Holistically, there's nothing remarkably new here that hasn't been pursued before by this collective. The execution is nice and easily situates this album in the top two of their performances, and the sound quality far surpasses their previous efforts.

Ultimately, what makes Good News so successful is that it retains the melancholy mood of past works, while at the same time adding depth and maturity.

What is most impressive about New Amerykah is that Erykah simply breathes life into these tracks.

This is not going to appeal to a wide swath of people, but DJs who take advantage of the late hours of a petering-out dance party to play dubstep and spacey ambient techno will surely appreciate the vibe here.

This record is a tremendous achievement, but in the end, the grandeur of Hidden can be a little much to take in all at once.

Most songs take the form of this kind of zen guidance, but Eyes on the Lines avoids stagnancy in part due to its relative brevity--only 9 tracks--and in part due to Gunn’s combination of flowy melodies and shifting chord progressions, which can trigger a kind of relaxed euphoria.

As a propulsive work, fueled by immediacy and intensity, Devour rejects the attempt to escape the body through the gear-consumed noise fetishist.

This is soul music, sometimes in form, but always in content; mournful and inspirational in equal measure, Wounded Rhymes more than earns that categorization.

Issuing such a thorough CD document of a vinyl trilogy winds up not so much a simple change in format or an exercise in excess, but rather a telescopic glimpse into the rapidly expanding Demdike Stare universe.

Regardless of the modernist leanings of Kanye's techniques, the album retains an organic feel that rivals Com's hemp beanie and Erykah Badu's incense.

The shorter form of most of the songs (none longer than five and a half minutes) means that you rocket through The Hunter at what feels like breakneck speed, strapped to an intergalactic, pyrotechnic rollercoaster of awesome.

Composed by two musicians at the height of their craft, the album reveals itself, thus far, as the apex of a limited genre still forming and as one of our finest contemporary acts of remembrance and ascension.

Blackjazz is an undoubtedly bold statement from an incredibly gifted compositional genius. Munkebey has been working toward this album for a while, and it is a real achievement in synthesis of the band's overriding influences.

With Swim, Caribou has transcended the confines of indie pop and electronica.

Arrowhead is unfortunately not among the stronger things he’s released.

It’s surprisingly comforting to hear a band like this come along and put everything in perspective, making you fall in love with music relating to your life, instead of becoming so grandiose and impersonal as most music has in recent years.

Love vs. Money exists, much like its creator, [is] stuck somewhere between timely and timeless, kind of like a dream, the infectious, can’t-get-out-of-your-head variety.

Choral, never succumbing to mere regurgitation, represents talented musicians confident in their methods, who channel their influences to produce a sound that proves accessible while remaining distinctive and utterly expressive.

The performances in these songs are as dramatic as they are musical: disarmingly direct, phenomenally compelling.

It’s minimal techno made by someone in love with nature; dance music that should be narrated by David Attenborough — it's also what gives the album its beautiful spark of originality.

Atonement is the name of the game on this record, and when paired with Tillman’s gorgeous baritone and humble melodies, the self-reflective end result is often heartening. Not every track here captures this doleful magic (“The Songwriter” and closer “We’re Only People” occasionally get lost in their own sorrow), but it’s commendable all the same.

This is a record that only Darnielle could pull off: in the hands of a less skilled writer and vocalist, it would fall flat or grate the nerves as so much hyperemotional posturing.

The dance songs on here awaken muscles of yours that might have fallen asleep over the last few years.

Despite Shame’s lyrical foibles, they evince a prodigious adeptness for musicianship, and though Songs of Praise isn’t the most arresting debut by a garage band, there are far worse places to start.

Although occasional representational sounds intrude on some tracks, it is Sunn O)))’s glacial, thundering voice that carries Walker’s conceptual project forward.

Because the album can’t be one complete thing, Age Of is its own archenemy; its own princess stranded in a high castle; its own climb up the Holy Mountain. A radical incompleteness haunts it.

The true insight here is that Zu’s prowess is growing and can’t go unnoticed for much longer, especially with this caliber of material and their continual desire to try new things.

Fear of Men speak with clarity (for all their lo-fi charm) through the idiom of twee and jangle pop.