In concept and execution, Thin Mind is Wolf Parade in their classic form, but with a force and a sense of purpose that makes them sound fresh and vital. Losing DeCaro seems to have goaded Krug, Boeckner, and Thompson into showing their fans they still have the goods, and it works on Thin Mind.

Out-of-State Plates is a ragged collection of hits and misses that will satisfy FOW completists, while being of intermittent interest to recent converts or general power pop fans.

At the very least, In Limbo shows that the band can do a lot of things well, and while this set of songs isn't exactly scattered, TEEN's ambitions lead them to be less cohesive than they might have been had they picked one direction and stuck with it.

It's Lee's talents as an insightful songwriter and soulful vocalist that beg your attention on Mountains of Sorrow, Rivers of Song.

Like its predecessor, the album revels in the dark and danceable timbres of English, German, and American clubs circa Joy Division, Suicide, early Cabaret Voltaire, et al.

Taken together, they're still a bit of a mess but the joy in The Third Eye Centre is that it presents Belle & Sebastian at their most human and ungainly.

The giddy quality may stick more than do individual songs, but they succeed in capturing some of the wooziness of new love.

in•ter a•li•a is solid enough and more refined than its predecessor, but will nevertheless disappoint those attacking it through the lens of Relationship.

Their music is solid, Southern-style meat-and-potatoes rock at its best; it's a formula they've mastered over the years, and Lean Forward shows it's still delivering soul-satisfying results more than a decade and a half on.

Into the Diamond Sun shows the trio has its own ear for how to combine and recombine those elements [moody psychedelic jamming, entrancing female vocals and slow-burn tunefulness], not least thanks to a balance of sprightly clarity and sudden shifting in the arrangements that feels more like a hip-hop mix transposed onto past approaches than just a jam.

Altogether, LNZNDRF do their post-punk revivalism very proficiently, from textures to musicianship, creating solid fodder for headphone meditations or basement gatherings of any size.

While Serpentina manages to add some fresh highlights to Banks' catalog, it never veers too far from her established formula, for better or worse.

Written on a toy Casiotone, with fleshed-out productions later recorded in London with her co-producer and partner, James Howard, the album reflects those struggles more in lyrics than in its graceful, subtly underworldly, and frequently Baroque sound.

Madame X not only amply rewards such close listening, but its daring embrace of the world outside the U.S. underscores how Madonna has been an advocate and ally for left-of-mainstream sounds and ideas throughout her career.

While Middle Kids showed plenty of promise on their 2017 debut EP, Lost Friends is where they show they can make a proper album and actually improve on their bag of musical tricks, and it's a strong and engaging work.

While Broadway fans wait, they and others who can embrace the album's occasional leaps in tone have another distinctly Spektor song set to enjoy. Ultimately, the sweetness that's always been as much a part of her musical persona as quirkiness overrides any embellishment, offering a touch of drama without pretension.

As super-stylized as its sounds and emotions are, Saturdays=Youth always seems genuine, even when it feels like its songs are made from the memories of other songs.

Widow City's major accomplishment is how it captures the band's live power and sheds some of their mannered studio sound. It rocks hard, and often.

Elefant frontman Diego Garcia must have memorized nearly every song by the Cure while he was growing up, because his band's debut album, Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid, is a shameless, abstract pop mix, a solid indie pop record heavy in new wave aesthetics.

There are too many stumbles and missed opportunities to consider the album anything but disappointing.

Sometimes being bad can be more fun than being good, and on Phosphene Dream The Black Angels hit that sweet spot more often than not.

Self Made 2 is an interesting mix of in-house and all-star, and another reason to take Ross the ring-leader seriously.

Diluvia offers up a perfectly rendered snapshot of the cresting East Coast indie pop scene, conjuring up images of nomadic laptop studios, vintage bicycles, endless stacks of tattered Tor paperbacks, and heavily tattooed, non-smoking urbanites noshing on locally grown produce.

The ultimate irony and triumph of Record Collection, is that on an album all about how Ronson's own obsessive music tastes have defined his life, we finally hear him step away from the turntable and produce one of the best albums of his career.

Rad Times Xpress IV is some of Herrema's most cohesive music with any of her projects, and Black Bananas pull off the neat trick of sounding quintessential and like a rebirth at the same time.

Adiós ultimately seems more like a coda than a grand farewell, with the album displaying a suitable modesty that suits the somewhat reduced circumstances of the artist. But it's also a potent reminder of Glen Campbell's talent, style, and musical legacy, and this album is the recorded curtain call he truly deserves.

Electric Six's m.o. of inflating rock clichés to grotesque proportions, adding a dash of tongue-in-cheek pomposity, and then laughing at the results can generate more than just a great single. Granted, that single is still the reason to own Fire, but fans of that song probably won't feel burned by the rest of the album.

At times, the intense-yet-underdeveloped feel of Lay of the Land makes it a claustrophobic experience, but its quieter moments, such as "No Questions" and the angular finale "Fog," still throw off sparks while allowing a little more breathing room.

They're fresh and clean, delivering spiky cut riffs while lyrics are unpretentious about love and heartbreak.

Seems oddly lacking in passion.

One of his most consistent and accomplished albums, sounding better with each repeated play.

Graceless he may be, but Timberlake is nevertheless kind of fascinating on FutureSex/LoveSounds since his fuses a clear musical vision -- misguided, yes, but clear all the same -- with a hammyness that only a child entertainer turned omnipresent 21st century celebrity can be.

Singular pop craftsmen (and women) who can successfully tow the line between commercially viable and artistically sovereign are few and far between in the 21st century, which makes the arrival of Eugene McGuinness a true cause for celebration.

This is easily some of the Kaisers' finest--and most consistent-- music.

The Color Before the Sun is not the band's best record, but it is utterly inspired and almost nakedly sincere. It will likely play well to fans, but even more importantly, perhaps attract new ones.

Rimes illustrates her range as a singer along with some true strength as a writer, and they help make Family a canny blend of the commercial and the confessional--an album that feels heartfelt, yet is as accessible and enjoyable as her best records.

Play It as It Lays is, without doubt, the record where Scialfa gives us the full fruit of her exceptional gift as a writer, a singer, as an artist.

Musical breaks like these not only make For We Are Many a fresh listening experience, but they also prove that the band isn't restricted to a formulaic good cop/bad cop style of metalcore songwriting, allowing the band to engage listeners who are looking for more than the same old thing.

Stereo Typical's good-natured swagger marks Rizzle Kicks out as one of the British urban scene's most entertaining new talents.

Everything feels just that much more "on", for lack of a better term, with more focus and individuality.

So cheerful is Golden that it seems a little churlish to complain that the songs here aren't grabbers: they're slow burns, designed to sink into the subconscious through repeated plays on radio, in-store sound systems, waiting rooms, and bumper music.

Adam Lambert demonstrates he's in perfect control of his style and sound and knows how to combine both into a sterling modern pop record.

While a bit uneven in spots, Both Sides of the Sky is well worth it for an avid Hendrix fan.

It's heartfelt and gutsy, performed without flash but with steely spirit, feelings that elevate Blow Your Mind above many of the other records in Johnson's solo discography.

It's the kind of sunny, burly record that gets the business done so efficiently (the album lasts a little over a half-hour) that you want to start it all over again once it's done spinning.

Thankfully, all of Who Cares? sounds exactly like Rex Orange County coming into his own.

Despite Clarkson's rousing performances and optimistic outlook, Chemistry feels cloistered and secluded, lacking pathways into its inner sanctuaries.

Archive 2003-2006 is well worth a listen for Department of Eagles and Grizzly Bear fans, especially those intrigued by how albums get made--or don't get made, as the case may be.

The result is not only satisfying, but adds to the already unclassifiable depth of his artistry.

Like all BSP records, Valhalla Dancehall aims for the nosebleed section while remaining oddly detached.

What is easy to figure out is that they are still operating at top capacity and anyone looking for smart, emotional pop that sounds almost perfect can turn to Stars for all their needs.

Kinsella's tried-and-true delicately delivered cynicism combined with a new approach to instrumentation is refreshing after all these years.

Despite its short 31-minute duration, Four (Acts of Love) is a weighty, thought-provoking, moving experience.

It sometimes walks the line between close listening and a wash of sound, but it's intriguing from whatever angle it is approached.

The band's laconic, devil-may-care charm is evident throughout the 11-track set, but they seemingly lacked the follow-through to ensure that their deal with the cloven-hoofed and bifurcated-tailed swindler included the ability to conjure up some hooks.

Jeezy doesn't say much that deviates from previous ice-veined rhymes, but he attacks just about every track with intense focus and ferocity

Steve Albini recorded the sessions, and he's done a typically fine job of putting this music on tape with accuracy but no needless frills, and Antarctica suggests Flat Worms have a longer and more diverse future ahead of them than one might have first guessed.

Chunky Shrapnel is a testament to the band's powers as a live act and is sure to make their fans happy.

The breadth impresses and it resonates stronger because he's funneled all these sounds and textures into a tight nine-song album that lasts barely over a half-hour. For an artist who has fervently believed more is indeed more, this restraint is thoroughly appealing and helps showcase his craft in surprising--and, yes, sometimes dazzling--ways.

While Beyoncé does sound like she's in a bit of a hurry throughout the album, and there are no songs with the smooth elegance of "Me, Myself and I" or "Be with You," it is lean in a beneficial way, propelled by just as many highlights as the overlong Dangerously in Love.

The riffs are punchy, the drumming relentless, and nary a note is wasted, and it strikes that balance between artistry and economy that has always made Anthrax an elite metal force.

Simply put, For Crying Out Loud works because the band knows exactly what its listeners want.

Vol. 1's heavier layers of glimmering guitar, celestial synths, and twinkling percussion flourishes serve more to create distance between Caulfield and the listener than convey that earlier intimacy in a new way.

A sequel to the comparatively energized Snax, this charmingly disjointed EP of sorts--14 tracks, 25 minutes--functions as another intermediary release between Bodywash and its proper follow-up, planned for 2020

World Wide Pop is flat and uninspired, overdone and undercooked, and filled with dubious choices.

Even if the newly formed Canadian quartet is still searching for its individuality, when Suuns' strengths come together--as they often do on Zeroes QC--the mix of sparse beats, razor-wire guitar, and downer melodies can be compelling.

Mixed results notwithstanding, This Is Not a Safe Place is further proof that these four musicians belong beside one another. They won't make the long-list for the Patrick Fitzgerald Shoegaze Poet Award, but they still create quite a sighing racket.

It not only re-establishes him as a pioneer, but as an engaging personae who isn't hiding behind his sonic palette anymore; his music is all the better for it.

A winsome and not entirely stable treat.

An even rougher, uglier, and just plain heavier Hull.

If a touch weightier in tone, the album returns a distinctive palette and home-recorded finish to a heavy-heartedness firmly established on 2014's Picture You Staring, so fans and sentimentalists may take heart.

Besides continuing a trend toward more structured and, at least relatively speaking, more subdued material, it also sees Hernandez step back as frontman for their most democratic effort yet.

The Orchard doesn't go down as easily as The Rhumb Line did, even though it still has some satisfying moments.

When you want to hear something nice and don't want to be overly engaged or challenged, Within and Without will satisfy your needs in that regard, and only those looking for memorable songs or fresh sounds will feel let down.

With all its clean-cut melodies and smirky introspection, even Death Cab fans might have a hard time finding Former Lives more than a collection of melancholy, whimsical tunes.

It spans decades and styles but it's held together by Tarantino's vision, not unlike the film itself.

Sonder is a logical next step for TesseracT, one that stands on par with anything they've previously released, yet evidences more authority, musical restlessness, and sonic multi-dimensionality than anything in their previous catalog.

There's no emo bloodletting, no expressionist confrontations with death, just exaggerated adolescent anthems and calls to rebellion, just enough drama so this could be called cathartic by a certain generation, but for most listeners it's crystallized fun, the purest rush My Chemical Romance has ever delivered.

While Deap Lips lose some of the raw immediacy of Deap Vally and don't ascend to the songwriting heights of Flaming Lips, they create a mood of their own that pulls only a little from each group. Required listening for anyone already invested in either band and a wild, enjoyable listen for even the uninitiated.

MG is an intriguing diversion that might appeal to Depeche Mode fans who were put off by the pure, minimalist techno of VCMG, and it could also come as a surprise to listeners who aren't DM fans, or haven't kept up with their later work.

Concerned at least as much with timbre as with rhythm, structure, or emotional tone--and none of these is neglected here--the composite is perpetually stimulating, exploiting repetition and expectation, both in time and texture. Album structure is carefully considered as well, with the drums vanishing for the final two tracks.

Compared to the floating ambition of Emotion & Commotion, this album feels invigorating and suggests how Beck doesn't want to rest on his laurels, even if he's not fully committed to embrace the turmoil of the present.

This combining of the human-organic and the quirky-mechanical not only rewards repeat listens, but ultimately fascinates with warm alienation.

Representing the more countrified side of things, lead single "Imogene" and the warmly sentimental "The Vow" show some of Branan's other sides on this diverse and well-crafted collection.

Fans of 2019's Happy to Be Here will be glad to know that the project's sound is tweaked, not redefined, with Lindsay making her vocals more distinguishable from plushy surroundings without compromising their wispy, daydreamy qualities.

At times it almost feels like an alternate-history tendril of pre-Kid A Radiohead that kept its groove going into the coming decades. While those layered textures, pulsing beats, and unfolding guitar loops are fine, it's EOB as a reflective acoustic singer/songwriter that provides Earth's most authentic moments.

These ventures into pure '80s shred go a long way to illustrating just how versatile a guitarist Brad Paisley is, and they wind up as accidental autobiography, revealing a side he's previously camouflaged--but now that it's surfaced, it's easy to see why his albums are always among the most adventurous and best country music of this decade.

The album isn't going to send chills down spines or invoke great gusts of adulation, but a couple listens will be enough to firmly establish Melted Toys as a go-to relaxation and/or meditation aid for the discerning indie pop maven.

Still buried neck deep in love for Flying Nun, still snappy and poppy, but just a little bit weirder, a little more powerful musically and emotionally, and a little more satisfying for the incremental change.

The album holds together sonically like it was bonded by super glue, yet there's enough variation between the tracks to make Manifest! a very enriching listen that takes listeners to the middle of an excitingly sweaty dancefloor, keeps them company on the long cab ride home, and soothes them on the quiet morning after.

A lounge lizard's idea of heaven.

At times, Blueberry Boat sounds like it was made entirely out of the noodly bits that most other bands would junk for being too weird and difficult, but the Fiery Furnaces forge them into an album that's both more pop and more radical than Gallowsbird's Bark.

While Everyone Is Here lacks the brightness of much of Woodface, it's the Finn Brothers' strongest collection of songs since that masterpiece, and arguably their most emotionally resonant album to date.

Jeremih's charmingly sly voice, somewhere between One Twelve's Slim and a young Raphael Saadiq, is hard to not like, especially when he tempers his cockiness with a little sensitivity.

This is essentially a thinking man's album, though, more indicative of the band's breadth than its ability to make hit singles.

Without taking a breath or leaving room to rest, Only Things We Love throbs and pulses its way through the shadows, a hook-heavy romp for dance-loving misfits.

This is a hip-hop-flavored club effort of Elephunk proportions and another high-water mark for the don of pop-rap's glitter dome.

It's not essential Pernice by any stretch, but as a soundtrack to the novel, it works just fine, and its relaxed charm makes it worth hearing even if you don't read the book and are just a fan of the man's music.