Chromeo still aren't the most serious guys in the world, but White Women is a smart pop album rendered in vivid, 3-D detail.

Jakobsson's DJ-Kicks is a smooth and enjoyable hour, and a reminder that, whatever name he's releasing under, he's worth taking seriously.

If only Tension lived up to the promise that she might be given something different. As it is, though, it's another entry in a rock-solid catalogue of dependable, uplifting club pop.

Kompakt's recent box set for Voigt's Gas project is arguably the ne plus ultra of emotionally resonant ambient music from the past two decades. Its influence looms over Pop Ambient 2017, but this music can nonetheless be its own soundtrack for daydreaming. On that level, the series continues to be worthwhile, but if its reach was just a little wider, it could be even more.

And while there's no percussion in any conventional sense, the likes of "Uptown Psychedelia" jerk manically to their own spasmodic rhythms. Yet where those tracks are marked by an almost feverish nervous tension, from "Racist Drone" onwards Hecker and Lopatin seem to drift into an almost tranquilised state-one which strays closer to ambient clichés.

As strong as Dillon's songs are, the idea that there are some missed opportunities here can't help but nag at even its strongest moments.

Even when Clark is firing sounds at bewildering speeds, it's never a chore--in other words, it's a lot more fun than Clark's reputation might suggest.

The album stays reasonably well-balanced throughout, straddling that fine line between understatement and being sledgehammer-esque obvious.

Midway through RR7349, "Wardenclyffe" cuts back and forth from cheeky synth pop to stratospheric synth vistas, revealing how much better S U R V I V E are with the latter approach. They finally concede to their strengths in the album's second half.

Fascinating and vibrant, Texture Like Sun finds Deenmamode less concerned with his own life and times, focusing instead on the world around him.

This is a minor work, but a minor work from a master of his art.

These might not be Martin's most envelope-pushing beats, but it's hard to think about that when the walls are violently shaking.

It's an interesting diversion for Romans, and might just be the most admirable part of Valere Aude.

Pretty Ugly takes the ugliest tropes of UK dance music and flips them inside out without losing what makes them so physically powerful in the first place.

As expected, Hyperdub's output retains a pretty sophisticated tone even when it's dealing in pop hooks and party tracks.

The final result is up there, but as it jumps frantically from idea to idea, it dulls the impact of its best ideas in favour of others that might have been best left in a folder along with hundreds of other loops on his laptop.

With slightly more judicious editing, Let's Turn It Into Sound could have been a grand crossover statement, combining admittedly trendy synth experiments with freak-folk charisma. But that's not what Smith is going for here. Instead, the LP feels like listening to someone try out a new talent, learning as they go along, substituting practiced polish with a hunger for new ideas and self-expression.

The Shakes is worth hearing for the sonic detail alone. The best tracks have an inclusive, sweeping abandon that rivals the high points of Scale.

[The album's] obfuscating mires of navel-gazing perhaps precludes it from attaining Ninja Tune classic status, but those of a darker disposition will likely be of the opinion this challenging opus collates Ortega's strongest work to date.

Colonial Patterns is not a flawless record, but it does open up a whole new world of possibilities for Leeds as a producer, and places him decisively outside any box people might wish to put him in.

The result, for its few flaws and its exhilarations, at the very least, sounds fantastic, production-wise; Grace finds the band melding tooth-ground guitar assaults; '80s throwback candy pop; fluttery house templates; dusty, almost Stax-worthy soul getaways and sample-laced electro throbs into an album willing to sacrifice sonic exactitude for a mélange of sounds, tempos and genre exercises that still feels very much of a singular-albeit kaleidoscopic-piece.

Absorbing a Squarepusher LP in one sitting has always been for more adventurous or diligent listeners, but the dank final section means that, outside of more hardcore fans, Be Up A Hello will probably need to be navigated in exactly the right sort of mood.

Stately though Dedication was, its serious mien and careful composition made it an introduction to Zomby that made his work seem less appealingly messy than it oftentimes is. This seven-song, 23-minute EP remedies that.

Sadly, tracks like "Years Ago, Days Pass" or "Wired"--even with their intricate array of digital ornaments--remain badly in need of a proper tune; album closer "Nights," on the other hand, simply comes across as an anemic piano-led ballad: clocking in at seven minutes, it easily outstays its welcome and ends the album on a lukewarm note.

For Years feels like the natural conclusion to the quest he quietly started back in 2010.

With arena-size atmospherics and every sound endowed with a fathoms-deep dub delirium, Eight is an album as focused on its meticulous sound design as it is on the musicality.

Emerson's decision to duck out of dance music and resurface as an indie-electronica artist for her long-awaited debut album feels like a risk, but in its well-worn and world-weary approach to songwriting, it's also deeply familiar, almost comforting.

The album as a whole is accomplished, but it still hasn't entirely caught up with the precision of his visual multiverse. Still, I am glad that Labyrinth offers another glimpse of Kanda's alternate realities.

The Road To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions, just slightly overcorrects with its mainstream-seeking direction, opting for more James Blake-esque electronic pop and reeling in the eccentricities.

At 16 songs and with impressive guest features, it's a sprawling portrait of James, one with mostly dark and subdued tones.

Instead of trying something new, he focuses on what he's good at, which makes Claustrophobia a lateral move rather than a step forward. It seems Rose is trying to recapture the brilliance of his peak-period work. In Claustrophobia's best moments, he does.


Scattered brilliance makes Shelly's On Zenn-La a compelling listen. At its best, the LP showcases a composer with an uncompromising will to experiment, even if it yields mixed results.

Coles has a way of making her tracks sound massive and intimate at the same time, using reverb in a way that evokes both the expanse of an arena and the introspection of a bedroom.... Comfort has enough of these moments to remind us of her casual brilliance, but not enough to make it the complete knockout it could be.

On "Drop Down," Lunice's bass stabs align nicely with Le1f's vocal stabs. With a few more tracks like these, the LP would have made for an even more dramatic return to the spotlight.

Melding the jerkiness of dancehall with deconstructed house, it's raw to the point of bloodiness.

At times Weird Drift's afternoon daze softens into formlessness.

Amid all this diversity, Abaporu is a remarkably steady work, with Boratto's consistent sound palette and knack for melody running strong throughout.

Dreams isn't flawless--the alt-folk ballad "United," for one, meanders a bit too much--but WhoMadeWho's best tracks are incredible.

Xen remains as singular--and often as brilliant--as the rest of the Arca catalogue.

Early Riser recalls '70s LPs by the likes of Herbie Hancock--with whom McFerrin Sr. collaborated--and actually evokes the process of remembering, insomuch as it's full of teasing hints and hazy feelings that ebb and flow throughout.

Pink sits in between: not sonically and melodically rich enough to be digested with the bedroom fervour of, say, Rounds, but somehow not fully metamorphosed into whatever new form Hebden is pushing towards. Nobody's doubting the man's incredible skill as a producer, and the delicacy, intelligence and maturity of his ideas. But here, alchemy isn't quite achieved.

Waverly is constant and consistent in its crossing between a less exotic Dead Can Dance and a more lo-fi Fever Ray, which is certainly a captivating enough blend for a debut album.

Even though we get Cox at his most nakedly audible on Parallax, however, it still feels like he's putting on a show, or imitating someone else.

Get Lost [is] McGuire's most accessible album to date.

Excerpts feels like a series of glimpses into Gast's world, where past full-lengths have been an unbroken wander through it.

Atonal but definitely not without its charms, it's the producer's most distinctive statement yet.

There are moments of hymnal beauty, but it's unmoored from the hardcore nostalgia of Bevan's most affecting music. The context for Young Death / Nightmarket is harder to grasp, and before you know it, it drifts away.

Overall Passion is an angst-free experience, finely wrought with a view to banishing the black and the blues.

Pete Swanson isn't "going" anywhere but his own scorched-earth path. If you can withstand the heat, it's probably worth following him for a bit.

Vibert's turned in a brazenly colourful, glitter-dusted and streamer-throwing affair, so have fun with it.

While Songs Of Silence succeeds as a rich and intriguing drone album then, it won't satisfy those hoping to learn more about one of British pop's great enigmas.

Oft-delayed, long-overdue, but quietly, subtly worth the wait.

Youth Code isn't a perfect album, but it is one hell of a first stab.

Conference Of Trees provides plenty of evidence for Weber's continually developing ear for melodies and musically detailed arrangements, but there are other aspects of his past work that could have been left to one side. The Triad, his last full-length, at times felt twee and fussy, a problem that returns here in one section of the album in particular.

Lonely Planet rarely veers off the beaten path, but when it does, it's quite the voyage.

Aptly-titled, Fever Dream's gentle and imaginative hip-hop beats waft by leisurely, attractive on the surface but substantive and personal on the inside.

While it's not without flaws, Volume 2 isn't the sound of a label fizzling out. It's possible that they're just getting started.

So we have an artist who's found a very comfortable groove, continues to produce from it, and plenty of people love him for it. It may be an enormous cop-out to say that if you like Recondite you'll probably like Dwell, and if you don't like Recondite (or you're a music writer) you probably won't. But, like Brunner's music, some things really are that simple.

In Dust seems solely an accompaniment for alps and plains. Some space for the bedroom and lounge would have been nice too.

The instrumental and production prowess on display is fairly stunning.

With Teebs and Shlohmo you often float away, with Lineage your feet feel firmly planted on the ground.

It's a bit like an imagined hodgepodge view of the pristine tropics, like plastic palm trees, or drinking at a tiki bar in the middle of a snowstorm.

For those of us in between, it's like that aforementioned jigsaw puzzle: confounding, occasionally satisfying, and forever keeping you guessing as to what image its shapes are trying to form.

Very little of Trickfinger could be called surprising, but it isn't without its charms.

There isn't a bad track on Black Boulder and it is certainly an accessible crossover release that's suited to the long-player format. But it's not very original either.

Despite its burnt album art and sandy surfaces, it's an album not of barbecues but of bottles of wine and quiet fires.

Though the record at times leans toward Pantha du Prince's slowly evolving, dewy-eyed sense of melody, Urpsrung is without question Weber's most experimental and evasive work to date.

FabricLive.61 showcases a producer similarly disinterested in genre orthodoxy. But he's doing it in a different way. The mix might have its roots in dubstep's swampier side but is now intertwined with gnarled techno and thorny breaks.

Its banging moments are the best of Feldwick's career, but the album's dips into gentler territory are confusing drains on the momentum, lazy Sunday afternoon beat music for nerdy kids with oversized headphones.

These are the few moments where she sounds wet behind the ears, but then she's still a relatively fresh face on the scene. And whenever she puts an awkward foot forward, she's immediately redeemed by a hint of pop brilliance.

For an artist so intent on self-mythologizing--with his grand pronouncements, rare interviews and mask-wearing anonymity--With Love feels like a surprisingly comprehensive piece of work. But it's still a rambling outpouring of quick-fire songs.

This sounds like a coherent album rather than a string of collaborations, with his creamy tones-and occasionally clichéd lyrics-providing a common identity throughout.

Yoyogi Park is at its best on the tracks where Kersten wanders out of his comfort zone.

The producer's peacenik ambitions are never far away, though, and the more naked they become, the more his music loses its depth and subtlety.

The twists and turns can be compelling, but they make The Catastrophist feel somewhat lopsided, with scattered ideas too disparate to congeal as a cohesive listen.

Even if Graef and Astro don't seem to be headed anywhere in particular, it's still fun to hitch a hot-boxed ride with them.

Hearing producers as accomplished as Ellis or Sherwood steal the spotlight from time to time makes Man Vs. Sofa all the more appealing.

With just a few more jolts, a few more unexpected twists and turns, Coolen and Scholte would have had something truly special on their hands. But even without them, Weval is a hushed delight.

Sonically, Take Off Mode is not as ambitious as Da Trak Genious. ... But among these standouts, many of the other tracks lack the chaotic charisma key to the DJ Nate sound. His apparent abandonment of footwork in recent years could be at the heart of the LP's uneven quality. But changing one's style doesn't mean losing the soul of the sound.

Where his best music was like reading pages from a diary, Rojus can feel like a passionate retelling of memories that were never his.

For all the dub diehards, Late Night Endless is a must-have. For the rest, it's a leisurely detour in the catalogues of two great artists who proved themselves a long time ago.

At 43 minutes long, Human Energy is so dizzy and quick that it's hard to find your bearings. It makes for a fun, if exhausting, ride.

It's clear that Hello Happiness is not the full album experience. Still, a few easy summer hits from Khan are a treat.

No Geography pushes right up to the line but doesn't cross it.

Designed to be listened to as a continuous mix, From Deewee is as much about the flow between songs as the standout anthems.

Shackled to the piano, the album's range can feel a bit limited. It's worth sticking it out, though, if only for the moments when Gold's grand vision finally comes together.

Whether you like Long Trax 2 depends in part on how much you hear this message. ... Long Trax 2 runs the risk of monotony instead. But that seems to be Long's message: we're stuck, sorrow repeating without end.

Sometimes Walker can have his cake and eat it, too, and on the best moments of Knockin' Boots, he does.

As far as home-listening goes, Alpha is too inflexible to give a dynamic front-to-back experience. But that's not surprising: Alpha was made with DJs in mind. And on that level, the music has plenty to offer.

Days Gone By focuses on the band's smoky, bedroom-ready style. It's only half the story, but it's still a pretty good one.

There's a nagging feeling that the project uses such a vast grab-bag of references to mask a lack of clear, foundational ideas. That could be slightly unfair though. Moffa and Troxler wouldn't be the first artists to take up residence in a maze of their influences, and as muddled as things appear at times, on Lost Souls Of Saturn they do some pretty striking work.

Byen could use more of Torske's signature sense of chaos. Listen to this one when it's time to unwind. Save the others for when you really want to visit space.

He's essentially building sonic environments, the kind a listener can enter and explore. That experience is less about the details than the journey, which Gengras carves out with the skill of a seasoned designer.

The gussied-up politeness that has followed Greene throughout his career is still an issue here, making the less adventurous material sound slightly anonymous. That's why the thick textures on "Folle" stand out so much, or why it's so exciting when Greene lets it all float away on "Lately." There are more than enough of these moments to make the record worthwhile.

Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but Fatima Al Qadiri, Nguzunguzu and J. Cush have delivered a surprisingly solid record with a global outlook and more than a few surprises surprises up its sleeve.

This album's been seven years in the making and it shows. Many of the songs, including most of the instrumentals, might've sounded fresh sometime back, but I find myself forgetting them as soon as they're played through.

Whatever James puts his name to could and should never be expected to make conventional sense, so Orphaned Deejay Selek only falters when denying his own slippery logic.