Fading Parade might be subtle, but it's obviously another step forward for Quever and company.

Or Give Me Death is fun yet serious, cheerful yet depressing, simple yet intricate.

The entire album is exhilarating from top to bottom, and is easily the most exciting Squarepusher-related release in at least a decade.

This loose, adventurous collection of songs is more vital than many of the other overcooked projects that Rocket Juice's main players have been involved in during the 2000s and 2010s.

This EP marks a vital point in POBPAH's artistic development, a chance to see that they aren't willing to just sit back and repeat themselves. It's a pretty good listen, too.

Even if Paper Dolls isn’t as ambitious or immediately satisfying as Structure and Cosmetics, it offers plenty of small pleasures for Brunettes fans, who still walk the line between cheery and melancholy in their own unique way.

The Final Frontier still brings Iron Maiden closer to their aesthetic legacy and triumphant year 2000 rebirth than its two predecessors.

All of this is enjoyable but it's rarely compelling, as very few songs play with the original arrangement in any serious fashion.

As this excellent introductory comp proves, no matter which sonic path he chooses here, or will choose in the future, Furlow's songcraft and skill at coming up with hummable, strummable songs will serve him well and make fans of pop music with a little grit and gunk quite happy.

We Are Catchers lets you choose your level of engagement: listen to the pretty tunes or dig in and feel something. Either way, listening to the album is a treat and those who like their pop soft as clouds should find plenty to love.

As always, In Glendale is a lot of fun, especially for fans who are prepared to smile in recognition at these songs rather than laugh at them.

It certainly slots in a level below their more considered releases, but if one is fully onboard with the King Gizzard experience, Laminated Denim is certainly worth adding to an ever expanding collection of works.

The Foos can sometimes feel like a bit of a chore if they lean too heavily in one direction--as they do here, where despite the conscious blend of acoustic and electric tunes, the rockers weigh down Echoes more than they should, enough to make this seem like just another Foo Fighters album instead of the consolidation of strengths that it was intended to be.

Mirror Mirror isn't the kind of record that will bowl you over right away, but as you listen, the barely contained drama and violence of the performances, the bloody hooks each song contains, and the inspired craft of the arrangements will draw you in and knock you out.

Mostly, though, the album is burst after burst of cheerful, weird pop songs that will have you in a state of nostalgic happiness.

Of Copeland's experiments with more traditional beat-making, it's easily the best, most accessible work and still manages to be more stunningly weird than the majority of everything else out there.

The release is certainly pleasant, but it often seems too laid-back and sluggish to really get excited about.

It's a solid debut, both in terms of its songwriting and textures, with no "for an actress" qualifier warranted.

It all adds up to an album that cleverly feels stylish and fashionable without abandoning the emotional gravity P!nk has accumulated over the years.

The scope of Mr. Love & Justice is often modest, but it speaks with grace, wisdom, and heart, and finds Billy Bragg a bit older, a bit wiser, and still committed to fighting the good fight; it's a return to form, a step forward, and a potent reminder of why Bragg's music still matters.

On first blush, the album's lack of anything with the prancing grace and energy of "No Clear Reason" is a minor disappointment. After a couple spins, however, that notion is replaced with anticipation for Ozanne's next move.

Butler's production makes her solid voice and intriguing songwriting into an excellent album; although he stays in the background, the occasional guitar flourishes or sweetened strings make Rockferry a better debut than Joss Stone's or Amy Winehouse's.

Even if Precious Memories winds up as something slightly underwhelming, there's no denying that this is precisely the album Jackson wanted to make, one that's consistent in tone and exact in its vision.

Ultimately, Young Ejecta play with intimacy and distance, loss and rebirth in such compelling ways on The Planet that it feels more like an introduction than a continuation.

Heartbreak can tear a songwriter to shreds, but it serves the opposite purpose here, lending a sense of vulnerability to Fink's baritone and adding some much-needed drama to the band's music, which previously concerned itself with twee-styled progressions and summery melodies.

Heritage, for its many excesses--and stellar conception and execution--is a brave album. It opens the door for Opeth to pursue many new directions and reinvent themselves as a band.

This is a dark, sparse, elegantly--and enjoyably--somewhat mopey, paradoxical album. It’s emotionally raw, but devoid of self-pity. It's charming in its sense of irony and self-awareness.

There are quite a few moments where they come close to a meaningful hybrid of their past and present, some that are truly wonderful. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of these, and it's just as easy to remember Girl's misfires, questionable choices and half-baked lyrics as its successes.

This is a wonderfully entertaining collection of pop songs that just happen to be well-versed in history and political and economic theories.

The riffs are huge, the rhythms are sneaky and brutal, and the "guitarmonies" are effortless, due with little doubt to the band's epic touring schedule. In fact, everything's been turned up, except the vocals.

Clearlake got it right this time out. They have has never sounded as triumphant as they do on Amber.

It's pleasant, even comforting, which makes Forth as pure a sequel as possible: it's an album that offers more of the same many years too late, which will be enough for the legions of faithful who have waited to hear all the old characters back together again, yet seems a little pointless for those who no longer remain quite so invested in the band.

The Pretenders' eighth studio album, Loose Screw, is their first on an independent label after 20 years with Warner, but the switch hasn't made any difference in the group's style.

Laika's typically airy atmosphere sounds more sterilized this time around.

Little Heart's Ease does deliver more of the dark but oddly jaunty songwriting that made Royal City's previous album noteworthy.

For those who have been waiting for Gomez to come up with something that truly rivals their amazing debut Bring It On, wait no longer. This one is great.

Its quietness and moodiness make Summer Make Good Múm's most demanding album, but also, fortunately, a rewarding one too.

Though Uh-Oh! wisely avoids overtly contemporary electronic styles in favor of exotica, lounge, bossa nova, soft rock, and analog synth tomfoolery, its 18 tracks are strangely amorphous, the aural equivalent of a lava lamp — equally kitschy and hypnotic.

It never feels as urgent as his prime work, but it's at once his most accomplished and visceral record as a veteran rocker.

Moorer, besides being good at penning lyrics, is smart enough to write catchy hooks.

Cuomo still doesn't allow himself the freedom to venture in these directions on Weezer's albums, and that's what makes both volumes of Alone quite valuable: they're as eccentric as they are accessible, portraits of a pop hermit letting his mind wander wherever it may take him.

Communion is easily the most consistent yet visionary and expansive recording Soundtrack have released yet, and proves beyond the shadow of a doubt, they are, even without mass acceptance, an impressively grand rock band.

It's fairly inoffensive rock, but the music and melodies are remarkably accomplished, especially for an early outing.

Alt-J's wave is far more awesome when it's at its most schizophrenic.

A surprisingly compact album, Tracer covers a lot of musical ground in under 40 minutes, and on the whole it feels like a love letter to electronica's formative days (or like an album they might have sampled from in the past).

Unlike White Trash with Money, there is no unifying sound or theme here: it's just a satisfying set of strong songs.

Mild High Club doesn't try too hard and avoids indulging in cloying weirdness, resulting in an enjoyable, naturally flowing album.

The music represents a brave move forward. The lyrics, however, are not so innovative.

There aren't many post-punk influenced bands around that sound as original and as removed from their influences as Pretty Girls Make Graves. There also aren't many that could write an album jammed with so many memorable songs.

Even with a few stumbles, Raise the Dead is among Phantom Planet's most enjoyable albums.

What is plainer throughout is that someone has finally delivered a follow-up to the Beach Boys' "Friends" album, dwelling on moments and sensibilities that slip past most of us in the normal course of a day.

I Predict a Graceful Expulsion feels like a late round in a long fight, and while it may not deliver a knockout punch, it most certainly deserves the win.

Franz Ferdinand feel more engaged than they have in some time on The Human Fear. It's some of their most self-assured sounding music, but thanks to its naked emotions and eclectic choices, it's also some of their most human-sounding music. All told, it's a respectable -- but not too respectable -- addition to their body of work.

There's a pronounced chamber music feel to much of the instrumentation, particularly with the liberal use of cello and violin drones, as well as harp accents. Often it's darker and tougher, however, than some other artists who follow similar lines.

The Bird & the Bee manage to make these very familiar hits sound fresh without radically reinventing them. That in itself is a much trickier move than turning these all into slow acoustic dirges, but it's better still because these arrangements are true to both Hall & Oates and George & Kurstin.

John Doe simply doesn't make bad records, but not all of them are as heartfelt and comfortable as Keeper, and the title is apt--this captures a great singer and songwriter on a hot streak, and you'd have to go back to his 1990 solo debut to hear a John Doe album that's as eclectic, accomplished, and satisfying as this.

If the Banditos' first album was promising, Visionland proves they have the talent and strength to do this more than once, and there's as much sheer talent on display here as in any band in the roots rock underground today.

Sometimes, Luke LaLonde's yawp pierces through this stylish murk, as if he's impatient with these mannered arrangements, but this tension also provides a perhaps necessary counterpoint to Born Ruffians' newfound earnestness; it adds color and dimension, keeping the songs from seeming po-faced and giving Uncle, Duke & the Chief just enough jolt to be unpredictable.

It's a fair guess that he has a workshop full of chorus, flange, and delay pedals from that era at his disposal, considering that every instrument and vocal line is run through one effect or another, making most of the album unintelligible or indecipherable, but it's just that limitless, everything-including-the-kitchen-sink way of working that makes Blank Dogs so special and interesting.

While The Feeling's playfulness is missed, on Television Man Naomi Punk are a more singular, more insular act, and their cerebral approach to visceral sounds is still fascinating, if perhaps a shade less novel than before.

They're a good match. Jones' suppleness sands down Armstrong's ragged voice, he gives her grit while she lends him grace and these qualities are evident throughout this lovely little gem of an album.

While this LP is yet another release that is not Maxinquaye, compared to the average Tricky album, it's accessible, mostly focused, and offers a handful of moments that remind listeners of his early promise and hold attention until his next effort.

Keeping a good thing going, Uncle Charlie follows the formula of the former Gap Band vocalist's previous release, "Charlie, Last Name Wilson," which climbed to number ten on Billboard's album chart.

On this return to simpler times and the childish wide-eyed beauty of youth, Marsalis has struck a chord with those awkward, precious times in a way that adults can appreciate.

It says quite a bit about Nelly Furtado's ambitions and skill when her Spanish detour winds up being arguably her strongest album yet.

But while it's sometimes a little too understated for its own good, 100 Acres of Sycamore is a never less than a charming and emotive U-turn suggesting that Regan now realizes where his talents lie.

No one doubts the power in Nettles' throaty contralto, but some of these songs feel too calculated or require more subtlety to completely pull off. That said, these simple shortcomings won't--nor should they--deter her fans.

While there isn't much separating Rented World from the Menzingers' sophomore effort musically, there's a contemplative aura surrounding the songs that shows all of the hallmarks of a band growing into more nuanced and capable songwriters.

Electric Youth's debut is a well-constructed, carefully thought-out debut that belies its long gestation process and will make people who fell in love with them thanks to the Drive soundtrack very happy in a melancholy kind of way.

This LP will no doubt please listeners with an ear for more astringent experimentations, but for the most part, it seems like Rats on Rafts have drifted a bit too far into their own ambitions at the expense of their songs.

With three albums under his belt, Vance has settled into a nice groove, and on The Wild Swan, he's pulled off a neat trick. He dons some familiar hats, but never loses himself beneath the brim.

Despite all of its sonic busyness, the vast majority of which falls in the category of charming rather than challenging, the album ultimately comes off as a little goofy, fun, and full of promise.

At times, the band's obvious affection for moody, Joy Division-esque post-punk feels a little too heavy-handed, but amid their ongoing sonic evolution there's some solid songwriting.

It has a few worthy cuts and in its ungainly construction, it holds true to the weirdness of most of Russell's discography.

Romantic, sophisticated, and rich with vocal prowess, Nat "King" Cole & Me lives up to both Cole and Porter's own immense creative reputations.

Since this is a series of five-song EPs, Human Problems isn't paced like an LP, which is a benefit. Perhaps there are moments that drift, such as the mellow bachelor pad neo-instrumental "Everything Is Now," but they're designed that way, offering color and texture to music that already had a surplus of both.

While not as spontaneous or weird as some of Torske's other efforts, Byen is unmistakably well-crafted, and works on the dancefloor as well as a soundtrack for zoning out.

If emotionally unresolved, Ongoing Dispute does deliver on engaging hooks and rousing choruses, at least until that wistful outro, "Friends on Ice," which closes the album in a wash of chiming guitars and circular thought.

Rest assured, songs including the opening "Millions of Heartbeats" make clear that Nash hasn't lost her impudent flair; however, by the end of the record, any cheekiness is easily outweighed by disarming earnestness.

Why Bother? is even more radical [than its predecessor], pairing dead-calm passages with weird and often downright evil-sounding electronics that recall Throbbing Gristle and Wolf Eyes.

Past a few missteps, the album is a winning embrace of hip-hop with commentaries on beefs, nostalgic pining for better days, and a positive outlook for the future of the genre.

Spirit Counsel is an ambitious but focused masterwork of Moore's expansive and specific approach to experimental instrumental music.

None of these tracks rank among Wild Nothing's strongest work, but they serve as an excellent extension of the relaxed, beatific mood Indigo cultivated.

The rebooted Immersion sounds far more engaging than the project's original incarnation, which had a tendency to meander, and Sleepless is certainly one of its best efforts.

Jassbusters has enough chops to pull off the kind of slick 70's MOR soft rock that seems to be Mockasin's bailiwick, but as a whole, there's just not a lot to these songs to keep things consistently interesting, and the album comes off as more of an indulgent lark in Mockasin's growing canon.

A confounder rather than a crowd-pleaser, Fabriclive 100 is nevertheless a highly thought-provoking glimpse into the minds of two brave individuals who think very differently than anyone else.

More mature than either Strange Desire or Gone Now but just as life-affirming, Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night is a refreshingly different perspective on Bleachers and a heartfelt soundtrack to millennial midlife crises.

As easy as the disc is to slide into, it's far and away the least commercial R&B release of the year.

The album sounds effortless and truly organic in the best sense of the word, like four people blending together to make one perfectly formed sound.

Hope for the Hopeless works more than it doesn't, and when it really clicks here, which is often enough, Dennen shows himself to be a unique voice and talent.

Everything continues to feel heavy.

Even if Junto isn't quite as brilliant as Basement Jaxx's early EPs or nearly flawless first three albums, it doesn't sound irrelevant or like the duo is chasing after past glories either--instead, it's some of their most exciting music in quite a while.

Whether dealing out breakbeat punishments like "777," wriggling dubstep like "Ascension," or mystical funk like "Isis," he sounds like no one else, simultaneously street and chic, enticing and elusive.

It's a little uneven and definitely not the reinvention of music as we know it, but Myths of the Near Future is a strong enough debut to survive a level of hype that has crushed other bands, and enjoyable enough to return to when the hype dies down.

An interesting and infectious LP that's also his strongest to date.

Conditions runs out of juice during its second half, where the anthems of the A-side give way to minor-key ballads and middling rock.

Though 99 Cents is Santigold's most accessible work yet, it feels like the mainstream meeting White on her terms rather than vice versa, and the results are often irresistible.

The album was produced by if i could make it go quiet's Matias Tellez (AURORA, Gracie Abrams), whose colorful, high-contrast approach bolsters the lyrical frankness of the onetime bedroom pop artist, who, true to her origins, keeps the ten-song set's playing time under 30 minutes.