In The Rainbow Rain is an uncommonly jaunty listen.

It’s pithy and monochromatic, forcing the listener to pay the closest attention to every movement. Every harmony is a different shade of grey, and this record does yield some of her loveliest harmonies.

Eat the Elephant is engaging, atmospheric rock done right with intelligent lyrics and ambitious themes.

It’s a waste of time to recount highlights though, because this whole album is essential, and to skip from one point to the next without experiencing the journey along the way is sort of the opposite of how Golden Hour deserves to be listened to.

Moosebumps is [not] a bad record, it’s simply a more polished rehash of a fantastic record from another time.

Bark Your Head Off, Dog continues the Hop Along tradition insofar as it is sharp, well-produced indie rock accompanying Quinlan's bold lyrical earnestness. This is the band's hallmark sound, so loyalists can rejoice. What is different this time around, however, are broader and more grandiose instrumentation.

Themes and lyrics aside, the record is simply full of great songs.

It doesn’t aim to instantly satisfy unsuspecting listeners, dazzle newcomers, or alienate longtime fans; but what Unieqav does is craft a digital world sewn together by technology, biological information, science, and action. Engaged by the imprint of minimal techno beats and gliding melodies, the possibilities Unieqav promise are far from endless, but are indeed beautiful.

If you choose to look for the metaphors, there's beauty and even redemption to be found in Now Only; if you don't, there's a kind of quiet acceptance in the numbness.

American Utopia, despite the chance at becoming a politically-charged vent towards particular injustices, instead aspires to give hope rather than add onto the dumpster fire of negativity; or so to say, Byrne sits us down and gives us reasons to be cheeful.

This is one of Moby’s most cohesive efforts, so if you don’t dig this side of his musical output or look for a wild diversity, you’d be a bit disappointed. Other than this, the record flows surprisingly nice, unveiling a lot of strong material.

If Async was an album centered on the genesis of its creator's suffering and recovery, Remodels is the triumph over the odds put up against Sakamoto and his way of continuing to share his life's work with the world through the lens of his disciples and his contemporaries.

To describe this group's efforts as excellent or even superb doesn't do their record proper. American Dollar Bill is the record to the end of the world, maybe even to the world as it is right now. If it makes you afraid, then that's very okay. They probably want it that way.

Lo Moon isn’t afraid to step outside of its comfort zone, and it’s a big reason why the album feels like such a distinct triumph over the genre’s familiar tendencies and tropes.

Some patience is required, but if you embrace the slow burn, Cusp will slowly reveal itself to you; the bright harmonies covering Diane’s darkest lyrics will come crumbling down. And when that happens, all you can do is listen--in awe of the beauty born from personal pain.

Hours upon hours of material is present for listeners, the hardcore and the uninitiated alike, to indulge in; the five-pound box provides listeners with a potentially new outlook on this underappreciated era of King Crimson, and is guaranteed to be worth the price of entry just for the fleeting mellotron strains of “Lizard” alone.

Patience is the key to the evolution of Glass, using tonal shifts and ghostly textures to compliment the improvisational mastery we are bearing witness to, whether or not it becomes something much more ghastly than beautiful.

Loma doesn’t offer us the moment where the lines converge (i was never good at geometry) but it reaches for something more substantive: catharsis. Funnily enough, it sneaks up behind them as they’re looking elsewhere.

Rich Brian didn’t need to go so hard with the image change, but as far as debut albums go, Amen is catchy, it’s not gimmicky, it’s not annoying, and there’s just enough Chigga still in there to keep things entertaining.

It’s post-punk theatre through and through, full of bright colours and left turns, with enough returning cast members to keep the old heads in their seats (“bring back the old Ought!”).

To put it mildly, Little Dark Age isn’t a success story, nor is it a comeback for anyone other than the most nerdish and devoted of us, and it doesn’t matter anyway. This isn’t the best this band has sounded in years, it’s the best they’ve ever sounded.

To the world outside the next thirty-six minutes: I'm sorry, you just don't exist while The Hands are at work. There’s little you can do to break the immersion, and even less you can do to break Andreas Werliin’s stride.

There are times where the record behaves so obtusely it could be trying to shut its own audience out (example: the conflicting rhythms in Bread directly averse to a “population of people who deal in cliché”), but finding the hidden entry points is half the fun. The other half is trying not to trip up on your way in.

Clone of the Universe brings to the table another batch of headbangers and a big surprise for fans as the second half. The classic Fu Manchu set is augmented by a more dynamic approach to tempo shifts, leaving the straightforward, punk mindset in the background.

Be it the lush, massive hills of Ireland or her genuine gratitude to just breath fresh air, The Two Worlds seems conjured up from the musician’s most isolated, profound moments. Lucky for us, she’s been kind enough to share them--and man, what gorgeous moments these are.

The union between the two musicians (one entrenched in Cretan folk and medieval music, the other in instrumental rock and post-punk) is the alchemy which makes this record both structurally cohesive yet subtly and, somewhat contrarily, diffuse.

What she’s crafted here is a breezy, personal portrait of her life through finely orchestrated folk tunes--and it's nothing short of a stunning debut.

The songs are, like Hart and Khashoggi’s union, strange and vulgar; they’re ugly, morbid, and not quite destructive but don't offer hope to those looking for it.

The record makes no indelible mark on your day--I imagine this skirting the periphery of most year-end lists, the perennial shut-out waiting flustered at the gates (“I’m sorry, you’re not on the list”)--but it’s detailed enough to add dimensions to the scene Burch sets.

It remains to be seen whether Down Below will have significant replay value but everything sounds so meticulously crafted that each listen results in a different highlight. Everything that Tribulation seem to have lost in aggression, they have gained in haunting atmosphere and hooks.

In the end, The Thread that Keeps Us is a good Calexico record, still it doesn’t have outstanding peaks. It flows gently down the stream, yet besides a few memorable moments (all of them coming from the band’s comfort zone) there’s nothing to go crazy about.

Wrong Creatures is an often somber listen, better done at night. It isn’t Black Rebel Motorcycle Club at their peak, although it shows the three seasoned musicians doing a good job in their own field.

If they’ve been treading water for the last ten years, then How to Solve Our Human Problems, Pt. 1 is the sound of them emerging--refreshed, invigorated, and ready to return to the hearts and ears of fans across the world.

Material Control doesn't cater to anything except the next rush of adrenaline, the next high. ... This is a Glassjaw album, through and through.

Beneath the psychedelic bluster and cluttered production job, this is still mostly the same old Noel. The man's been doing one thing for most of his career, and continuing to do it well even post-Oasis.

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.

An album which simply allows itself to be washed over, and take it all in. To simply be. In a time when even being must hurt like hell, that's one hell of a gift to give to the world.

Reaching for Indigo transcends the traditional appeal of a singer-songwriter. Whenever Haley Fohr sings, it’s as if the instrumentation around her is momentarily frozen in time; quite the compliment for an album that surrounds her with so many uncommon vibrations.

Pacific Daydream is pretty much just fine--34 minutes of unambiguous, catchy music, competent enough to land on the good side of Weezer's discography without reaching for anything more.

Fragile, mysterious, and powerful, Preservation is one of the most elusively passionate albums of the year.

Freed from the obligations a full album would have entailed, Wu-Tang are free to make their best music in over ten years.

In short, it’s a Wolf Parade album. Much like last year’s EP4, the aperitif the band dropped prior to a reunion tour, however, it sometimes leans too far on the formulaic side of things to leave a real lasting impact.

Compared to previous outings, this may be the most bold and unabashed offering of Annie Clark’s career. It certainly isn’t her best collection of songs outright, but there’s a certain amount of style points that she garners for remaining so committed to bucking the expectations set by her audience and industry.

Colors is a varied and blissful pop album that finds joy in our times, and Beck expectedly makes it interesting and vibrant to experience. He has decided to make something optimistic in the midst of so much unrest, and it succeeds in bringing a celebratory presence to a world that need it

The songs on Black Mile are expansive, textured, each one like a painting in a distinct style; the layers of Simple Math are back with a vengeance, but instead of the empty palazzios and antique wooden drawers of that album, we're left with mineshafts. Pitch black, filthy, bottomless. Tempting.

Whether she’s touching on the impact of losing a legend like Bowie or battling her own demons, Strangers in the Alps is a vibrant and rare debut that’s not afraid to tell it how it is.

The record’s energy is impressive; the craft, even more so. What it doesn’t have, though, is any sense of vision, nothing of that dangerous excess or discovery that the best Cut Copy provides in spades. Instead, Haiku From Zero ends up being a bunch of great songs and little else.

The Amulet won’t necessarily bring instant gratification to all of its listeners, and it’s difficult to assess how it will be perceived by dedicated Circa followers. However, it is certainly one of the most well-composed alt-rock/post-hardcore albums of the year, and it seems to bring a newfound sense of maturity to both the songwriting and production aspects of the group’s sound.

I can easily see it lacking the longevity of their other albums, but for now it’s damn good to see the Weavers doing what they do best...screaming about natural nonsense and making some excellent black metal.

Cryptoriana – The Seductiveness of Decay does everything its predecessor did right, but better, and with more style, flair, and conviction.

The Spark as Shikari-lite, a poppy album which forsakes the sound and fury which made the boys so interesting in the first place. But making the same album twice is anathema here, and the sound of the band isolating the human element and expanding it into their most beautiful, focused work to date is a wonder to behold.

Sleep Well Beast sees The National flourish with candid lyrics and diverse song craft, embodying the band’s continuing evolution and life’s constant change.

Although Every Country’s Sun isn’t a flawless album (there are a number of tracks in the middle section that need more time to kick in), it shows us Mogwai nowhere near losing their touch.

When the songs are this satisfying, when each guitar solo tears through cynicism like a wet paper bag, sometimes good old fashioned honesty is more than fine. It’s downright beautiful.

Science Fiction is a bold, legend-making statement well worth the eight year wait. If it ends up being their swan song, then we can rest assured that Brand New is going out on their own terms: in peak form, bearing no regrets.

Hill's End is an album of good songs with good hooks; who could ask for anymore?

He displays that it’s just as impressive to make an effective pop song, as it is to create a progressive rock epic. Steven Wilson proves that an artist can venture into uncharted musical waters, even 30 years into their career, for ambitious and vibrant results like these.

It doesn't all work, of course, and that kind of wacky humour nestled alongside self-empowerment anthems can be jarring, but it's all in service of Kesha re-discovering the fun, the joy, the rainbow.

Musically, many of the songs here are not as melodic as the ones on TSAF and rely a bit too much on those blueprints. Nevertheless, the lyrics matter most in my opinion, while the music is just as engaging and easily sucks you in its universe. Dig it!

Kindly Now isn't perfect, and feels more like a transition to something truly spectacular where everything in Henson's bag of tricks can be perfectly utilised; for now, it'll do just fine.

Resonate with them, and you learn to speak about yourself in a way that carries meaning--and this is what What Now does best. Take a walk with this in your headphones and look at the people passing by; you’re allowed some isolation among others.

PP&DS is self-indulgent, silly, messy and heartfelt. It's Cudi at top songwriting form, and the songs on it are arguably the best he's ever written.

Less eccentric and exciting than its predecessor, perhaps, but only by choice. Glass Animals are at their peak in 2016, and perfectly content to be slower and quieter, worming their way into your head by inches but settling in for the long haul once they're in there.

Good for You isn’t a pleasant listen because Amine is so gosh darn happy, it’s because it appears so out of step with a relentlessly negative and dour mood. We could all do with just that much more happiness in our lives.

Overall, for a band that will soon enter its fourth decade of activity, Laibach sound impressively fresh and relevant. I am sure Also Sprach Zarathustra will raise many eyebrows, but also receive critical acclaim for its effective minimalist approach.

Add Violence returns us to the bite-sized pop with-a-dark-side which has been Reznor's bread and butter since 2005, but without the energy of Dave Grohl pounding the drum kit like it said a bad word about Kurt Cobain.

Even if Lust For Life isn’t a game changer, it fulfills the potential of a sound that she has been slowly perfecting since she first entered the scene. The album, like Lana Del Rey, has earned the right not to be overlooked.

Boris doesn't have any obligation to still be putting out records this captivating, but Dear most certainly captivates, and it has me excited for 25 more years of Boris.

The Wonder Year’s hard work and dedication has more than paid off with their newest album. I don’t see anything topping it anytime soon, at least not in the pop-punk spectrum. It challenges the limits of the genre.

The fairly impenetrable wall of sound Nine Inch Nails created here is admirable, especially since everything is presented in just over 21 minutes.

Unrelenting, uncompromising, and infinitely catchy, After the Party is a statement album that proves The Menzingers are the best in the business.

OKNOTOK will be of little interest to a passerby in a record store; its main value even for the die-hardiest of Radiohead fans is that little peek behind the curtain, a crack of light closer to understanding the way one of the most elusive bands in the world works.

Overall, Life Is Good is a cogent evolution in Flogging Molly's trademark Celtic folk sound and a welcome gift from a band celebrating their 20th anniversary this year.

[“Round We Go” is] a roiling, overpowering emotional mixture, and it fits right in with what I’m Not Your Man wants to accomplish: a forthright treatise on sexuality and relationships, told with an uncanny sense of comedic timing and a penchant for reaching for the throat with its hooks, arrangements, and, most resoundingly, its lyrics.

Humble, modest, unassuming, and attentive to its runtime and the need to make a better song; in a year where Migos, “Mask Off,” and DAMN. have dominated the conversation, Big Fish Theory sticks out as the most consistent and well-versed rap album of the year.

A bold and colorful magnum opus that marks an almost unbeatable personal milestone for Lorde.

Listening to The Optimist is an intense experience, and can have wild transitions from one song to the next given how different some tracks are from others. They are able to make it work though, being an adventurous and engaging continuation, and conclusion, of a past record's concept that still sees the band evolving in a rewarding fashion.

In the midst of the endless formula tweaking and inventive twists, there is nary an ill-advised departure or split-second of suggestive identity crisis. It’s all fresh, and it’s all Fleet Foxes.

What truly elevates Relaxer for me is that it finally feels like Alt-J is extending their creative reach.

No matter what musical approach is being explored on Is This The Life We Really Want?, it never abandons being clever and lyrically adept.

The Following Mountain illustrates a massive wealth of musical ability and endless directions to take that talent in. Even if it isn’t the most polished or focused piece, it’s a tantalizingly unpredictable listen that with the right molding and direction, could signal even better things to come for Sam Amidon and his fans.

Without recounting every track, most of the highlights here come from Stevens’ willingness to tinker with perfection; not every live track is as haunting as its corresponding original, but he never fails to deliver that authentic live experience.

One More Light sees the band embracing its melodic core, and offering no apologies as they expound upon it.

This is music that plays well in every venue, from the late night hangouts of urban bohemia to the awkward houses of the indie disco.

The record still varies its tempo from time to time, resulting in some truly gorgeous gems.

This long-awaited comeback album stands on its own as a remarkable achievement for a band that had to earn their legacy over time, and the love that this album has received reaffirms that legacy, and proves that Slowdive are still capable of exceeding expectations for a modern, invigorating comeback album that cements their talent and emotional resonance.

Although there's nothing innovative about it, at least they brought the guitars back, offering us a handful of groovy tracks among all the kitschy bonanza. The LP is stagnant in the grand scheme of things, but that's good for them. It could've been much worse.

It may not inspire a revolution or magically fix the problems of the Trump administration, but it's a comforting and rewarding listen.

It’s a consistently, gorgeously understated record.

Gargoyle marks another solid addition to an extensive catalog.

Their most socially aware record yet. Whether they address political issues, genocides (both historic and contemporary) or anxieties caused by alienation or inability to cope with the overwhelming pace of the 21st century, the band smoothly blends the beautiful with the ugly. In between the loud, razor wired guitar attack you also get lovely picked chords or bouncy bass lines.

DAMN. remedies a lot of its predecessor's mistakes and gives us something better--a Kendrick not seen since Section.80, throwing tonally and stylistically inconsistent songs together in a desperate scramble to tell us just what the fuck he's feeling. It's slipshod, haphazard and rocky to listen to, and that's the Kendrick I've been missing for the past few years.

They are masters of atmosphere and intrigue, and flirting with pop music has only further aided their chameleonic nature, with this being their most satisfying and diverse effort in many years.

Pure Comedy is definitively a headphone album; where I Love You, Honeybear made you swoon with its overt eclecticism, the gems here need to be unearthed after a few excavations. The album’s pacing does not help matters, burdened with a middle section that dares you to fall asleep and counts on a deep love of Tillman’s voice.

This is a great album, perfect for a retro rave and I am happy to see the band reactivated. Hopefully, it won't take them another 7 years to release the next LP.

They have embraced mainstream success in the best way that would be possible, by sticking to a high concept and shredding their way through a heady, emotional backdrop while displaying their instrumental virtuosity amazingly.

It illuminates very real, very constricting emotions that you know you’ll have to either deal with in true form, or kindle within someone you love upon your own passing.

It all stacks up as an agreeable (not wonderful, definitely not boring) assortment of thumpers.