Dimensional Bleed may not be the monumental statement Death Spells embodied, but it is certainly capable of engulfing anyone willing to allocate it some dedicated time. Moreover, it reaffirms Holy Fawn's position as one of the most intriguing bands soundtracking the real-time slow-motion apocalypse of [right now].

The band (and mix) sounds healthy and reinvigorated, the tracklist covers a fair range of sounds, and at the end of the day, it's still every inch a Baroness album.

Trail of Dead sound rejuvenated, ridiculous and ready to rock. From the gloriously corny 80s riff that "No Confidence" rides to greatness to a recurring musical motif that ties all these disparate sounds and several interludes together, paid off perfectly in the moving closer "Calm as the Valley", XI: Bleed Here Now is a complete piece of art.

False Idols has the potential to be a more accessible and instantly enjoyable album than say, Maxinquaye, but because it's not as challenging to the experienced trip-hop fan, False Idols is also vulnerable of losing some its captivating allure.

If Fiasco could take the energy captured on the breathtaking second verse of "Ms. Mural", a truly fantastic trilogy-capper, and stay there for an entire project he might finally make his masterpiece; this time around, though, unhurried and easy is a suit that he wears well.

They're spinning a lonely, sad narrative on Down in the Weeds..., but in telling the story they share it with all of us, which naturally transforms it.

This rather back-loaded LP--which has fittingly been released in time for the Northern hemisphere summer--will not only go down a treat live, but also rates as Four Year Strong’s best record to date.

It’s hard not to feel like there could be a little more to Big Sigh, a little more to Hackman. Regardless, there is a lot to be found in this excellent album if you allow it some time, give it some space and, while it may not be as easy as it seems, embrace its familiarity.

Angels and Devils is a triumph of anguish, needles and monsters and evil in aural form. Be warned.

It may be flawed and an uneven listen, but The Hum Goes on Forever is another gripping entry in The Wonder Years' canon in spite of that - perhaps another defining moment, where they finally keep their heads above water long enough to see the sunrise.

A fun, taut, and compelling package of powerful black metal from a band of tried and true pros whose understanding of modern metal--and the subtlties and opportunities for bombast therein--is expert.

As an EP for the band to dip their toes back into the creative process of being a band again, it’s a thrilling piece of work, a preface to their national run of live shows and, well, whatever comes after that. Because while EP4 makes for a mighty fine mixtape, one certainly hopes they won’t stop there.

The band are in fine form even as they step out of the spotlight, with synthesisers, organs, baritone guitar and other textural touches constantly hovering in the periphery. With no crunchy guitars to fill up the mix, O'Malley's basswork is the best it's ever been, anchoring all this sci-fi nonsense to something both earthly and indisputably funky. Discerning in all this where the space-age future rockstar ends and Alex Turner begins is a head-spinning task, fiction and real intertwined along knotty mobius strips of melodies which resolutely avoid radio hooks.

Restless Ones can’t quite translate their live show to record (2005’s Stairs and Elevators remains the high water mark for that), but it does perhaps the best job yet of mediating between the band’s ragged past and its veteran road warrior present.

Uptown Special’s greatest attribute, then, is that it could have been a hit in any decade, a slyly running commentary on the fluidity of modern pop music but one that never fails to forget what the people really want: to dance, dumb and delirious, and forget.

All in all, Sand + Silence is an accomplished blend of rock, indie, and pop.

It’s the kind of music that nobody, perhaps not even Moderat themselves, expected from this record.

It's not necessarily a masterpiece nor was it ever meant to be a grand statement that'd capture everyone's attention; a low-key unveiling is more fitting, for it's the Collective's return to form, except in a way that nobody expected.

ARIZONA BABY is Kevin's most diverse album yet in production, veering from Southern-tinged slappers to euphoric rushes of R&B to more Blond(e)-inspired meanderings, but an emotional vulnerability that follows on from "MARCH" and the like pulls these disparate songs together into something more.

For anyone interested in the world of contemporary analog synthesizer music, Ishi should be a welcome addition to any collection.

Titans of Creation Testament have released another excellent thrasher that proves they’re still the most reliable band of the original thrash era.

After The Disco displays a sense of focus that feels like the two musicians finally coming together as a band--although, unfortunately, the album is not quite as sonically diverse as one might hope.

Ultimately the thoroughly satisfying maturation on display is enough to overcome any lyrical shortfalls.

There are those moments, here and there, when patience isn’t quite rewarded. .... The package as a whole however, those moments when the Pit of Language returns intoned into the drone and choir of Tar & Feathers, those moments where all of the haunted brilliance of Neubauten are on full display again, that same soul that made the subterranean abscesses of the bloated, dying West its echo chamber and forced it to confront itself.

Perfume Genius could easily have made this as a wilfully oblique record; the reality is mercurial, intoxicating and richly creative at every turn, and you now know this. Get out there and get lost in it.

From the slowed tempo of the cinematic opener “Grand Junction” to the animated “Sixers”, they’ve crafted some of the most unpredictable and sweeping arrangements yet. This is an odd one, folks. And like much of Finn’s work, I’ll be racking my brain on its many idiosyncrasies for the foreseeable future.

Hobo Rocket is definitely an overall fan-pleaser, and one that compensates for Beard, Wives, Denim by mutating its 'flower power' whimsy into an erratic display of mood swings and horror-show theatrics.

In two albums, the man shatters our conceptions of music--and in the finale of his trilogy, he glues the pieces back together and hands the end product back to us, thereby redefining the word ‘musician’ in a single gesture.