What a Time to Be Alive is not the best album of 2015, but it is the album that best defines 2015 so far.

Nice as F**k are not a “girl group”; they’re a Spoon that owes two dozen quarters to a washing machine.

Despite fairly rote lyrics, Buck's ferocious flow can turn even the most cliched hood yarn into a fire-and-brimstone sermon. [Apr 2007, p.97]

The bulk of Unorthodox Jukebox benefits from presenting Bruno Mars as he truly imagines himself: a big belter with an ear for pop hooks, sure, but one unafraid to dive into murkier waters.

Asya... has an immediate confidence, rolling through tricky time changes like Tori Amos' plucky little sister. [Jul 2006, p.87]

A primer on British folk-revival icon Shirley Collins is the disc's most sparkling moment. [May 2008, p.103]

Frontman Aaron Aites counters the otherworldly ambience with straightforward strains of classic indie rock (think Sebadoh and Pavement). That combination can be jarring, but mostly in pleasant ways.

Caressed by gentle guitars and synths, her elegantly serene voice and airy melodies impart a sense of stubborn, reassuring endurance in the face of soul-crushing melancholy.

Yet here they are on their third full-length, and rather than calcify into indie-scene shtick, Tilly's music has gotten funnier and more vibrant.

Their sophisticated studio treatments make every sound sparkle. [Aug 2006, p.84]

The two have widened and lightened their sound a bit from '99's Field Studies, with more, merrier guitars and varied selection of keys. [Oct 2001, p.134]

The monster-chomp guitars and semiauto percussion are still in effect, but somebody spilled a little Pantene in the Pantera. [Jul 2004, p.108]

Lovingly fastidious and packed with special effects.

Oyamada fuses a bristling spectrum of textures and rhythms. [May 2007, p.84]

Alpinisms' sweeping, ethereal pop owes a stylistic debt to My Bloody Valentine and the Cocteau Twins, but the debut album by former Secret Machines guitarist Ben Curtis' new project reveals a range of influences and a sophisticated approach to arrangement that sets the trio well apart from less imaginative latter-day shoegazers.

Regardless of which indie celeb is on the mic or which recreational drug best suits the beat, each track hints at hedonism without hangovers.

At its best, We Fall treats its revolving door of guests less like a cavalcade of strangers than a band of familiar colleagues.

Finally, she’s embracing the responsibility to provide stone-cold tunes without pretense.

An odd gem in a catalog full of them, 1984 is a rewarding left turn from a band who’ve remained interesting for so long because they’re less likely to fall off than wander.

Even at just 42 minutes, Tonight is relentless, yet the comedown is exquisite.

Ignore the mouth-breathing rock bangers, and Mockingbird is as comfortable as well-worn denim.

On his fifth full-length, this '60s-pop obsessive mostly ditches the balmy homemade chorales of his earlier work for folk-rock verities, crafting his tightest, fullest-sounding record yet.

Traffics full-time in the kind of raw, godless punk rock that's relegated to a handful of cuts on Queens' albums. [Sep 2003, p.112]

Conjure[s] the glum glamour of prime Coldplay. [Apr 2003, p.107]

Tracking and self-editing issues have always plagued her Minajesty's projects, but never more so than on this one, an album that probably would've landed with bigger fanfare had Minaj not so loudly touted it as all but an instant classic all year long.

Both these records chronicle the physical and mental graffiti of figuring out how to emerge from some very large shadows, including his own, with nerve and power. [Jul 2005, p.96]

With Drive-By Truckers, singer-guitarist Jason Isbell learned to embrace some of those [Southern rock] cliches; on his gritty, vibrant second solo album, he begins to transcend them.

When it comes to trap raps, he's coined and refined a slick, successful musical formula that TM103, easily maintains.