In Roses is almost as delicate, but is a pleasant step up from its predecessor thanks to wormier melodies and heightened chemistry between co-vocalists Christopher Barnes and Ieva Berberian.

Despite its outward bustle and injections of colour throughout, the album’s personality is also disappointingly tentative and placid.

The sparse musical arrangements and haunting production only serve to heighten the album’s intimacy and ultimately render it a masterpiece of reflection and introspection, destined to be played on repeat in scores of late-night, tired, and lonely rooms.

I’m hearing summer thunderstorms that threaten to wash the world away for two minutes then quit and get another beer. Dupuis’s bittersweet, teasing vocals feel like the gorgeous, blue, and brutally cold day after it snows three feet.

Taken solely as part of the Broken Bells discography it’s their best effort yet: a textured, kaleidoscopic pop record that crackles with imagination, and hints at the sign of something brilliant to come.

Each spin offers a chance for escape, but what endows Berglund’s sophomore effort with the glow of a masterpiece is its accessibility.

[Angel Haze is] disappointing, misguided, flaccid.

This album moves and soothes, if it does anything at all.

This album is powerful, occasionally transcendent, always honest and never less than entertaining.

Supreme Cuts know how to construct a track, but if it’s staying power they’re after, they’ll need to develop a more original sense of what their music is, what it can do, and the places it can go.

Ghettoville’s return to some of the musical qualities of its 2008 predecessor gives new richness and power to Actress’s work.

Too True proves that Dum Dum Girls are as relevant today as they were six years ago because they know that evolution is the key to survival. This is their sound, the sound of today, and they wear it well.

It is a diffuse album, constantly but immeasurably changing its shape and diverting itself when you attempt to grasp it, like smoke. Warpaint’s epiphanies are minor, its surprises few, but the general immutability alludes to vision rather than a lack of progress.

With their latest album SJDK give the people what they want, even if they didn’t know how much they wanted it.

Wig Out at Jagbags lands locked and loaded, ready to please the Kool-Aid drinkers among us. You’re either in or you’re out, and you already know which side you’re on. For the thirsty among us, enjoy.

Because The Internet is just a giant non-sequitur, a pop culture gag reel that relies a little too heavily on flippancy to ring true.

Rival Dealer is only three tracks long but it’s as rich as many LPs.

Beyoncé waited for the last moment to unveil 2013′s finest pop album. It arrived too late to enter our top ten lists, but just in time to own the year.

Foreverly offers many pleasures but would have been easier to swallow as a 6-song EP.

Five tracks, two very good, three just good, and three remixes, one worth your while, and two that don’t fight to be heard by anyone other than fans of the band.

It’s just a quick way to get to what’s relevant about them, an I.V. drip of catchy tunes from a time when your emotions were still raw and tender.

Blood Orange’s sound is shaping up to be one of the most intriguing and important in pop today, and this sophomore effort is a promising progression for an artist who deserves more of the spotlight, but probably won’t ever demand it.

Lady Gaga’s utter lack of self-restraint sets ARTPOP apart from her earlier work (ruminate on that for a moment).

The only issue is that some tracks are slightly overlong, and the trio of short interludes feel unnecessary--threatening to pull you out of the moment and stifle the gradually escalating sense of euphoria. This is a small complaint, however, given the consistently infectious hooks and melodies, and the manner in which it brilliantly and wistfully evokes rose-tinted memories of the lost Golden Age of dance.

As an artist revisiting a previous masterwork, he’s chosen to add maturity in all the wrong spots. Lowbrow nods interspersed with pointed criticisms of nearly everyone of note made Eminem a star, but most of the references and insults here feel dated. It’s about as timely as catching up on last year’s episodes of TMZ on your DVR.

What truly works is the band’s commitment to the skeletal framework of their music, Thomas’ authoritative picking coupled with Hamilton’s lilting voice, a sultry whisper that conveys desolation and wistfulness, both of which play major roles in many of these songs.

True, not every album needs to make a statement; sometimes it’s just nice to have music to listen to with your eyes closed and your brain off. But they can do better.

There are moments on Julia where he succeeds in creating the important and honest music he wants to make. Of course, when you’re using a shotgun, you’re bound to hit something.

Unfortunately, Night Time, My Time goes awry at “Omanko,” a grave misstep that verges on parody. From there on out, the record’s spotty.

The result is a record that stands at the crossroads between assurance and insecurity. In the hands of lesser artists, this dichotomy would be an obstacle to surmount, but for Ørsted the disparate strands of her identity combine like a binary chemical cocktail and ignite into something dangerously and delicately sublime.

While the album itself bleeds originality, the solos themselves are almost interchangeable, and that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

This is music that moves the body along with the spirit, a damn fine step in the right direction.

Rapor is an absorbing and accomplished 80’s sheened synth-pop EP infused with heartache and imagination.

While the rest of Outside may not deliver in such a manner [as “A Forest at Night”], it still showcases one of North America’s more unique and talented producers on his own terms.

Guilt Trips is legit--an EDM record that’s smart, tasteful and fun. Maybe nothing new, but pretty damn good.

Poliça flirt with greatness often enough to make Shulamith more than worth your time, but it’s not as brave as we’d like it to be.

Where Fade Away really falls flat is how it lethargically, circularly insists upon the hopelessness of Consentino’s problems without elaboration. Instead, it fumbles for anecdotes that undersell what should be highly relatable emotions.

Prism does have two bright moments of success when everything comes together and we get a glimpse of the better-written album that could have been. First is opener “Roar.”... Meanwhile, on the mostly lackluster Side B, there’s another empowerment anthem, “Love Me,” that’s the polar opposite of “Roar” in nearly every other way.

But for the most part, Magpie provides us with another bundle of easygoing tunes from a band that seems to have a limitless supply.

What it really lacks then is quality control and what it requires is a good deal of patience but, despite the occasions when it falters, elsewhere it’s consistently good, and sporadically brilliant.

For anyone who can appreciate emotional breadth that music is capable of conveying, make Wild Light a part of your life. It may be the best instrumental album you hear this year.

As with The King of the Limbs, Beautiful Rewind is always keeping us at arm’s length, coldly allowing us to admire the craft without letting us in on the secret. It can make for a lonely listen.

Sure, the lyrics are sometimes a little silly, and the musical hooks are sometimes a trifle too easy. But even at its worst, this is fun stuff.

Static lacks variety. It’s just a short-fused, gloomy rehash, and what little has been changed isn’t really an improvement.

One thing you should never underestimate, though, is the power of a good story, and Danny Brown has a wealth of them, which makes Old not just the best hip-hop album of the year--but a major factor in every discussion of album of the year.

If another goal of art could be said to remove humanity, if only for a moment, from the physical world by using the tools of the very same physical world, Interiors has followed all the rules of architecture to make a building that floats.

My Name Is My Name is as strong a “debut” full length as anyone could hope to produce, and reminds the world why it fell in love with this coke-rap wizard more than ten years ago.

What the band still manages to do so well is use aural snippets from a range of contrasting but conventional sources, weave them together and still sound like no one else out there.

While of Montreal aren’t exactly strutting 2007-style again, their tweaked, re-energized sound has them strutting nonetheless. And that’s what they do best.

Largely embarrassing, Bangerz is the most fun when it’s so ridiculous that criticism seems futile.

Psychic’s gloriously protracted exhales leave you no choice but to slow down and move at its pace.

More than ever, Willner’s own soul is put on display through his repurposing of sound, and what results is both synthetic and organic, both detailed and blurry, further cementing The Field’s reputation in the electronic ether.

It simultaneously respects and warps electronic machines, making for an ideal entry point into the disparate segments of digital life: the horrifying as well as the beautiful.

Grab a latte and strap on your headphones, lovebirds--it’s about to get soft rock up in here.

Not quite the panacea that will usher in world peace, Days Are Gone is still a remarkable effort.

While it’s no masterpiece, Pure Heroine is unique and engaging enough to keep the conversation going.

Sure, there may be a shorter classic buried somewhere within the project’s 145+ minutes. Alas, this mythical album merely exists in my mind. 2 of 2, however, comes tantalizingly close to that ideal on its own.

Punitive, scientifically exacting, and obstinately anti-melodic, Factory Floor is a bizarre, kinetic manifesto that rewards your attention while it screams at you to move your body.

This Is… Icona Pop is not revolutionary, original, or inventive.... What This Is… Icona Pop, and Icona Pop as an artistic duo, possess that few others can lay claim to, is a firm grasp on the musical zeitgeist.

Mechanical Bull is the sound of Kings of Leon de-fanged, de-crowned, and de-throned, further evidence of their inexorable slide towards artistic irrelevance.

CHVRCHES have constructed a debut record that will not lose its luster with each successive spin, and proven that they have the substance to remain aloft as their cosmic kin come crashing down to Earth.

Nothing Was the Same is filled with beats that are a joy to listen to and Drake often has worthwhile things to contribute. But, more and more, his confidence is getting the best of him.

As Speedy Ortiz prove here, sometimes it takes insightful, clever and slightly juvenile truths built upon a wall of screeching, occasionally discordant pop to have a good time.

The fuse has been lit. London is just a prologue, but it’s an exceedingly promising one.

An impenetrable, overwrought, hit-and-miss product marred by ego.

It’s rare that a record comes along that so boldly states its own greatness, and it’s rarer still that such an album actually lives up to that promise. Wise Up Ghost does.

Unfortunately, apart from the delicious pop dance tunes of “Spirit” and “Unhold,” Apar fails to make any real waves.

For the most part, Silver Gymnasium makes for an uplifting and triumphant listen, with a positive energy running through the music and the melodies.

Tales of You is all rather beautiful, but also rather quiet.

Although Beal has demystified his sound, the notion that Nobody Knows is more a passing sight than a rest stop is pretty unshakeable.

This is an enthralling, stunning, deeply emotive album that perfectly marries understated electronica to sublime vocals and melodies.

The Electric Lady is mostly a classic R&B and soul album, sprinkled with some torchy jazz and gospel, and a star-dusting of Ziggy-era Bowie.

They’ve evolved certain factors of their sound and ventured into new territory, but AM is not so much a change of direction as it is an affirmation of all the musical elements that made the band exhilarating to begin with--inspired lyrics, screeching riffs and great melodies.

Sonically, his oeuvre has bridged the divide between barren and lush. Lyrically, he has perfected the motif of narcotized horror.... This is the real deal.

Hesitation Marks proves greatness remains within Trent Reznor’s grasp.

Volcano Choir’s second album is filled with memorable hooks, hummable melodies and arena-worthy choruses.

While the subsequent inconsistency may hold The Worse Things Get back from greatness, it does make it honest, and when it comes to art I’ll take honesty over consistency any day.

Marshall’s lyrics are desolate and vehement, but McDonald does a solid job of ensuring that the instrumentation acts as a foil to the bleakness when necessary, providing a counter-redeeming edge to the desolation.

This is a staggering return to form for the Glaswegian quartet, the sound of Franz Ferdinand coming home after a four year long absence--with the right thoughts, the right words, and the right album.

No Age may not have delivered another knockout, but An Object compensates for its shortcomings by being a mature and often moving album, a first for the duo.

Neither engaging enough to be exhilarating, nor boisterous enough to be obnoxious, Perpetual Surrender simply gazes at its shoes without making much of an impression at all.

Doris displays some of those growing pains, but it also delivers a uniquely impressive collection of vicious beats and lyrics that make Magna Carta...Holy Grail sound like Marky Mark.

It’s characterised by the same confused nature that marred much of their last LP--hurtling from one style to the other but mostly falling short of what they’ve previously achieved.

It does not need your analysis. It only wants to be listened to in order to convince you, with its sweeping aural dreamscapes, that Postiljonen can hold their own among the heavyweights.

The songs are intricately built but they also feel distinctly impermanent; little snippets of soft static open and close a number of tracks, like the songs are coming in and out focus.

Although a little too short for the grand mood it builds for us, it’s a beautiful summation of what Moderat’s visions aim to create.

Though Body Music contains only one true misfire (the immediately forgettable “Kaleidoscope Love”), the album’s strongest tracks glow so bright that fine songs such as “Diver,” “Lost and Found” and “Bad Idea” can get lost in their shadow, at least on early listens.

It is by no means comfortable, but it results in an album that is experienced rather than simply listened to.

The freedom of expression and thematic irregularity that we hear while listening to Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros is a fabulous release from the traditionally despised contract that constrained Ebert’s first and former band, Ima Robot.

Beyond some excellent beats and a few flashes of lyrical prowess, Magna Carta... Holy Grail doesn’t invite the kind of intrigue that Jay-Z is capable of. He spends the whole album reminding us that he is the center of attention but by about halfway through most people will be doing something else.

Making music this fuzzy and wonderful is a notable feat. Making tunes that make you want to jump into a time-travelling DeLorean and materialise in yester-year, desperate to reenact the same wanton mistakes that you made the first time round? That’s a real achievement.

After Dark 2 is a confirmation of his prowess and vision. It is proof and testament that the reignited flame of Italo-disco can endure through the tempests of shifting tastes.

For Sigur Rós, Kveikur is their most gloves-off release to date and they land the punch.

Olympia inhabits a strange realm of saturnine electronica meant for cathartic swaying rather than choreographed movement.

Kanye West doesn’t give the listener a second to realize the album is more a masterly response to a masterpiece than a masterpiece itself. With one sweep of the hand, West brushes away expectations. And then he sticks you squarely across the face

It’s the duo’s most sinister and fascinating collection of songs, enrapturing the listener with dystopian soundscapes and frustrating arrangements.

Acid Rap is the summer action blockbuster of mixtapes, where the audience need not dig much deeper than the surface to enjoy the best of what the production has to offer.

Camera Obscura are old enough to know what they’re are capable of, and they do it passionately and with a practiced hand.