Lurching drum-machine beats, gentle piano chords, and somber string arrangements form the musical groundwork upon which Albarn sighs about the encroaching dominance of technology. If you’re the kind of person who shares this worldview, you may find Everyday Robots an often lovely demonstration of post-millennium tension. If not, the album’s monotony can fast become punishing.

It still sounds like The Afghan Whigs, but it sounds more like re-workings of b-sides that may have shined in the sun of another decade.

The main downfall of Z is a lack of strong lyricism. In the rare moments that the murk clears or the light becomes too bright, what lies behind is less graceful than what it seemed.

If allowed a spot in your rotation, its placidity could nudge you into taking the scenic routes a little more often. And that alone is worthy of some (appropriately muted) applause.

It’s Album Time is a lock-tight demonstration of how crucial time is in the cultivation process. As a result, Todd Terje curated one of the most enjoyable albums that will cross our desk this year.

While Space Project ultimately feels more like a noble failure than an attempted Record Store Day cash-in, its general lack of wonderment adds little to the imaginative legacy of Carl Sagan and the Voyager Golden Record.

Food is consistently satisfying and often fabulous.

Try Me is an album that does things completely on its own rather difficult terms and succeeds on those terms.

For The Future’s Void, she’s traded in the tarnished grace and drug-ravaged ten-mile stare of her past life, but it’s not always such a fair deal for the listener.

The campy Scooby Doo spookiness that inspires Slasher Flicks’ aesthetic is so charming and irresistible that Enter the Slasher House regularly succeeds despite its faults.

Once you’ve heard one track from Waterfall (ideally “Salt Carousel”), you’ve pretty much heard them all, and while such a lack of variety might not be a nuisance to a live audience, it’s a problem when a four-song, fifteen-minute EP already feels a little stale halfway through.

A couple of pseudo-anthems will likely nurse them through a handful of unearned headline gigs--but in all honesty, the world has no need for pop music this faceless, listless or sterile.

New album Hot Dreams still struggles to find a unique vantage point on its assembly of vintage sounds and gothic vibes, but fans will be more than satisfied.

Teeth Dreams is nowhere near the best Hold Steady album, but it shows the band aging in a direction that fills us with… hope? Perhaps that’s all we can ask for.

Tremors manages the feat of being both invigorating and mellow, and no matter how many layers of sound in which the songs find themselves wrapped up, electronic or otherwise, they remain painstakingly personal and human.

Education only teaches us that the band was at it’s best when they were merely predicting a riot instead of trying to lead one.

It’s a heartfelt, narcotic odyssey through the seductive pleasures of lava lamps and black light posters, a kind of escapism that comes in the same strange, silk-screened colors as the novelty lighters and t-shirts one might find at a backwoods southwestern gas station.

Here and Nowhere Else’s disposition for self-examination coaxes out a superior depth and nuance when stacked against Cloud Nothings’ previous works.

It’s a record that boasts glaring maturity without diminishing the iconic immaturity.

As the trio continue to remould and refine their craft, Mess, an album fuelled by impulse, demonstrates their ideological core hasn’t moved an inch.

ingles is sometimes stark, and sometimes surprising – but its key constant is that it’s rarely short of spellbinding.

Taking a hard line against any sort of compromise, Sisyphus is equally amazing, confusing and frustrating.

Darlings is very listenable and mostly fun--just don’t overthink it and keep the BSS comparisons to a minimum.

My Krazy Life is in essence a retooling of GKMC, and YG comes out, unexpectedly, as a talented and believable vessel for the story that the album tells to express itself.

Ultimately, the highlights here are still middling fare, and mostly, I just couldn’t wait for Recess to be over.

Forcefield a passable, fun album.

It’s nerves are uneasy, but Lost in the Dream stands as Granduciel’s most open-armed record yet, filled to the gills with selfdom and sprawling musicality.

Mastermind passes by as a single, indistinguishable blur. To the credit of Ross and his many co-producers, the experience is rarely leaden and often engaging.