The 19-year-old’s sound combines retro folk with elements of Britpop that’s as raw as it is original, which equals one of the more exciting debuts in some time.

While topping Smoke Ring outright nearly seemed insurmountable, Daze is (at an impossibly neat 70 minutes) a larger, more diverse and heavier experience.

His latest, Cyclops Reap, amplifies the warmth of his signature bedroom recording.

The Knife’s sound and vision--and the members’ unrelenting oddness--seem to slightly buckle under the weight of their idealism.

Their new self-titled album is both more refined and more expansive.

The Besnard Lakes have nonetheless continued to hone a pre-apocalyptic sound with their latest, Until In Excess, Imperceptible UFO.

Will Maas be forever obsessed with the good–evil dichotomy? The answer’s in their moniker--and their monitors.

Bleached’s Ride Your Heart blends just the right amount of catchy melodies and guitar fuzz with the rollercoaster ride known as love.

For Now I Am Winter is filled with widescreen ambitions that deliver on every count.

Unfocused and uninspired, Machineries lacks the sprawling majesty and well-forged hooks of earlier efforts.

It’s markedly less garage-born than previous endeavors, too, sounding more akin to a dancier Echo & The Bunnymen or a version of The Magnetic Fields’ 69 Love Songs recorded at higher fidelity.

Themes of maturation again flow through, yet some tracks (“Jailbirds,” “Bottled Affection”) recognize the trade-off between freedom and insecurity of youth.

The Growlers’ third full-length album sounds like a sketchy Tijuana pharmacy that’s got a little “something” for everybody.

The Ash & Clay takes this live approach and translates it into the duo’s most collaborative and folk-driven record yet.

Each song is constructed carefully and intentionally, much like their album as a whole.

An A.merican D.ream struts back into those alleyways, but devoid of any kind of humor.

Although it toes a dangerous line of resounding too imitative of its own influences, the young producer is nonetheless well on his way to fully embracing his identity.

Another collection of pop spells that beguile...here’s to at least 10 more years.

Their first album in 23 years finds Bonney again waxing romantic and sardonic over lurching post-punk stormers and haunted spaghetti Western ballads.

Julian Lynch’s music lacks the bombast of [Nino Rota’s] works, but is similarly raucous, mysterious and full of whirling joy.

With the combination of these instruments and intimate vocals (not to mention some single-digit counting on “Waitress”), it would be odd not to notice that the album can sound a touch Feist-y. Yet the delicate and intricate progressions the songs present make this record Glass and Steiner’s very own.

Listening to the record as a whole is sort of like meandering through an exhibit of miniature, spasming wire sculptures.

The results aren’t all winners, but there are gems where you wouldn’t expect them.

This full-length proves that they’re no one-hit wonder, demonstrating depth, dexterity and a slap-dash genius that’s impossible to contrive.

So endlessly California that it sunburns, Afraid is derivative when it’s idling and full of vigor when it’s not.

The Happiness Waltz is a continuation: a graceful rotation of melodies and gentle reflection.

They’ll get major points for pouring Bleach all over your Nevermind, but don’t miss the trance-and-release rush of the title track.

The Brooklyn trio’s fourth finds itself cozy in the vein of its predecessor, Hazed Dream.