Still entrenched in disciplined modal drones and repetition, the group existing as a duo adds new color and dimension to its meditative sounds, giving the listener a sense of real mystery and excitement in what once felt simply obscured.

That Oblivion resembles a blockbuster soundtrack more than an M83 album may disappoint some of Gonzalez's fans, but it means that he and Trapanese succeeded in making the film's music what it needed to be.

Bye Bye 17 feels less gimmicky than a lot of his other work. For perhaps the first time, Tillmann is coming at the songs from an angle that doesn't depend on the cognitive dissonance created by his sexual boasts played against his Ron Jeremy-esque appearance.

This is a sweet-sounding album with subtle depths, not really bluegrass, but a precisely gentle folk album that grows more graceful and revealing with each listen.

If anything, it feels like alt-country's answer to stoner metal (and a decidedly healthier one at that), providing the listener with a soundtrack that's as tailor-made for hazy summer afternoons as it is for the inky black curtain of night.

With New History Warfare, Vol. 3, Stetson explores scorched landscapes and heavenly scenes alike with his stylized playing.

This is just one of those albums that works great either as a stoney throwback or a party-starter.

Dramatic and sweeping, the Las Vegas band works in the same vein as pop giants Coldplay, offering up track after track of hooky and emotional midtempo jams.

This focus on ambience really makes Sky Burial feel like it exists in a very specific, and very secluded, space, and while you probably wouldn't want to live there, it's amazing to visit.

Raw Solutions is a smooth and occasionally stirring continuation that switches tacks with such frequency that pigeon-hole evasion seems like a conscious goal.

It's classic pop music for people who have never bothered with classic pop, which is reason enough to check this out.

To Dust is body music for the spirit, a celebration of all that is human. It is the record that should finally put her over to a mass audience.

X'ed Out is more fleshed-out, listenable, and revelatory than one could ever expect.

Two of her first album's many attractive attributes were the subtle and surprising twists in song structure and seamless genre fusions. They're in steady supply her.

Bruni's songwriting is deceptive in its limpid simplicity, full of reverie, wit, and the directness of her breathy voice, which is well traveled but contains delight at its heart.

With one foot in the constantly building atmospherics and experimentation of groups like Explosions in the Sky and the other in the openhearted optimism of the emo scene that they grew out of, Appleseed Cast offer up some of their best work to date on Illumination Ritual.

OK, it may not be not that timeless, but it's still high quality work from a youngster who is off to a fine start in the indie rock game.

If the production had been a little more restrained and the band had written a few songs that didn't sound like they were meant to be played by U2 after a couple days spent listening to Top 40 radio, the album might not have been quite the heavy and ponderous thing it is.

These are languid, gorgeously crafted tracks that find the band delving even deeper than on Shapeshifting into an atmospheric, slow-burn aesthetic that holds up on repeated listens.

It's undeniable that the album takes his gift for channeling dread in subtler, more complex directions and deserves to be listened to under headphones in total darkness.

Reincarnated the album is all heart and heart-in-the-right-place, threatening to mash up the system without ever even harshing the mellow.

Bankrupt! isn't nearly as devoid of new ideas as its title suggests, but it doesn't feel like quite the leap forward Wolfgang was compared to what came before it. Not that it necessarily needs to be.

A fuller, more focused version of the sound they introduced on Fields, this set of songs is worthy of being Junip's namesake album.

Turner's big expressive voice and gift for everyman poetry loom large over the proceedings, but there's a newfound musical effusiveness at play here as well, due in part to some tastefully simple yet sharp production from Rich Costey.

Measured, melancholy, and mysterious, Jones' debut as a singer/songwriter is as subtle as it is striking, skillfully marrying the sedate melancholy of Elliott Smith with the sly, darkly comic lyricism of The National.

Lacking real excitement, verve, or even the stupid type of fun we're used to from him, will.i.am sounds remarkably like his heart isn't in it throughout the record, bored on the job even though it's his job to get the party started.

Spring and Fall is a record for heartaches and healing, another understated gem from a singer/songwriter whose catalog is littered with them.

In their best moments, No Joy not only expand on these ideas, but improve on them.

The results, though often feeling abrupt and sometimes overly academic, are mostly warm and curious, stretching out in eternal open-endedness that isn't really looking for answers or understandable conclusions.

It's an entertaining, vibrant, and artistically filling album, so consider it a "presents" effort and enjoy the show.

Resilience mostly lives up to the promise of its moniker, delivering another well-executed, purely fan-centric collection of testosterone-fueled, post-grunge/processed metal jams with a complete disregard for subtlety.

This grandiose set of songs cobbled together from decaying sound scraps has all the ominous mystery and majesty of a silent twilight, and all the implied struggle of the abandoned structures where and from which it was created.

Whatever Ghost's intentions, they've definitely managed to carve out a niche within the increasingly fragmented world of heavy metal, and while purists may revile them for their insolence, it's their insubordination that ultimately earns them a place in the genre.

The style of music ranges from heady precision punk to rustic acoustic folk, but because the artists on board share in the same optimistic indie spirit, the compilation plays cohesively from start to finish.

Top of the Pops is a thorough and lovingly compiled set, and it's only fitting that a band as incredibly geeky about music and pop culture as Art Brut is should get the deluxe treatment.

In the end, it's still just a live album, but this sideline release is a must for fans, recommended for the casual techno head, and worth checking if a pumping, hypnotic, and otherworldly journey sounds attractive.

It is yet another in a string of excellent releases by her, but it's also something more. It integrates everywhere Richey's been yet inhabits a terrain completely of her own design.

That quarter-century span should be a tip-off that this is not a lean, coherent, purposeful album, but rather a collection of every listenable thing Otis completed over the course of 25 years, and in that sense, it's pretty good.

It might not be as cohesive as their best albums, but the standout songs rival their finest moments.

It's short and limited, but it's well crafted and strong, and a worthy alternative to RZA's Man with the Iron Fists soundtrack done with some wild, Wallabee Kingpin spin.

At times, Letherette gives the impression of being on the fringes of a big party, moving in and out of the action as the mood strikes--and it's this mood, sophisticated but not overly mannered, that makes the album so listenable.

Floating Coffin will stand as a successful foray into the world of straight-ahead, heavy-rocking, non-weird alternative indie rock.

Ultimately on Birthmarks, Born Ruffians let go of some of their punk rock ramble and hit the pop song sweet spot.

Though trimmed down from more than a half-hour of unedited movements, the lengthy piece begins to drag almost immediately, and its droning, slow transitions are the only weak spots on an otherwise captivating and sonically rich collection.

Hard to stack up to the wonder years this far into their career, but Rat Farm comes darn close, and the tracks on their 14th outing are the closest they've come in a long time to the colorful, no-frills brand of twangy alt-rock and informal punk (with hints of Americana, country, folk, and prog) that they instilled on their SST records.

Since quite a few of these songs were already road-tested, it's not surprising that this is a strong debut, but just how consistently catchy and personal True Romance is might raise a few eyebrows.

This may be his most consistent offering since El Corazón.

Those who blew their minds and/or speakers pumping the project's 2009 debut will find it familiar ground, but how Free the Universe arguably tops Guns Don't Kill People... Lazers Do is with the meatier, more subdued cuts.

They're ambitious, admirable, and sometimes thrilling, particularly because the group never fears to tread into treacherous waters, happy to blur the distinctions between pop and rock, mainstream and underground.

It's not easy to face up to and present the worst parts of being alive, much less in a way that's artistically pleasing or relevant. The Lips don't make it sound easy, which is why The Terror is so powerful.

Bringing the scale back down to something human while injecting some jazz and sunshine into the I&W sound proves to be a very good strategy for Beam, and it makes Ghost on Ghost one of the most satisfying albums the group has done to date.

Edited down from performances in London, Melbourne, and New York City, the 15 tracks that populate the lovely and inspiring Way To Blue: The Songs of Nick Drake feel far more intimate than the live tag would suggest.

While the ominous vibe is spot-on, the overall lack of hooks and power makes the record feel more affected than connective.

The huge accomplishment of Desperate Ground is this ability to grow up some without slowing down; but quite the opposite, the Thermals return to form with this scrappy collection, blazing through serious topics but never dropping the tempo long enough to get overwrought or self-indulgent.

The album sounds as if it were cut in the living room late one night, the bandmembers easing into songs they've always loved but never played.

This set finds various alternative rock artists paying tribute to Hardin's muse by covering his best-known compositions.

The album is more daring and creative than Kosi Comes Around, a straightforward offering in a comparative sense.

Rundgren is pushing the edges of his comfort zone just enough to keep himself stimulated while offering enough melody to satisfy those fans whose concentration usually drifts whenever he wanders, and the result is an imperfect but satisfying art-pop album.

Like its namesake phenomenon, Recurring Dream's songs are a fascinating mix of elusiveness and inevitability that only grows richer with repeated listening.

Hotel California refuses to sort his over-the-top bangers into anything sensible, and without a "Rack City" to make it crossover worthy, this is a full-length to leave for the fans.

What makes Migrant interesting is that it's finally giving him the opportunity to simply cut loose and write whatever songs come to mind, and though fans might miss the conceptual hooks of his past work, the album is solid enough to stand all on its own.

Stories Don't End barely registers upon the first spin (it's easy pop for the millennial generation), but if given the time to percolate, it produces a damn fine cup of coffee.

There are times on Wheelhouse where Paisley simply has too many balls in the air and they're destined to fall.

While it might take listeners a few spins to find the right head space for the album, once they get there, it's an easy place to get lost in.

House of Love are comfortable in their skin without being complacent, sounding happy, even grateful, to be writing and playing again, winding up with a record that stands alongside their '80s and '90s work quite nicely.

["Skillzone" is] one the few times the album offers a "punch in the gut." Everything else is more "hands in the air" and from every radio-friendly strain of wonky pop, giving the impression that The Ascent is a mixtape of Wiley features and not a proper album.

Throughout Ministry of Love, Gika and Leopold Ross try on lots of sounds and moods for size; not all of them fit, but enough do to make this a promising debut--and to suggest that they don't need to rely on gimmicks.

Cyclops Reap may be the best place for newcomers to start, but anyone who's been along for the ride since the beginning will be thrilled to hear Presley's (slight) progression.

OMD's Kraftwerk fixation at this late date is a retro-within-retro move that puzzles, so prepare to be jarred a bit before declaring this a welcome addition to the catalog.

The creative progression O'Brien exhibits here leaves no lingering questions of doubt whether he would succumb to the dreaded second album syndrome, and regardless of awards, wayland sees the Irishman at his best, both musically and lyrically.

It feels like a natural step, consequently expanding the margins of Malian roots music and rock and pop simultaneously.

Paramore is a veritable pop opera about a band reborn, phoenix-like from the ashes of a broken lineup, better and stronger than any previous incarnation.

Shaking the Habitual isn't as cohesive or accessible as Silent Shout, and after experiencing the whole thing, fans may not return to it often, but it's hard to deny that it's an often stunning work of art.

Time is a promising debut from a guy who understands that pop is sometimes better when it gets a little weird.

Rkives rounds up existing rarities--several B-sides and demos--and six unheard songs, plus a remix featuring Too $hort. That is the most radical shift in sound on Rkives but there are hints of the glitzy bombast of Blacklight scattered throughout the collection.

This is a solid debut, made by a band that arrives fully formed and has a great future.

Kinski still sound best when they're stretching out into longer, moodier pieces of cloudy rock. There are enough strong sections like that to keep Cosy Moments afloat, but fans might be turned off by the attempts at pop that don't quite hit the mark.

Easily his most focused and accessible work, Pretty Daze is the strongest so far in a chain of releases that seem to suggest there are even greater heights to be reached.

Daft Punk are such stellar, meticulous producers that they make any sound work, even superficially dated ones like spastic early-'80s electro/R&B ("Short Circuit") or faux-orchestral synthesizer baroque ("Veridis Quo").

The songs don't stand out as much themselves as they do blur into a wintery whole, creating an environment of subtle experimentation and daydream-like dynamics.

Throughout the album, whether he's coming off like a rootsy road dog or a post-Tin Pan Alley piano balladeer, Fullbright consistently displays a level of lyrical finesse that would be impressive in an artist with twice as many years behind him, which only bodes well for his future work.

Live at the Gluepot is a crucially important document for fans of New Zealand's fabled indie pop heyday, but anyone who likes good, heavily snarky rock & roll will appreciate this recording of Toy Love going out in a blaze of glory.

Ultimately, Heza is a nuanced work that flirts with the experimental, but always remains intimate, atmospheric, and endlessly listenable.

Cruise Your Illusion holds enough of the band's personality to keep them from being a '90s cover band, but at times, the weight of their ragged influences sits heavy enough on the songs to obscure their most original aspects.

While the band might be adjusting after a shake-up like losing a singer, they've still managed to create another riff-fest that, while not a throwback to their older sound, has them continuing down their current path without much trouble.

This is merely designed to please the diehards... if anybody else happens to like it or if it stumbles into a hit, that's merely a bonus.

As good as the by-the-books ballads and rocking country are, the moments when the façade slips a bit make this worth hearing as an album and not a collection of singles.

They simply deliver track after track of airtight, wide-eyed rock that digs its fingers into your soul for 40 minutes and does...not...let...go.

Throughout these songs, Taylor's lyrics and the grain in his voice reveal that, whatever truths there are in these songs, they come from antiquity, and the land itself, which is an extension of the divine.

The Angels are masters at sounding simultaneously cool as a block of ice and hot as hellfire, but the cunning pop melodies are the real key to this album's success.

The duo [are] at the top their game, effortlessly weaving the past into the future (and vice-versa) with undeniable skill and refreshing amounts of empathy.

The album is unique in that it gives a very personal look into an individual's experience with catharsis, and it's one more of murmurs and heavy sighs than screaming matches and broken dishes.

Bring Me the Horizon have been working slowly but surely to refine their sound for years now, and with Sempiternal, it feels like their patience and hard work are finally beginning to pay dividends.

For Now I Am Winter, effortlessly incorporates elements of pop into the budding singer/songwriter's already evocative blend of wistful neo-classicism and icy electronica.

It's an environment that rewards more often than it disappoints.

Nevertheless, even if Out of Touch, in the Wild is missing some of the bite of Dutch Uncles' earlier music, its brainy pop is always intriguing.

While the resulting record may not have the power to transcend time and space, it's got loads of charm and a captain who knows how to chart a streamlined course.

Fine song structure and an overall album flow that's nearly perfect are things Bonobo regulars might expect at this point, but his discography hasn’t offered up a rainy day soundtrack so fitting until this one, so hope the weatherman has bad news and plan on staying in.