It feels like a resurfacing, like a promise, and it's a grand closer for this classically GBV (collection) album.

The Roots manage to craft another interesting hip-hop experiment with undun.

The Dreamer, The Believer reestablishes Common's place in the upper echelon of hip hop.

While Lioness may not be the perfect Amy Winehouse album, it's all we have, which seems to be enough.

Not to give the Belles short shrift (they play with skilled abandon), but the record sounds like White... straight-ahead crunching blues-based guitar hooks that sound as if they were ripped from Zeppelin II, staccato bursts of noise, oceans of feedback, driving back beats and howled vocals.

Bestival offers the opportunity to take a tour of the band's long, fruitful career, stopping at each stylistic turn in their journey to take in the sonic scenery, but it also adds the freshness that only a live performance can bring.

The bulk of El Camino keeps that approach fresh by twisting their rock sound into a pop sensibility that may feel nostalgic, but here--in this concentrated, potent dose--reveals itself to be just as eager to move forward as it is to revel in the past.

Office Of Future Plans reveals itself as quite possibly one of the most brilliantly sequenced albums of 2011.

There's still plenty to like about the insular production and engaging melodies of Wild One, but I can't help but think North Highlands have a lot more to offer that doesn't always show up here.

Carrion Crawler/The Dream captures the band in psychedelic bulldozer mode instead, delivering ten blistering cuts at a furious pace.

[Out of Boris' three albums released this year] New Album remains the victory lap, a cap to yet another year of successful experimentation.

The fact that this debut hews closer to the Noel we know certainly shouldn't be a disappointment.

He uses his angelic croon to beckon us to listen to him, sounding so damn desperate. Combine that with the rest of the band's driving, yet ambient build-ups and we have one of our most lovely and earnest records of 2011.

There's no doubt of Sproule's ability on I Love You, Go Easy, both as a songwriter and musician, and her reservoir of talent is far from dry.

We have an airy, understated collage that acts more as a stopgap teaser to keep the spotlight on the young lad from London, before something more cohesive and fully-realized can be recorded.

Not necessarily a mix for ages, but a mix that's pretty easy to come back to, be it road-trips, background music, or a personal headphones-odyssey.

Thankfully, their lovable debut has more of the former than the latter. They know the importance of consistency and pacing and are only left with the task of fine-tuning their band on the road.

CAMP is an imperfect album, to be sure, one that both succeeds on its incongruities and occasionally stumbles on them.

Like many of the instrumentals on this record, a New Age gauze covers most of these productions. It may not be every listener's particular cup of tea, but An Album is a dazzling song suite for an autumnal release.

Glowing Mouth isn't the ultimate revelation it sets out to be, but Milagres put on a charming show.

Though he's still in the spotlight, only time will tell if these more brutal, free-jazz brass tendencies will alienate Stetson from the melody-seeking set.

Throughout it all, it still feels like essential, singular Waits, like moody and manic are two sides of one very marked coin.

Tycho is worth any self-respecting electronic fan's time.

As a series of a mood pieces detailing the luxury lifestyle of hip-hop's one-percenters, Take Care is fairly captivating. As a portrait of the artist at the top of the mountain, however, it's pretty frustrating.

In Panic of Looking, he keeps speech in the realm of analog, not digital, and still makes it into music.

Social Climbers is a valuable document of its time, place, and a reminder of the greatness that might get away.

It's deeply dreamy pop, not unlike Beach House (with whom Lanterns share a UK label in Bella Union) or Mazzy Star, though their songwriting isn't quite up to snuff with either of those.

It does two things that disparate types of electronic music do, and manages to bridge the gap between ambience and glitch so seemlessly they feel much closer than you might have first thought.

Even if you've got Smoke Ring for My Halo, go get this one (it will be available as its own vinyl pressing), because this thing is way more than just some tacked-on companion piece.

Veirs' delicate, informed touch makes the album a worthwhile listen for anyone interested in taking the first step toward delving into America's back catalogue.

Humor Risk proves that striking a balance doesn't necessarily imply stasis.

Parallax is easily Atlas Sound's best-sounding album to date.

So while it can't really stand alone, it plays awfully well with its musical sibling.

Divine Providence is the group's best album to date, but doesn't necessarily have its best songs to date.

This tribute has a back-to-the-future quality, a sad wave at a sensibility that has slipped out of our reach: lost, indeed.

The balance of Conatus comes off a bit too formulaic and familiar; after a while, you realize it's sort of one-trick, with Danilova pairing her--admittedly stunning-voice and platitude-heavy lyrics with stomping electro beats.

There's nothing on Gauntlet Hair that rivals the pop-minded immediacy or the floor-stomping clamor of "I Was Thinking...," but it still manages to wade deeper into an abyss that few bands manage to come out of successfully.

Sure, the albums is filled with grand, sweeping sonic statements, but they seem to come from a place in extremely close proximity to the art-rock icon's heart. That's why it works.

Empros proves Russian Circles' ability once again, without going horribly out of its way to prove something or make some sort of grand statement.

Overall, though, Days is a great sophomore album and solid evidence that Real Estate is growing and ready to settle in for the long haul.

With less of the anxiety that marked his earlier albums, that world is a joy to get lost in over and over.

If there's an item of ironic animal print clothing hanging in your closet or you know the difference between a porkpie and a derby, then chances are you'll find something to like about Hanni El Khatib's debut effort.

It's all spare and often dark, but Breaks in the Armor is a surprisingly comforting album in its cloudy way.

More than the last few albums, Wolfroy rewards this kind of close relationship between listener and performer.

So while High Places have neatly avoided getting stuck in a rut on Original Colors, daring to reinvent themselves into a more motion-friendly group, fans of their first couple of albums should still find the overall mood sufficiently low-key to provide easy access.

It's a brief, delightful little thing, with a handful of knockout singles.

Water is leagues more mature than last year's In Evening Air--the production more robust, the lyrics more evocative of people who've been around long enough to know what's worth lamenting.

Believers is another step away from Bondy's noisy past, and he knows how to use his inside voice.

At the heart of it though, we're still left with what's Björk's been doing for most her whole life: music.

The record's general aesthetic stays the same, docile sounds, pitter-patter polyrhythms, and shimmering vocals, but the ear-tickling mutations along the way is the appeal.

Ultimately, Hearts is an adolescent album in every conceivable sense.

Like his rhyming, his production is sophisticated, earnest, and maybe could benefit from a dose of rawness.

It's an uneven record in some ways--that middle sequence weighs it down and Feist still feels undersold as a band leader in the studio too often--but while that may be what keeps it from the finding the same success its predecessor did, it's also what makes Metals the more exciting album to dig into.

The Whole Love has the band giving more than in the recent past, but the combustible musical debate at the band's core seems largely to have ceased. Wilco may still have the ability to thrill, but they've lost the ability to surprise.

Taylor doesn't get caught up in making his sounds too big, too large, or too much. He could, but he doesn't. He maintains control, doesn't get lost, and the result are nothing short of terrific.

Through its happy welding of superb vocals and tactical percussion, Gold Leaves achieves a timeless quality, with a bright future on the horizon.

Twin Sister live up to their advance press here: They're a good band with room to grow, and a couple great songs.

For the most part Only in Dreams is a sound that is firmly theirs.

With West, Wooden Shjips is just breaking in its new soles--and hitting its stride.

Heems and Kool A.D. might be deconstructing rap for the purposes of delivering ingenious and challenging verses, but Relax is one of the best capital R rap albums out this year.

It's apparent they're looking to construct a big tent for everyone to fit in, and unsurprisingly they're succeeding wildly.

Wild Flag is the creator of an absurdly good album, one of the most vital of 2011. Wild Flag is not a supergroup. They are a super group.

Strange Mercy is her best yet, a deft mixture of self-confession, master class musicality, and downright unshakable songs.

The trouble here is what we know: That they're capable of more. So the question becomes how much we hold our expectations against them, and the way you answer that question will shape how you feel about their latest offering.

Male Bonding have stayed on course, but their sound remains as virile as it was.

Inter-Be was good, but this record proves the band can make a sound uniquely theirs. In doing so, they've also made something far more lasting.

A handful of these delicious earworms deserve to be on the radio. The mismanaged sequencing of Konkylie robs its melodic impact, but the ability to write a great tune is definitely with these Saints.

You Are All I See suffers from the exact same problem that plagued another act with a helium-voiced frontman: Passion Pit on their 2009 album Manners. Instead of delivering full products that capitalize on their immediate strengths, both albums pad their triumphs with overdramatic bluster storms that fail to really go anywhere, and it's kind of a shame.

Hella are a band reinvigorated on Tripper, realizing and embracing with all of their arms (a run through any of the tracks here definitely makes it sounds like they each have more than two) the sounds that absolutely work best for them while showcasing their growth as songwriters and the experiences they've picked up from their myriad side projects.

In short, Thursday is a mixtape of subtleties.

Galactic Melt is a joyfully faded and distorted take on electro experientialism. Get sucked into its wormhole.

While it's likely to be a huge album -- and far more interesting than any other releases of its size -- it's not the leap forward his last couple albums were.

It may be easy to namedrop a litany of '90s bands to describe Cymbals Eat Guitars, but Lenses Alien proves that doing so is a fool's errand. This sound doesn't fit such easy spaces, which is what makes it so damn good.

The mixture of pop and mystery is enticing.

There's a lot more discipline present on the band's second album, Leave No Trace, but it's not clear if that's an encouraging development.

Stephen Malkmus is back with Mirror Traffic, in a way he wasn't with the Pavement reunion, which is to say in a way that reaches past nostalgia and easy money and is based in great music built to last.

Viewed in a vacuum, Out of Love is one of this year's strongest debuts, a complete album with easy hooks and easy charms.

Watch the Throne is as much of a celebration of the A-list prominence of its two marquee stars as it is an exegesis of all of that fame's attendant complications.

It's got some purely great pop songs on it, enough that in spots it rises out of that fan-only ghetto, even if other moments find it falling back in.

With Family of Love, Dom hasn't fizzled out--it's flowered in five different directions.

Slave Ambient continues themes of wanderlust and searching that were all over the other records, but as Granduciel sings of friends gone, of calling loved ones home, of trying to find his place in the world changing around him, the music behind him seems to be searching too.

For all the excitement and dramatic tension of the opening tracks, Condon himself seems unsurprised by his songs the rest of the way, and you might find yourself reacting the same way. Pleasantly surprised at first, then just pleasant.

This vocal sound gives Whitmore authority with his words, and, more importantly, we believe him when he speaks.

Rock music's era of overarching influence on culture has no doubt passed into the historical twilight, but artistry and ambition in the form is alive and well on records like Hp-1.

Ferrari Boyz often sounds like a Waka Flocka solo disc that features Gucci Mane on every single song. Between the duo, Waka's lines tend to be the ones that stick with you the most.

When listening to Icky Mettle, you feel included, like they're the crew you've known your entire life. The fact that it's both very relevant today and a thrilling snapshot of the restlessly creative 90's underground is no small achievement.

It just goes to show that on a DJ Khaled album, you can't be Eddie Van Halen. You've got to be David Lee Roth.

Organ Music Not Vibraphone Like I'd Hoped is about as ambitious as 35 minutes of music can get, and Krug gets an awful lot out of one instrument here.

Simply put, this album is more than pretty good.

Boston Spaceships is his most accomplished musical vehicle working right now, and Let it Beard is one of the finest releases in his endless discography. Period.

This time around, Zomby isn't constraining himself. This record sounds big.

Its dreamy interludes, leading into those electroclash tangents provide a welcome bit of inventiveness that help to remind that, while relatable at their best, Little Dragon are hardly conventional.

This is a solid record, at times sparse and moody, at times lush and hopeful, but always chill. Very, very chill.

Luckily, Blackenedwhite, the first post-Odd Future hype machine album, is still as good as it was eight months ago, when it came out and was instantly the most fun album in the Odd Future oeuvre. It's a triumph of two kids putting all of their efforts into an album, and coming out with something great.

The beautifully (which is to say, lightly) remastered album, and the warts 'n all bonus disc shows us just how good of a band Sebadoh were, and why they became far more than just the band Barlow started after he left Dinosaur Jr.

It's All True plays with its own honesty as perfectly as it does your expectations.

If that score at the top of this review seems unfriendly, it's not because they've grown boring or predictable; it's just another step in an ongoing process.

Sure, he can hide his identity, but there's no denying his sudden emergence as one of dance music's notable producers, very well steeped in his own layered aesthetic, yet open enough to welcome other musical influences into the fold.