Fabriclive 93 might not be flawless--but it sure is fun.

It's a safe bet that Steffi had some form of master plan in mind when giving guidance to the mix’s artists, who are largely plucked from her deep pool of electronic-music pals. Still, it’s an impressive achievement.

Track after track of nostalgia-inducing pastiche that, though a bit self-referential—they're almost dance tracks about dance tracks--somehow sound fresh. They’re effective both as exercises in the power of memory and as compelling club cuts in their own right.

II’s songs can glide by like a benevolent mirage, not quite registering but still leaving an afterglow. That afterglow is exquisite, however.

This might not be an album that breaks much new ground, then, but what it does do, it does so expertly that you cannot help but be absorbed.

Green’s always aimed for music that’s magical, for a sound that’s transcendent--with Migration, he’s come closer than ever.

It’s the DJ’s own efforts that are the most striking, yet this mix isn’t about big tracks per se; it's more about building a lost-in-the-moment mood. In that, it succeeds tremendously, and offers an intriguing glimpse at a new chapter in Daniel Avery’s story.

That Atrocity Exhibition sounds like neither backpack rap, hipster drivel nor dull trap, but something fresh that stands on its own is itself to be applauded. But that it’s so damn good too puts it among the best hip-hop albums in years.

An ambitious and eclectic album that packs tons of ideas into its runtime and manages to pull them all off with a great deal of style.

All in all, the full 30 minutes of Kuiper seems logical as a comfortable extension of, and compromise between, Shepherd's recent discography: as he continues to unravel the additional possibilities of live instrumentalism, we can be sure to expect plenty more of the same.

There’s youthful playfulness at hand on Oddments. There’s also a kind of majesty, one borne out by an affinity for subtly grand melodies, which works in juxtaposition to the album’s brief, jewel-like cuts--most of these tracks clock in at well under four minutes, and the entire LP barely reaches 40 minutes.

Revill's thoughtful selections and undeniable ability to fuse a number of moving parts into a thoroughly enjoyable listening experience make for a wonderfully ambitious venture worth every minute.

Props to Britton for trying out new templates--but she’s on firmer ground when she’s in her 4/4 comfort zone, and Donna’s at its best when it plays to her emo-house strengths.

Tooth is best devoured as a whole and without distractions; its singular sound and delivery is one that Raime has tirelessly honed into a steadfast concoction of brooding dystopia.

Though it’s easy to compare his music to the ambient and electronica progenitors, Elasticity is very much the product of now--from the depth of production to the modern palette deployed.

These are their beloved records, guzzled up, internalized, and regurgitated in new unrecognizable forms; music of the past as perceived by modern minds; an even balance between tight live instrumentation and charming studio nous. Give this record a few spins, and you’ll succumb to their peculiar, but beguiling world too.

On its own, Yoyogi Park is a highly engrossing record of dream-like dancefloor sounds, but when sat next to Until Then, Goodbye and A Day In The Life, it’s an intelligent melding of its predecessors and exemplary final chapter.

Under The Sun is Mark Pritchard’s most consistent piece of work in some time, one that is beautifully conceived and produced with restraint and an overall vision that, most of the time, only an artist of considerable experience can muster.

99% is a brilliant, well-realized combination of styles, with more than its fair share of memorable and addictive songs.

Too Many Voices provides as many moments of disquiet, albeit a particularly exquisite form of disquiet, as it does of comfort.

There's a cohesiveness here hard to miss, an emotionally-charged aura and elegantly precise feel that runs from Hollowed's surging opening notes to its final, poignant fade.

Some of the best moments on I AKA I are when the producer plays it relatively straight.

It’s a delicate, naked offering that flits between mournful vocals, processed backward synths and serrated edges of what sounds like guitar distortion.

Through it all, in the music and in Weatherall’s characterful vocals, Public Image Limited is a clear influence. The album is at its best, though, at its most cosmic.

It would be wrong to describe Moodymann's DJ-Kicks set as a feel-good mix--it's much more than that, brimming with the highs and lows that real life can offer--but it is a joy to listen to, and that in itself is plenty.

The unifying factor? It's Para's evocative beauty, a underlying glimmer that flows from the album's sumptuous opening chords to its final spectral fade.

Third Law seems to work in a defiant way that looks to inspire a new crop of producers more interested in the space of the club than the memory of it.

You can definitely hear her thinking her way through each track, treating each as packets of sound, to be observed and experienced in a loop.