, Röyksopp have sworn off releasing “traditional studio albums”, judging from Profound Mysteries, this new stage in their career is exciting and captivating.

The album might be a one-off or a warm-up for a (hopefully) strong album of new material. Regardless, it’s a peak moment in the storied career of rock’s most enduring band.

At the Party With My Brown Friends is another exquisite installation.

The album sounds more elaborate, but never fussily so. Legrand’s voice retains its place atop the organ beats, keys, guitars and acoustic drums.

So maybe there's nothing here more interesting or deep or significant than what it is on the surface: a very beautiful record that means nothing more than what it is...

Although it doesn't pack any real surprises, this album marks a fascinating turning point for the band. Option Paralysis is a very good album, by no means a failure, but because the band had set the bar so high for themselves with their previous three albums, it still feels like a slight step below.

Even with these toe-dips in fuzzier, darker grooves, there's still a sanguine blanket that covers Nine Types of Light -- and, astonishingly, it doesn't come off as a wallow in overdone pathos.

Daniel lives by his music and his ideas, without any arbitrary distinctions between the two. If nothing else, Why Do the Heathen Rage? is massively refreshing for that reason.

One could easily imagine Mirah being just another songwriter, singing turgid ballads about loneliness over an acoustic guitar (and indeed there is the occasional disturbing flash of this in her work), but through the intelligent production of Elvrum, and indeed, some of the other producers on (a)spera, she is able to set her thoughts upon soaring mountains of musical genius.

This is perhaps her most fun album, with a sense of humor even within tragic material. At the same time, it’s one of her prettiest, and not lacking for strange pleasures even within a seemingly more conventional setting.

Rejoice is a posthumous reminder of what Hugh Masekela at his best could deliver and of the now 80-year-old Allen's amazing vitality.

Yes, theirs is a sound similar to a lot of the names jaded hipsters and criterati will spew on auto-fire disdain, but no-one else really sounds like them, and very few people indeed are writing taut rockin' pop songs under three minutes long that are simultaneously as smart and as unpretentious as those proffered here.

When folks start calling you the greatest country artist of your generation, you'd better deliver. This Is Country Music does.

Kano's album is ridiculously good.

With this brilliant turn they take it a step further. They prove you don’t need to deconstruct genre to make it new. You just need to write great songs, know where they came from, and play the hell out of them.

STATE’S END! is another wonderful chapter in a book we hope will continue to be writ for years.

Undeniably one of my favorite albums of the year, METZ shines brightly, like a Molotov cocktail at the moment of impact.

This record expects -- nay, demands -- multiple exposures. Its hidden delights and traps are equally patient.

He and his producers have constructed a monument to this New New New South. And you don't really have to believe in it in order to appreciate what a great record this is.

If A Hundred Highways had kicked off Cash’s American resurgence, it might have been greeted as a minor release, a nice offering by an artist who was in his sunset years.

It’s their most crucial album since 1999’s stunning "Still Life," and its title could not be more appropriate.

22 albums later, the Church give us one of their very best--meticulously wrought, mildly hallucinatory musicscapes marked by an unrepentant infatuation with fantasy and dreams, serendipity and fear, melancholy and hope.

It's safe to say her new album is another fascinating, furiously beautiful work that maintains her position as England's reigning folk princess.

In full, Honkey Kong marries aggressive wordplay and classic beats and the results are universally good.

Into the Lair of the Sun God is fist-pumping, chest-beating, head-banging fun; you'd have to be terminally jaded not to get caught up in its exuberance.

It is a torrent of tenebrous metal, a dolorous maelstrom, and it perfectly captures the many dimensions of loss.

As good as the proper album is, nothing--absolutely nothing--will prepare you for the masterwork that is “Observer”. It is, in short, brilliance, pure magnificence.

Essentially functioning as a career overview from a stylistic standpoint, it reconciles all the best facets of Stamey’s career into one cohesive whole. It’s not only a triumphant late-career statement, but also one which could well come to define the whole of his career.

The results are astonishing.

The album is not always as revolutionary a turn as the “grossest pop album” conceit might suggest, but mostly this is a good thing.

Touch finds July Talk cultivating and improving upon what made them so engaging on their debut.

His talent has undeniably caught up to his hard work, and all we can hope now is that the latter doesn’t suffer because of the former.

Years is a compact, straight to the heart (and feet) record. Every song connects and no notes are wasted. It's a new country classic, plain and simple.

The songs on Holiday are full of wonderfully executed musical concepts that work exquisitely well with Barry's thoughtful, multifaceted lyrics.

It's another wildly thought-provoking, fun, and wholly distinctive venture.

Showalter’s turned a nightmare couple of years into art that not only moves through the trauma but that invites listeners to come along.

You have to give kudos to anybody doing their best to circumvent blueprints and well-trodden paths. They’re really good at it too! So if this album doesn’t resonate quite like the one before, blame it on the difficulty of the assignment than the execution.

Utopia has a unique sound within Björk's discography yet manages to live comfortably alongside the rest of her albums (its closest sonic equivalent is probably 2001's Vespertine).

Cousin feels like a pretty good album from a band that outgrew “pretty good” long ago. Wilco can stand out from the roots-informed indie pack, but Cousin shows they are content to go with the flow, much like that affable enough relative you get along with but don’t see that often.

Because I Was In Love was a heartfelt, strong introduction to a powerful new voice, but Epic is a knockout front to back, and clear cut evidence that we have a powerful and lasting voice on our hands.

Breaking the Balls of History continues this momentum of irrepressible songcraft. Carrying the torch for three decades now, Quasi have become one of the more enduring musical collaborations out of the Pacific Northwest, and this is a peak moment in their discography.

The sounds themselves are cinematic in scope, making for a rewarding listening experience and a very fine album overall.

As is the case with metal music in general, it’s best enjoyed as one gigantic, ostentatious package, and although Mastodon’s approach has been altered slightly on this album, they never fail to deliver that end of the bargain, record sales be damned.

His tribute to "Topo Chico", the sparkling Mexican mineral water that has become Austin's (where Ellis now lives) favorite beverage, is clever and sensible. The rest of the album has a more alcoholic vibe.

The careful precision her distinctive guitar playing and vocals bring to this project center Sunny War as one of the most promising and exciting voices in American roots music.

Free of genre restrictions, this is an important album by an important artist.

Life fits nicely in succession with its predecessor, as both do with Friel’s decade of solo output before them.

Each track intimately explores questions both large and small about relationships, politics, nostalgia, and identity. Plunkett's transcendent writing is the needle that threads all of it together. Lyrically, she does some of her best work so far on Lavender.

The stylistic transition won’t hit everyone the same way, and the album is bound to become his most divisive record to date, but it’s good to hear that an artist with the track record and long-standing popularity of Panda Bear is still willing to take chances and put the effort in to make them work.

Never indulgent, impeccably crafted, but also free as a long-long day in early July, Revelator is a joy.

This album is an inspired mix from Dear and a worthy addition to the DJ Kicks series. It is clearly scrupulously thought through but never comes across as overthought.

There's a generous informality to the 11 tracks that reveal the affection and impact of her fans, who helped her generate what shows up here.

Sure it comes with its imperfections, but it's this humanity that makes music so life affirming. Like all great rock bands that have gone before them-allow Baroness the opportunity to change your life. They just might succeed in doing so.

It’s not propulsive like Era Vulgaris or dense and plodding like Lullabies to Paralyze. Instead, this is a record that feels more loose and laid-back, which is appropriate for a group that’s getting back together after a few years off.

Deep tech sonics fizzle under analog warmth for this engaging LP, where Sepalcure demonstrate an outgrowth and combination of dub sounds, techno, and house so rife with flashy ideas that it's a miracle it actually works as well as it does.

Phosphorescent’s Revelator is less melodically charged than Muchacho and C’est La Vie (or even parts of Here’s to Taking It Easy). Also, Houck’s vocals sometimes flounder in woozy, loungey, soft-pillow mixes. That said, Revelator is a transitional album for Houck, as he turns his attention more unwaveringly to interior dynamics, less preoccupied with the vagaries of the external world.

The confidently poised In Conflict exhibits both a maturation in his ever-evolving compositional style and a boldness in his now assertive vocal performances.

As it stands, it’s a flawed love-letter to the ‘80s, to the people who just want to dance, to the people who feel marginalized, to the people who feel oppressed.

The results are unsurprisingly focused: From beginning to end, The Week That Was is executed with mathematical precision.

On Red Devil Dawn, Crooked Fingers have made huge strides towards becoming one of the most fascinating bands in some time.

Her albums have matured exponentially with every release, and with Blacklisted, an album that will get your blood pumping and give you goosebumps at the same time, Neko Case emerges as a true original.

A lovely album, understated and tender, and indeed quite distinct from the angrier, more angular sound on Spring Hill Fair.

Part Radiohead, part Velvet Underground, Internal Wrangler is the bizarre, formless album that Thom Yorke wishes he could make.

Rhys trades some of his characteristic quirkiness, colorfulness, and experimentation for classier and more unified slices of orchestral pop. In doing so, he offers a wise and mature sequence whose refined yet complex splendor allows it to achieve its own identity while also offering enough trademark elements to entice fans of his past triumphs.

It makes the journey while avoiding the trappings of sentimentality while, importantly, letting Nourallah rock.

It does what a hardcore record is supposed to do: fill you will fear, anxiety and the threat of impending violence.

Overall, Luminiferous is simply the best team in the league doing what they do best.

Nothing More to Say cements the Frightnrs’ position as one of, if not the best, American rocksteady--let alone soul--acts working today. Even if this does prove to be the end, there’s more than enough here to be enjoyed for years to come, let alone definitive proof of the late Dan Klein’s vocal brilliance.

With Collapse, James produces a surprising work of dark deconstruction, interchanging the Syro sound with a range of dissonant ideas and disfigured rhythmic patterns.

Despite its unusual approach, it's warm, deeply felt, not all that dissonant, and oddly calming. Stadium is a quantum leap forward for its genre--whatever that genre may be.

Saloman and company are certainly happy to have found a groove. The songs have a sunny playful spirit even when a song's topic suggests serious contemplation. It can be a little goofy. This is the sound of one hand clapping.

Alcest have undoubtedly crafted one of their most unified and significant sequences to date. Like its predecessors, it takes some time to peel back all of the layers; once you do, though, you'll find it to be superbly capricious, self-assured, and meaningful.

One waits for songs to fall apart, but they keep going on and on like a magic trick to pre-ordained conclusions.