More than ever before, these songs spin on their own axes: and that fact alone makes this record as positive a step forward for Tycho as anything.

Weapon is the sound of a band that still has something to say, but delivered with a comfort level commensurate with their thirty years of existence.

Vampire Weekend banks on showering its tribal pop with lyrics poised for literary analysis, skimping pretentious by appearing completely natural.

The maturity and class displayed here is a pleasant surprise (which has nothing to do with Musgraves, and everything to do with divorce/breakup album stereotypes), and the experience is unexpectedly serene given the music's content and overarching themes, but otherwise star-crossed is merely nice: a lukewarm batch of songs eager to saturate backgrounds rather than absorb your full attention.

It has all the enjoyable little quirks of New Found Glory's earliest material, and most of the songs have the potential to stay lodged in your brain for days.

Pearl Jam's ninth album sounds a lot more optimistic and positive than the band ever has. More importantly, Backspacer sees Pearl Jam finally escape the slump they fell into with "Binaural" nine years ago.

What can be viewed as a weakness can also be seen as a strength, and for the most part one can conclude that The Chair in the Doorway is a successful return to form.

Except for the last two somewhat average songs, this is an accomplished work that defies canons without ever truly dazzling.

This is a mainstream metal band that probably puts just as much emphasis into their marketing as they do their music, but, like it or not, they’ve also released their best album so far and it’s actually pretty entertaining.

Adams occasionally steps into a puddle of shallow adult-contemporary tripe that even his incisive personality and increasingly tamed voice cannot save. Those basic imitations of past great Adams tunes are few and far between on Ryan Adams, particularly when weighed against some of his other recent albums.

Though it never explodes, No One Can Ever Know comes to its unnerving climaxes at just the right points and feels in its own right like a totally cohesive recording of something dark and unforgivable.

While it fails to better its predecessor, Anxiety is a mature, personal and vulnerable release that is both a brave and natural evolution for an undoubtedly talented artist.

In terms of overall quality though, it has to be said that things noticeably pick up in the album's second half, as any traditional indie rock sensibilities that Gibbard may have initially had start to recede and are replaced by a grittier, slightly more abstract edge.

Ultimately, Killing Time is another solid collection of songs from Bayside... Yet another base hit, but still no game-winning home run.

Though there are several issues that inevitably drag it down, this is a good record that finally proves the band is willing to move upward.

A Different Kind Of Truth is ultimately an accomplished, hard-rocking record that somehow manages to not sound too dated.

Doomsdayer's Holiday is certainly a step in the right direction in terms of balancing the eclecticism that marred "Burning Off Impurities," and it has some amazing moments, but the album as a whole is too nebulous to be complete nirvana.

There’s a light to guide Ólafur Arnalds’ music now, and it's allowing him to escape the darkness in a way he'd never quite imagined.

It is far from perfect yet could never possibly get there.

It's by no means the work of art that it accompanies, but it's almost as endearing and charming as that begrudging look of acceptance on the countenance of the moon at the sight of its unwelcome guests.

Where he goes from here remains to be seen, but if this is just a first step in his rebellion against the conventions of the rabble of the garage scene, then his next move might be the game changer this was supposed to be.

For much of Paralytic Stalk's first half and even for most of the more unhinged second act, Kevin Barnes strikes a near-perfect balance between pop mastery and a delightful sort of weird.

The focus should be that after everything that's happened with her career, I can still listen to a record as uneven as Speak Now and feel like Taylor Swift is somebody I could fall in love with given the chance.

Norah Jones has the potential to be one of the defining singers of the decade, but her songwriting needs to take on more styles and more voices.

The Big Pink’s A Brief History of Love will elicit a response of some kind. It’s just that kind of album.

There are some nods to years past, and most longtime acolytes will be satisfied with what is mostly testament Converge; but the band's causal nexus doesn’t exist in a vacuum, or in the grips of GodCity Studio, but out there, rooted in the mundane and then amplified to hysteria. Much of The Dusk in Us seems to obsess over the everyday, or maybe more accurately, our demons lurking on the cusp of day and night.

There’s a worrying air of desperation running through the band’s lyrical choices that thankfully doesn’t spill over into the music, but it is nonetheless a frequent distraction on an otherwise fine album from a heavy metal juggernaut that might just be kicking back into gear.

Mondo Cane is a summer-time staple and a faithful reminder that Mike Patton can sing but sadly little else.