As the group attempts to find their vibe, they test the waters gracefully. Perhaps next time, though, they’ll be slightly more focused.

A dash of otherworldly sounds give the otherwise good album that extra oomph on tracks like “Istanbul Field” and “Philadelphia Raga,” but the album bleeds more indie-punk blood than anything else.

Well into their fourth decade, with the aughts years spent in hibernation, Swans are still making records of brilliance and majesty.

The electronic wizardry is impressive, but it’s the entrancing vocals of this record that will keep you coming back.

“High Road,” “The Motherload,” “Asleep in the Deep” and “Halloween” are keepers, but they don’t quite put Sun in the same solar system as past albums.

No matter how you look at it, tales of love and loss sound better when there’s a voice like Fields guiding you along.

Sometimes going back to what works can be a crutch and creatively stifling, but for Rodrigo y Gabriela, it’s a welcome return.

The result is one of optimistic discontent. Krell’s heart may be perpetually drug through the dirt, but nothing is going to stop him from looking up.

The ghosts of Pavement and Sebadoh flit through these pithy songs with free-range abandon.

The tension between revelation and ambiguity is echoed in the music, which avoids the easy, straightforward release of pop crescendos in favor of alternating textures and rhythms.

The words would be perhaps somewhat unremarkable without the grandiose sweep of sonic majesty that surrounds them.

With 10 blazing tracks averaging about two minutes each, the Vancouver band’s distinct brand of melodic punk might be too much to take, were it not for Mish Way’s cool command of the mic.

The record’s major achievement is in stretching the genre again, this time by contraction: This is meditative hardcore.

Admittedly, these are ideas not groundbreaking except in their delivery, which does have a rare, sobering effect upon the listener--a trademark effect of The Antlers.

Someday World sounds quite like Happy Mondays at times, and rather like King Crimson at others.

While Pleasure and C.U.T.S. evoke the nature of the dream, Angel, obsessive and occasionally trite, tends to tell rather than show.

Tropical, African. Soul, blues. R & B, simplicity. Sylvan Esso blends it all and makes preconceived notions of electronic-driven music parallels to unintelligent dubstep fade away.

The resultant sound is crisp and lovely, and on a clear mission to please its other (the listener, maybe?).

Beauty & Ruin might be the most realized example of the Mouldian aesthetic, and combined with the heartfelt poignancy of the subject matter--the aging rocker acknowledging his years earned and the years left at the wheel--it soars to contention with the rest of Mould’s formidable oeuvre.

Wymond Miles’s imaginative guitar work is often enough to cover a multitude of sins (see the scorching lead on “Hummingbird” and the minimal flourishes on “April Fools”). For some listeners that will be enough, but overall the record feels structured more like a career-spanning live set than a cohesive collection.

Every song on Stay Gold is beautifully crafted to feel like a new and complete soundscape--orchestrated strings, rolling drums and airy flutes enhance the Americana guitar riffs--bringing out the vivid imagery of their lyrics.

Well aware now of what he likes to do with Hot Chip and what he likes to do eponymously, Taylor’s efforts here are enough to sate fans until the next solo project arrives.

Barfod has taken a great debut and made it into a stellar sophomore record that delights the most.

Our six-string savior not only makes his guitar do things that will have you forgetting that Page and Plant are never to take to a stage together again; he is also keen to remind us in just whose hands now rests that Hammer of the Gods.

Without the warm, human touch that made CYHSY’s previous releases so inviting, the ten (or really nine considering “Impossible Request” appears twice) tracks on Only Run feel cold and calculated.

ZABA is a notable first offering that is so tasty you’ll want to lick it off your fingers.

The ever-loquacious monster of folk has a lot to say on his latest record (this one finds him particularly obsessed with time), but it’s his growing mastery of orchestration that muzos might appreciate the most.

The result is a thoroughly cross-cultural album dripping with soul and iconoclasm. It’s fun, too.