It's a fun album for fanatics, but the willingness to shock feels too comfortable at this point, so those who found it tiresome before will likely find it devastating here.

Filled end to end with grindcore insanity and covered in a sheen of sonic grime (thanks to Converge guitarist and engineer extraordinaire Kurt Ballou), the album is an exercise in relentlessness, offering no quarter and asking for none in return as it stampedes from track to track on a merciless metal rampage.

Everything here certainly belongs and contributes to the rich, gritty, and ultimately joyous tone of this wonderful album.

Victim of Love showcases growth--and a sound not heard before on Daptone--while not straying from the gritty soul that established the singer; it is every bit as strong as its predecessor and more diverse.

All in all, UFO is another valuable addition to their canon, completed with skill and affection in equal measure.

A Mudhoney album through and through: no outright surprises sonically, but beneath the roar it's hard not to admire how their perennial piss-takes are subtly deepening and how their saturated superfuzz always sounds so good.

The album succeeds more often than it flounders, and even then, the singin' and pickin' is so good that it's hard not to submit, but one wishes that the pair had decided to infuse the collection with a bit more of their signature wit, as much of The Ash & Clay feels a bit like a serious Flight of the Conchords.

An A.merican D.ream comes off like an updated version of the walking blues: heavy looks at heavy times, made all the heavier when the narrator is positioned somewhere between genius and mental breakdown.

Everything on these two discs fits into the theme and flow.

As much as Mogwai are known for defining post-rock's sound, they're just as good at defying expectations, which Les Revenants does with an intimate, low-key brilliance.

A beautiful, if at times exhausting album, The Golden Age shows Lemoine is skilled at making music as well as music videos.

The Impossible Truth is more accessible than Behold the Spirit, but it is easily as adventurous, taking hold of places, spaces, and sounds, reimagining them and altering them just enough to make the entire recording sound at once immediately familiar and somehow wholly other.

Everything comes together perfectly on Lady, from beginning to end it's a dream come true for lovers of classic soul; if it had been released in 1970, it would considered a timeless classic, talked about in the kind of reverent tones reserved for Lady Soul or What's Going On.

Produced by James Dring (Gorillaz) and Youth (the Verve), its ten tracks prove McClure's way with words is far less clunky when focusing on satirical tales of everyday life than trying to put the world to rights.

A confident, delightfully quirky, and endlessly inventive band having fun and delivering a kind of lightly experimental sunshine pop for the 21st century, complete with huge choruses, xylophones and trinkets, maverick rhythms, and a charming, fun spirit of adventure.

The concept of fusing together live analog instrumentation like electric guitar and bass with electronic drums and vintage synthesizer arpeggios keeps the music of Mwahaha enthralling, despite the lack of traditional, tuneful structure.

Listeners willing to pull out a shovel and dig through the layers are bound to find something new each time they listen, but for most newbies, a simpler album would be a better starting point.

Green may not be a sonic wizard, and her songs may cover familiar topics in a familiar way, but she fills the album with songs you'll be humming to yourself all day long, adding to mixes, and sharing with friends who are into weird pop-punk, and that's what's most important in the end.

That Shelton can pull off this big, swinging bravado isn't much of a surprise--when his voice trills electronically on "Small Town Big Time" he makes it sound like a joke--but there's just a little bit too much of the schtick; individually the cuts work fine but they overwhelm not only the gentler moments ("Sure Be Cool If You Did," "Do You Remember") but cancel each other out over the long run.

American Twilight is more than just a triumphant comeback by C&CS--who were not fully appreciated for their uniqueness the first time around--it is a literate, sprawling, bruising rock & roll record that convincingly addresses the crises we face--cultural, spiritual, integral--and the choices we make.

Tedder reveals a broad palette of stylistic inspiration.

It's a rare occurrence to have something so academic and clearly considered come off as playful and laid-back as these songs do, but the layers of instruments never outshine the glowing optimism and simple joy of Lynch's songwriting.

An exciting debut, Sleeper is a rawer, deeper album than might have been expected, full of music that's more daring and more rewarding than the work of many artists without the baggage attached to Villain's background.

A skillful balance of harshness and beauty, Discipline + Desire is a welcome reintroduction to a band that is among the best at keeping this sound not just alive, but vital.

This is an indulgent jumble of a sideline release, but that doesn't mean Wayne isn't in fine form.

Some moments it's hard to ignore how much he sounds like his father, and at times, the genuflection at the altar of Elliott Smith gets a little too doe-eyed and derivative, but the strengths of Simon's songwriting and the atmospheric production keep these concerns in the background of a colorful and evocative bigger picture.

[The cover of Rod McKuen's "Love's Been Good to Me" is] a weak ending to an otherwise wonderful album that shows that Collins is truly back in command of his art.

Maybe lovers of '90s revival bands will find something to like here, but anyone who was into the records Wavves made before is out of luck.

Halfway through, Girl Who Got Away sucks you into its sway, its comforts as alluring as they are elusive.

Change Becomes Us is more than just a rehash or compare-and-contrast exercise; these songs sound great in their own right.

Delta Machine, the band's 13th album, feeds off this negative energy and winds like a snake the whole time, slithering through a well-written (ten songs from Martin Gore with three coming from Gahan) and lusciously recorded set of serpentine siren songs.

The Strokes' most mature music yet, Comedown Machine is a solidly enjoyable album, even if it lacks some of the band's previous spark.

Throughout the album's nine songs, there's a nebulous sense of despair, but it's less an anguished confusion and more of the melancholy of acceptance that comes with a life full of heavy changes.

Their clichéd soundbites aside, there's much to enjoy on this typically ballsy and no-nonsense follow-up to 2011 breakthrough Pressure & Time.

While the mix is strong throughout, its beginning and end are particularly captivating.

KEN mode have arrived to put on a clinic in muscular, unfiltered anger with their fifth album, Entrench.

Add it all up and it's a weird and wonderful set, as hyped-up, hallucinatory, and hot as the film that either oozed or sweated it out.

The record may be a little short on variety, but it is long on mid-fi energy, and will give fans of the kind of stripped-down and live-sounding rock Dead Moon and the Wipers cranked out plenty of warm and nostalgic feelings.

Fol Chen could probably stand to become even more accessible on their next album, but on The False Alarms, they still make listeners lean in close to hear exactly what's going on, and still leave them wanting more.

Steve Mason is realizing his musical vision confidently, typified by the jump between the rather moving sampling of Brazilian commentary from a glorious Ayrton Senna lap, complete with soaring engines ("The Last of the Heroes"), to the pained yet undoubtedly uplifting, piano-led gospel of "Lonely."

Water on Mars is unexpectedly hooky, taking just enough from the catchy '90s alterna-pop it borrows from to root the songs in the listener's mind, but offering enough of Polizze's own voice to keep it from being a mere throwback.

While more accessible than most of his previous work, the three pieces here are just as tormented, in particular the septic relentlessness of the 18-minute title track.

The eight tracks here are more high definition than most of what he's done in his career, with all the various noisy elements easily distinguishable and with more depth than usual.

While operating inside their own little corner of the musical world, Clutch made a reputation for themselves based on solid songwriting, lyrical weirdness, and quality--all of which are present on Earth Rocker, which is still unmistakably a Clutch album.

As the Soft Hills continue to hone their sound, the moments of spaced-out production meeting tender harmony make more sense, as do the blasts of fuzz and tension.

What's clear about Hurts on Exile is how skilled Hutchcraft and Anderson are at seamlessly incorporating their influences, so you can hear the bands' inspirations in every line even as you marvel that this album is like nothing you've heard before.

A collection of songs that are both ardent and humble.

Musgraves has a sense of humor, too, and all of these traits add up to make Same Trailer Different Park more than a collection of songs just aiming for the country charts.

Given its length and glacial pacing, Ensemble Pearl may not resonate for all fans of O'Malley's--or his collaborators--other projects, but it is a singular work that offers considerable rewards for those who will engage with it on its own terms.

Fanatics seeking that Ralf and Florian style of restraint will certainly be thrown. Others will find their respect for Bartos has grown after a listen, and once the revelations settle, Off the Record feels like an enjoyable journey back to "Ohm Sweet Ohm."

The album closes as strongly as it begins with "Miami Titles," a thrilling orchestra-hall-meets-club synthesis from a trio that draws from Mahler, Reich, Mills, and Hood as if they're all part of the same lineage.

Bragg and producer Joe Henry, owner of the aforementioned basement where Tooth & Nail was recorded, make for a solid team, allowing their shared love of rural Americana to run wild and each song enough elbow room to get comfy by sticking to a pantry of few seasonings.

A little more passion in the vocals and songs that are actually about something would have made The Happiness Waltz a triumphant return, instead it feels like backtracking.

Berlinette fans may not find a lot to grab onto here, but the graceful way she explores different directions on LISm will impress fans of her more abstract side.

Sometimes the looseness that makes 180 so charming borders on unfocused rambling, but for the most part, the Palma Violets keep it in check on this entertaining, promising debut.

Poignant yet triumphant and joyful in tone, the cover [Call's "Let the Day Begin"], as with all of Specter at the Feast, stands as both a heartfelt tribute to their bandmate and a rallying cry for moving forward.

Never once do they sound desperate on Bloodsports; they sound confident, and comfortable in the knowledge that this is where they all should be.

The Chronicles of Marnia is an album that demands multiple journeys through the wardrobe, only this time it's to fully take in the album's melodic depths rather than to make sense of its technical achievements.

A pleasant and grown but tedious release from a charismatic entertainer and exceptional vocal arranger who is not a great recording artist.

The stories of grim wedding scenes, hospital visits, and the various disappointments of daily life are all harrowing and intense, but Crutchfield's deft arrangement of lyrical details and their slow-release impact keeps the darkness from ever coming off as self-indulgent.

Like some of his peers, Woolhouse can be a little too subtle for his own good, but on Life After Defo, he's crafted a promising debut with a distinctively cozy take on life's bittersweet moments.

What is clear, even through the sometimes heavier-than-necessary arrangements, is that Muchacho has some of Houck's best songwriting since his early days, seemingly tapped into the grainy pain, hard-living tendencies, and wandering muse of his subconscious with the most listenable results Phosphorescent has produced in years.

Low give us a definitive chapter for where they are presently, and present it with more clarity and joy than we've heard from them in some time.

Invisible Life reaffirms that Lange can keep that quality, regardless of which direction he takes Helado Negro in next.

Hagar's Song finds Lloyd and Moran at their most naturally curious and deeply attentive best, offering a conversation so intimate the listener may occasionally feel she is eavesdropping.

The best Delfonics album since 1970.

Wyoming is a bright and promising collection of secretly wrecked songs, and leaves us curious to see how Water Liars will continue to grow as they walk their thorny path.

Even though the music apparently went through a significant studio process, it's difficult to shake the feeling that it would be preferable to hear the original compositions while witnessing the production.

Birthdays is so fragile and broken that listening to it without signing some kind of non-disclosure agreement feels borderline voyeuristic.

It does indeed have light shade and a nice melodic bent that counters the slightly desperate rock & roll found elsewhere on the album.

Burdon pours everything into this album, as if he realizes this is his last best shot to get the credit he's due. And, against all odds, he succeeds with this tough, flinty, proudly old-fashioned rock & roll album.

The Blue Room is a brave experiment, but one that pays off handsomely.

His intelligent lyrics and melodies inside the arrangements of these beautifully crafted songs underscore the integrity and passion in his trademark voice. This is inarguably his finest album.

The lyrics to the more energetic tracks are no less dire, but as the album speeds by at just over half an hour, the impressions made by the slowest songs become the strongest, without melodic hooks or youthful release to hide their hopeless sentiments behind.

Even if not everything on Velvet Changes works, it shows that Jones can do pure pop as well as experiments--or a mix of both, as on "Holiday Man"--and the album ends up being more promising than uneven.

The four-song EP Punk Authority, Swanson's third release in the technoise vein, is some of his most punishing and relentless material to date.

He leaves all those classy trappings behind, picks up his guitar and plays a bunch of songs he likes, maybe even loves. It's not an especially compelling reason to make an album but it's not a bad one, either, and the same can be said about the experience of listening to Old Sock: it's a pleasurable way to while away the time.

Sound City: Real to Reel sounds exactly like what it is: a bunch of old rockers jamming in a studio. Often, this is quite enjoyable, as they're all excellent musicians playing through a top-notch board, but the songs do have a tendency to drift away from the point, sounding like exceedingly well-executed first drafts.

Like good goth, this is painful and exclusive, full of moody anthems and baritone melodies that won't cut through the static until the fifth listen or so.

Stereophonics seem loath to leave all that they know behind, so Graffiti on the Train remains distinctly earthbound for all its big aspirations.

The combination of strong songs, Lissvik's inspired production, and the chances they take (and nail every time) make this the best Mary Onettes record yet, and the first to sound like they have their own voice.

The Next Day neither enhances nor diminishes anything that came before, it's merely a sweet coda to a towering career.

These songs, and the album as a darkly moody whole, show the band to be growing into masters of crafting modern psychedelia with dark swirls instead of day-glo, and bad trips instead of sunshine days.

Golden Grrrls (despite actually having a bad name) made an album that embodies the best things about C-86-derived indie pop (warmth, innocence, honesty, community) and doesn't skimp on songs that make you want to get up and jump around the room with a big silly grin on your face.

Apart from the increased cohesion, the quality of the songwriting is far higher, reminding us of the astonishing promise and tossed-off ease of Banhart's early material, and suggesting that his detours into less exciting sounds were just part of a journey that might be much longer and more rewarding than expected.

With songs largely based around Natalie's love of soul and melodic '60s pop, Wild Belle have a less frenetic, if still hypnotically languid take on NOMO's world fusion sound.

On the proper What About Now, the group is striving to sound big and important yet winds up sounding small.

No other artist combined such strong streetwise attitude with disarming warmth. She did it from start to finish.

Eternity of Dimming is a beautiful, nostalgic (in the best meaning of the word) hymn to time and place, a long suite of songs that falls together like a wonderful quilt of memories.

This set is a stunner. Scaggs is in full possession of that iconic voice; he delivers songs with an endemic empathy and intimacy that make them sound like living, breathing stories.

Produced by Spoon's Jim Eno and featuring ex-Black Joe Lewis guitarist Zach Ernst, The Electric Word is remarkably similar to the group's earlier recordings. The lone difference is the superior recording quality.

As it stands, the album lives up to its name, offering a low-key but promising introduction to the duo's music.

It's organic, relaxed, unforced approach is deceptively high in performance skill, yet resonates with an emotional depth that rings true throughout.

For those unfamiliar with Parenthetical Girls, it could be the perfect introduction to their fascinating music.

The main reasons to drop a quarter into this video game on wax (or digital download) are the sexy robot song "Nightcall" (which was featured prominently in the film Drive), the dubsteppy victory theme "Protovision," and the assurance that no matter what cool bits of the present are employed, the fetishizing of that 16-bit swagger will remain solid and inspired.

This is the final group of recordings Smith plans to release from the 100 Records project, and it's just as strong as any of the others.

Sometimes, as is the case on the lovely yet slight "Bright and Still," the simplistic lyrics transcend naiveté and venture dangerously close to obtuse, but for the most part, Arnalds shows a pretty decent command of the language.

Chain Letters is an evolutionary step. Idiosyncratic, revelatory, raucous, it's a nasty, beautiful rock & roll baptism in pleasure, both carnal and spiritual.