he songs are tighter and leaner than on Mines ("One Horse" throws off the mean), rarely wandering, with lyrical themes prevalent rather than all-consuming.

The Errant Charm is, on the whole, immensely successful – a venture outside of a comfort zone, a triumph for an artist who has consistently put out quality music only to be instantly likened and compared to a list of formidable influences, and an excellent soundtrack to hazy summer days and introspection.

Like Miles Davis or Jimi Hendrix, Jones' inner soul permeates through his instrument and his voice is unmistakable.

By paring pop music to its core human elements, Majical Cloudz has written a record that’s bare enough to breathe inside.

From the blood-curdling yells in which the anonymous MC delivers lines about dead cops and human sacrifice, to the positively chilling Charles Manson sample that begins the album, Exmilitary is the real deal, the absolute extent of your parents' worst nightmares when you came home with your first rap album.

It's never uninteresting on Holograms.

With so many distinctive elements to their music – the ever-present Mark E. Smith, on whom most of the band's writing falls, that frenetic post-punk energy, and the garbled, often subversive, offensive, or disgusting lyrics – it becomes difficult to write about one album without placing it in the context of the others.

I’m moved by the fragility, the vulnerability, the honesty, the disruption of masculinity. It’s inspiring to hear a way to be gentle, empathetic, brittle, and still express a deeply human impulse.

The Clearing demonstrates an increase in the trio's breadth and scope, similar to Iron and Wine's The Shepherd's Dog, but minus the studio wonkery.

These sessions are a timely reminder of the musician and the man Chilton wanted to become: the musician who would provide us a sense of magic through a lifetime of perseverance.

While there's still a sense of DIY sound on Sun and Shade, the focus of the music has a much more communal feel.

Everything resonates crystal clear, and I suggest you pick it up for the holiday season. Surely, someone can appreciate its beauty.

It's a great mini-dose of Lekman charm that should be welcome to anyone that's been missing him these four years.

Thanks to the rich clarity of his delivery and the prominent place that the vocals take in the mix, Callahan’s lyrics cast a long shadow over the rest of the album, allowing the literary connotations to carry over into analysis.

It's a lush effort with lyrical content that's both honest and relatable--a real winner in its genre.

It's incredibly beautiful and soothing--perfect music for laid-back late-night hours.

After 41 minutes, Leave Home doesn't linger like a flashback, it sticks like a demented structure that's mysteriously magnetic and, in the end, really fun. No wonder this stuff is addictive.

He’s still a countercultural figure himself, veritably, but he’s achieved self-actualization. Old won’t let you forget it.

Largely wordless vocals are fractured and spliced amid some things catchy, some things creepy, but all things great.

The ultimate beauty of Smother, though, comes from its subtlety as Wild Beasts continue to transcend conventional pop music with yet another great addition to their catalog.

In its totality, Haven exhibits an effortless balance between hip hop and Borth's archetypically haunting, transcendent aural backdrops.

Peter Wolf Crier may have arrived at the end of its tour burned out, but by the conclusion of their second album, the duo has evolved a more coherent signature sound.

Don't leave") and humbles him on "Two Children" ("Watch as I fall down to my knees"). The former frontman of U.K. darlings The Blue Nile isn't well-known in the States, and who knows if he'll ever get his due here--he's already 56. But with Mid Air, he's certainly given himself a shot

These are meticulously calculated compositions, each weighty note serving its purpose in the grand arc of the album. This is beautiful.

Frantic and poetic, Pura Vida Conspiracy is another open window into gypsy culture that, for reasons unbeknownst to us, feels and looks like home.

Whatever Parks might work on in the future, Songs Cycled is the perfect reminder of his deserved status for those that had been content to let him sit on the fringe.

With moments of breathing room and stripped melodies, APTBS continue subtle explorations of their strengths and the conflict between cacophony and harmony.

The Inheritors jumps and squeals and writhes and blossoms. It’s music that you can’t help but hear as if you were a kid again.

Though the tracklist looks like a normal-length album, in the end there are only nine real songs to take in, and they are easily unified by the musical choices Cut Copy has made.

Loyalty's spins are immersive and pining, and demand much of a listener who's more invested in the search rather than the convenience

It balances expectations with mystery, aligning their identity with a roulette of vantage points.

The missteps on this record are rare, and the consistent growth they’ve displayed with each release is all the more impressive for a band not even 10 years old.

At times, it feels as if you could pull an equally strong straight-techno EP out of the distorted muck that Swanson pours over Punk Authority; that itch to figure out what’s inside the ooze is the strength of the set.

They definitely sound like more of a band now, merging their despairing lyrics and indie pop demeanor with an alternative grunge that's certainly worthy of praise, perhaps even more now than ever before.

The sheer quality that Red Hot + Rio 2 maintains over the course of its two discs and 33 tracks makes this a very noteworthy effort.

The album is an expertly cultivated collection of earworms that further sheds the group’s Ramones worship, instead focusing on hooky anthems that present the band’s kitsch as an accessory, rather than a focal point.

Tarot Classics EP serves as their final effort for Kanine Records, as well as a brief, yet appropriate, layover while fans await their major label full-length debut.

It's a bastard of a listen--a rare, tough piece of meat too savory to spit and toss aside.

Opulent, unique, but still rooted in Fanfarlo's original pop-folk style, Rooms Filled with Light is an ornate offering for spring.

It may have taken Vondelpark awhile to hone their craft into an album, but the payoff is one of the more promising debuts of 2013.

In other words, typical Kurt Vile, with a subtle twist.

There might not be a “Poison & Wine” here, but taken as a whole, The Civil Wars is a more consistent collection than Barton Hollow.

Some tracks are pretty, some are ominous and haunting, a few are just plain fun, but all the songs on the Hanna OST are quality electronica from one of the genre's foremost acts.

Coexist surges forward and retreats within itself more than its predecessor but still never breaks the surface, existing in the liminal space between a song and a thought.

Era Extraña sports the admirable trait of being so much like many of the best psychedelic pop records in recent memory (Oracular Spectaular pops to mind rather often), while going a long way in forging Neon Indian's own, very distinct musical identity.

Fluorescence represents equilibrium between the noise and energy of the first two albums and the dreamier soundscapes of Hush, while simultaneously refining the sound to the point where it is something distinctly Asobi Seksu's. More than merely going strong after four studio albums and two live releases, Asobi Seksu is better than ever.

It's their tightest and simultaneously most experimental release.

Lorde’s clearly a gifted songwriter for her age, but don’t let the novelty affect your perception of Pure Heroine. It’s a very grown-up album despite its teenage topics, and if you give a damn about good pop songs, then you owe it a listen.

Though the music on The Crossing was recorded over a span of two years, there is a consistency throughout that is representative of a collaboration that comes from musicians truly in tune with each others' creative instincts.

No Blues shows the wisdom of age, rather than its perceived follies.

Let the Poison Out finds him sounding clearer than ever, while the music is a pleasing variation on the formula they've been working toward perfecting since the beginning.

This is a mature and polished debut, and if you thought Adele was a decent vocalist, you should listen to this girl.

While the bonus material is nice, they won't likely reinvent people's appreciation for the record, which is more or less foolproof as it is. But the reissue should call people's attention back to a record that, over time, has only grown in stature as one of the most vital and enduring musical statements of its era.

The legacy of Remiddi's latest LP, Strange Weekend, is the eerily beautiful atmosphere it creates, just like the work of older artists such as Angelo Badalamenti, and more recent work by Ariel Pink, Perfume Genius, and John Maus, who invest a huge amount of emotion and cerebral conceit into their work, which pads out their music with shambolic, poetic insulation.

The method with which Elverum captures and articulates these feelings is what makes his work so powerful--literally inserting his calm demeanor, his pleasant croon, in between insurmountable, impenetrable volume.

Lines is a sculpted spring album, still chilly in certain ways, but hinting at the sun-burned revelries of months to come.

OM delivers transcendental moments on Advaitic Songs, entrancing washes of mystic depth.

From the gruesome, sweary brawls to the softer elegies, Transgender Dysphoria Blues comes wrapped in some of the best melodies Grace has penned to date.

Despite the ridiculously high highs of this album, it fails to maintain a great pace throughout. It struggles back and forth between "good" and "great," whereas its foregoer grabbed "great" by the balls on the first track and never let go.

It’s powerful, emotive stuff--proof that electronic music can have soul, and that OMD’s soul is, so far, everlasting.

This new record is nothing surprising. It's everything that you'd expect. Right out of the gate, the message is clear: It is who it is, giving us a band, and an album, full of confidence and bruises. Yet by just being who it is, the music works, and, rightfully so, doesn't need to prove anything to anyone.

Even without the big set pieces and striking visuals, these two can infuse dramatic narrative into their enlightening prog-stoner drone.

The album could have gone a bit smoother or carried a simpler, more cohesive theme, but at the end of the day, Cymbals Eat Guitars have succeeded in creating one of the year's most surprisingly transcendental sophomore albums.

More than another album of tastefully done guitar pop, Silver Age is the sound of an artist learning to come to grips with his legacy.

The best thing about the collection is the way it reminds us that Merritt is a Janus-like songwriter, looking backwards and forwards, and while we can see influences from the past, there is also the sense that Merritt has often looked into the future.

While it's true that Breakup Song barely breaks the half-hour mark, it's really a compliment when the biggest complaint is that a few of the songs don't stick around long enough.

The music is compelling and challenging from start to finish, a triumph of substance and style.

This is a complex, fascinating record that punches the shoulder for attention.

Thundercat’s advancements on Apocalypse reconfigure the foundation that his debut album built.

A Creature I Don't Know stands up well against its feted predecessor and can only add to Laura Marling's reputation as a songwriter and musician.

Girls Names have managed to take all that familiarity and bring it to a mysterious place, where seemingly disparate worlds of innocence, pain, dancing, and dreaming are encouraged and inhabited, taken back to the future.

While all of that emotional corruption may still tear their home planet apart, this trip-hop intergalactic train has reached its slice of space jazz heaven.

Now that the former [Comets on Fire] has been on hiatus for about four years, Ascent proves that he [Ben Chasny] can fit those electric riffs in seamlessly with the latter's [Six Organs of Admittance] ritual depth.

On their new LP Program 91, Razika manages to find the best in the word "inoffensive," producing an album that is the definition of an easy listen, while also managing not to leave listeners feeling as if their time has been wasted in any way.

Some could argue that the Cool Kids abandoned their original minimalism on When Fish Ride Bicycles. However, they've contemporized their old-school influences for a wider audience. By incorporating both well-known names and lesser-known artists, the Cool Kids are finally in a position to get major exposure.

They've uncluttered their sound on their latest release, Red, a five-song EP that plows through the same unsettling, white fence dystopia with more precision and an overall clearer aesthetic.

Manically projectile vomiting his incomprehensibles over reverb-drenched warm tones, the guy makes Spencer Krug and Dan Boeckner sound like Adam Levine. He's yelling something fierce, even if we can't understand it. But the instrumentation is dynamic, powerful, and accessible enough to balance things out.

Even with such varied ideas, Tanton maintains a careful balance, resulting in a fully realized album.

English Little League is a red wheelbarrow full of awesome.

Its mischievous and fun with an undercurrent of sadness--definitely a charming release to add to their catalog.

Fantasy epics and agism aside, Lost Songs' strongest moment is also its most personal.

On Welcome to Condale, Summer Camp evokes the feeling of an idealized vision of these adolescent days of summers past with some bittersweet and irresistibly catchy pop songs.

All the musicians on Rave On Buddy Holly run such a gamut that it's hard to dispute Buddy Holly's continuously far-reaching influence in music. At the same time, if these songs weren't on a covers album, it would be easy to mistake them for a Lou Reed original or an old Modest Mouse track.

What makes Bahamas worth a listen is the soulful pairing of glowing, slow-building melodies and sun-kissed songs.

No Colors showcases a band who knows exactly who they are and feels completely comfortable in their sound, constantly pushing the boundaries of what is possible for a two-piece.

Janka holds the reigns here, expertly blending the warmth of his half-tuneless lyrics amid a mad swarm of instrumentation and voices. Still, the songs come across as a massive group effort.

The grandeur is only slightly greater than it was before, but they've discovered a certain pop sensibility that was previously absent. And not only have they discovered this attribute about themselves, but they have honed in on that particular trait and made it the focus of the entire album.

Thanks to Cronin's studio drummer, producer, and fuzz friend, Ty Segall, the record has plenty of dirt all over it, placing the overarching tone of the album somewhere between Velvet Underground's Loaded and The White Stripes' White Blood Cells.

The gamble was worth it as they have improved as artists and presented an album where you never know what will come next.

Rather than radically reinventing the sound from Danilova's second full length, 2010's Stridulum II, Conatus comes across as a more fully-realized Zola Jesus production.

The album really peaks though in its most contemplative moments.

The J-rock-gone-metal incarnation of Boris on New Album stands as their most drastic reinvention yet.

Like 36 Chambers adheres to a concept formula, as does Shaolin Vs Wu-Tang, relating the tale of ninjas and swords to gangstas and guns, and even without RZA, sustaining the notion that is the Wu.

While it may not be as primal as Street Horrrsing, or as concise as Tarot Sport, Blanck Mass's self-titled debut packs the same sort of punch, and that punch is one that goes directly to the gut.

Baroness possesses an acute sense of melody, unpredictable songwriting, and vision for its work. Yellow & Green encapsulates all of those things, and, consequently, it's one of the year's most engaging metal albums.

With only six songs and coming in around 45 minutes, Antibalas explodes out of the gate with rolling percussion and doesn't let up until the last crash.

A delicately fingerpicked intro gives way to an expansive soundscape that, more than anywhere else on The Hunter, brings the band's mastery of dynamics to the surface before culminating in a pair of colossal solos that are among the most intense Hinds has ever ripped.

Despite the record's ups and down, it's hard to deny DiFranco's vision and passion for her craft.