Aided by Ashworth's sure hand, the new leaf Thomas turns over here means that Smalltown Stardust is just as good a mellow, meaningful King Tuff album as Was Dead is a rollicking, down and dirty rock record. Which is to say, really, really good indeed.

There are enough good things in Hear the Children Sing the Evidence to understand why Salsburg wanted to document this experiment for posterity, but don't be surprised if you feel the need for a cup of coffee after putting this on repeat.

She's clearly having fun, making the music she wants to make and exploring new facets of her craft. Hopeful, romantic, and energetic, Armatrading offers a strong dose of joy in troubled times.

As with FACS' previous incarnations, how their songs come together -- or fall apart -- is still enthralling, and Wish Defense only enhances their reputation for crafting some of the most exciting experimental rock of their time.

Even at over three hours, Disquiet holds together exceptionally well, from idea to execution, in a spontaneous, otherworldly flow.

The whole record is a wonderfully triumphant moment for Lawrence, and if it gains him some new fans -- as it just might -- that's great because the world needs odd-duck pop stars, and he certainly fits that bill.

Wilderness is another absolute gem.

Combined with beats seemingly tailored for each voice, the album could have resembled a disorderly production showcase, yet Celestin applies his experience as a deeply knowledgeable selector to stitch it all together with few obvious seams. He excels most at bold modern boogie with spring-loaded drums, zip-and-glide basslines, and radiant keyboards.

With near-peerless levels of confidence, fearlessly bold lyricism, and relentless, expertly crafted beats, Fever establishes Megan Thee Stallion as a figure in Southern rap. As she grows into a command of her strengths and her personality, she creates songs that are wilder, more raw, and more instantaneously exciting than most of her contemporaries.

Arbouretum comes on as gentle as a rolling creek, never letting on the full range of their powers until the songs have silently grown from still waters to cresting waves.

In its moments of both catharsis and ambience, Vertigo maintains a consistent balance. It's a quietly adventurous album that never feels like it's pushing too hard in any one direction, even when the sounds are swinging from blown amplifiers to bubbly flutes.

The Man Who Died in His Boat may be a smaller-scale album than either Dragging a Dead Deer Up a Hill or A I A, but it's no less lovely or moving because of that.

Despite being a shade too long, this is a solid endeavor that asks many questions even as spins its tales.

Four albums in, Lateness of Dancers reveals the arrived-at maturity in Taylor's songwriting, and his ability to convey, in the first-person narratives of his protagonists, a way through the complex notions and pain of living in the world by embracing them on their own terms, with no attempt at escape.

It's an album of glorious madness and melody, played not only with skill, but with real passion.

The combination of songs, sound, and performance make this another near-perfect album from the trio. Those who have fallen under their charmingly sweet spell can only hope it doesn't take another six years for the next one.

All the songs carry the weight of themes already present in the improvisations, however, making for an even more poignant second album by a project that continues to stand out from the melancholy indie crowd.

Not just an escapist pleasure, Wet Tennis is a lasting statement that shines with pop-savvy expertise and marks a significant step forward in Sofi Tukker's musical growth.

Protect Your Light expands the group's already abundant gifts. Anyone -- fan or newcomer -- open to avant jazz and spoken word will register delight, surprise, and possibly awe at the creativity and inspiration on the album.

Visions is clear and light, its textures vividly articulated and its rhythms mellow and fluid. It's music that feels alive, inhaling and exhaling with a gentle insistence; it's never rushed, never clipped.

I Speak Because I Can delivers on nearly every level, upping both the production value (thanks to Ryan Adams and Kings of Leon producer Ethan Johns and fellow indie folk darlings Mumford & Sons) and the songwriting.

He emerges here as a more "traditional" kind of songwriter; the tunes are more conventional in structure, but like his spiritual mentor Leonard Cohen, Staples' lyrics are rooted firmly in the terrain of love, loss, regret, passage, dissolution, and absence.

Compare 'Here Comes The' with 'Vessels,' a breakup tune that eschews inconsolability for bright key changes and high anthemic vocals, and you get the full spectrum of Walker's songwriting ability, which is as razor-sharp in 2008 as it ever has been.

It might have been interesting to boil the track list down a bit, then spend a disc catching up on the post-1995 bands that have kept the sound alive. That being said, the story they do tell on Still in a Dream is a fascinating one, full of guitar-mangling bliss and soaring melodic grandeur suitable for a fuzzy trip down memory lane or a deep dive of discovery for the novice gazer.

Tonally falling somewhere between Joy, Departed and It Kindly Stopped for Me, the album's blunt confessionalism doesn't always make for an inviting world, but is nothing if not completely honest.

Exuberant and direct, the album is a refreshing change from the subtle layering of Mines, finding the band at its most musically manic while delivering its most personal lyrics to date.

Potential is an intriguing glimpse at the human identities hiding behind computer screens, and how emotions are expressed through the filter of social media.

The sheer sense of sprawl created by the two-disc release, accentuated by the sometimes sudden shifts between songs as one variety of feedback suddenly cuts in to replace another, creates its own involving logic.

How the West was Won is not only a great album, it's also the inspiring, and inspired, story of how Perrett won his own life back.

Humble Quest is a mature record in its approach in addition to its theme, a record that offers warm consolation in hours of trouble as well as breezy relaxation during the good times.

Their shortest salvo to date, Sunrise on Slaughter Beach distills all that's good in late-era Clutch, providing a familiar hit of serotonin and physical release.

If this isn't Shook's best album to date, it's very close.

Those who go along with her for the ride will likely connect strongly; Sprinter is not for passive listening.

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.

Of course, the songs are amazing, but just as impressively, Stuart Murdoch's vocals are heartbreakingly sincere and soulful, and the band definitively belie their image as shamblers by sounding tight and together.

By turns raw and reflective, Monomania is about shaking things up; it's not as grand or cohesive as Microcastle or Halcyon Digest, but with repeated listens, its quick shifts in sound and mood feel more like different sides of the same coin than a split personality.

There's a great deal of variety to the record, something that sets them apart from the vast majority of the bands that pay homage to the '60s, but also something that keeps them from developing a distinct identity.

A delightful but slightly faceless blend of lounge pop, subtle beats, found sound and mellow jazz influences.

The depth of his production sense and the breadth of his stylistic palette prove just as astonishing the second time out.

This record is no fun at all, the tension is rarely resolved, and -- oh no! -- it isn't exactly revolutionary, though some new shades of gray have been discovered. But you shouldn't allow your perception to be fogged by such considerations when someone has just done it for you and, most importantly, when all this brilliance is waiting to overwhelm you.

Gimmicks abound on this dark carnival of an album, and if you can't hang with some murder talk and misogyny, it's best to stay away, but this fat, epic effort is still a swift thrill ride and doesn't bore despite its size.

Jarosz lets her considerable instrumental prowess submit itself to serving the needs of her songs instead of merely adorning them with a precocious imagination. She can do this because she possesses not only self confidence in her material, but in her discernment, which is rare for a musician so young.

Some of these quieter moments can be sad, yet this album isn't depressing: it's hushed and moving, ultimately a comfort.

With Chemtrails Over the Country Club, Del Rey shows her softest moments can be her most powerful.

The stated intention for The Way Out was for each track to be "its own rabbit hole," and the album does indeed manage to survey an impressively disparate set of worlds and modes.

This collection of their singles released between March and September 2007 (plus three harder-to-find tracks) is an entrancing introduction to the band, and it stokes the fires of anticipation for their first full-length album.

Yellow Swans' literal swan song found the two still exploring their way through often majestic drone--if the roots of the band had always been as much in uncontrolled experimentation as in serene contemplation, here the two sides found a fine fusion.

Source, with its adventurous, kinetic, and sophisticated approach in wedding modern composition, improvisation, and production to rhythmic and harmonic traditions, is one of the very best.

It proves McBride has plenty to offer an entirely new audience, and showcases her transition from country singer to skillful performer of elegant, hooky, adult contemporary, pop/rock music.

Indian Ocean is sad, sweet, and warm as an August afternoon, and while its charms may feel old-fashioned and better suited to vinyl, the hardships it details are undeniably contemporary, and their conclusions oddly comforting.

It may lack the cohesion of her last outing, and her steadfast derision of anything resembling a hook can be taxing, but it makes up for its meandering with a strength of character that eludes many of her contemporaries.

Fans of any of Mason's earlier projects will find something to love on what is easily the gifted popsmith's best solo effort to date.

It's not quite Hunx and it's definitely not punk, but Seth Bogart is a blast.

Throughout it all, Dr. John remains at the center, occupying attention even when he's offstage because it's clear that this blend of jazz, soul, R&B, rock, and pop is distinctly his.

It finds the group evolving while holding on to what was best about their first LP, and they remain a singular and bracing punk rock band for people who think they're too smart for punk rock. Well worth your time and attention.

It's a bit of a shame that the band's name may turn potential fans away at the door, but PPC work pretty hard to overcome their self-imposed handicap and turn in an exciting and solidly built third LP.

Mead delivers each of these songs with understated soul and that's what gives Close to Home its comforting spirit: it feels as cozy and nourishing as home itself.

Liza Anne isn't merely bloodletting here, she's writing with barbed wit and raw feeling, a combination that gives Bad Vacation an impact that lasts long beyond its initial pop dazzle.

Ultimate Mixes do deliver a state-of-the-art aural upgrade, which is a selling point for fans who have purchased this material before.

It's not completely accurate to say that these songs are more immediate than the pair's earlier material, as they still tend to slowly unfold and reveal themselves, but there are certain vocal melodies or lyrics that leave more of an impression this time.

Present Tense seems like a very good but somewhat straightforward Facs album until the last two tracks. The band took a more experimental approach to writing and recording that stands out on "Present Tense," where backward drums and cryptic observations ("all life remains kneeling in love") take on an almost spiritual dimension that feels equally ominous and optimistic, and on the brilliant closer "Mirrored," which brings the album full circle by adding a metal-tinged doom to the heaviness the band hinted at on the opening track "XOUT."

The new and inviting layers Tiersen adds to his musical history of Ushant take listeners on a rewarding journey.

Toy features Bowie revisiting a bunch of songs he wrote in the '60s, most written and recorded prior to "Space Oddity." Hearing Bowie apply Hours aesthetics to swinging, mod-ish material is odd but mildly appealing; it's a slight record but it's nice to have it as part of the official discography. The rest of the box follows a familiar and comforting pattern, confirming that the '90s were a bit of a creative resurgence for Bowie.

It's that balance Gray strikes on Superache between plumbing his own candidly intimate fears and simultaneously pulling together all of his musical influences into his own distinctive sound that lends the album such magnetic, transformative power.

Ultimately, Vaxis II: A Window of the Waking Mind is stellar; it offers fresh, wildly creative terrain for the Amory Wars saga to mine going forward.

Charlie offers hope to both the singer and to sympathetic listeners, closing this very relatable chapter of his life with optimism hard-won through this catchy pop package.

Three albums into a burgeoning career, Strings could go anywhere at this point, but the mix of time-honored songs, heartfelt nature, and great playing really anchors this return-to-roots set.

Tomorrow's Fire may be the most melancholic of Squirrel Flower's albums, but its sense of drama is captivating.

Individually, these moments may not seem particularly eccentric yet when they're collected as an album, they add up to a charmingly off-kilter record, an album that benefits from its modest origins and McCartney's willingness to not polish too many of his rough edges.

All this would be surface charm if the group didn’t deliver songs, and they do--songs that swagger and stir the soul, fitting within tradition without being beholden to it, songs that prove that Sharon Jones & the Dap Kings are the real deal.

Mutant may be some of his most challenging work yet, but as Arca's music becomes more abstract, the viewpoint behind it comes into focus in ways that embrace strangeness, ugliness, and beauty equally.

Many bands get more sophisticated, or at least tighter, as they become more technically accomplished, thereby losing some of their punk edge. That hasn't happened to Title Fight yet... [They] continue to be fresh, if somewhat semi-professional.

Strike a Match is a brilliant debut album with a solid emotional core that gives the instantly memorable songs gravity and keeps them from lifting off and floating away, instead anchoring them deep in listeners' hearts and minds.

Even without any previous background information, there's lots to enjoy about being immersed in this warm, optimistic sound bath. Presented with a deft talent for flow and transition, Floating Points' Late Night Tales captures the feeling of after-hours reflection brilliantly.

Aan invaluable resource for aficionados of this very weird, very exciting period of music. The set is certainly the equal of the essential junk shop glam collections that have come before it, and the care and thought put into it might even make it better. Either way, fans of the sound and era should be glad that this sound is being dug up again.

While Big Swimmer isn't especially hooky or melodic or cathartic, it is mesmerizing, and performed with an actor's command of an audience, a playwright's turn of phrase, and an expert sense of guitar tones -- as well as an enviable, intangible coolness.

On an artistic level, at least, she is flourishing.

Given the discipline and experimentation in the short pieces, and in the creative imagination displayed in rearranging the longer ones to accommodate a larger band, 'Allelujah! Don't Bend Ascend proves, that GY!BE still has plenty of captivating things to say.

While that [Divide And Exit] was the album Sleaford Mods needed to make to gain a wide audience, Key Markets is the one that tells their listeners that they'll never stop raging against stupidity.

On Prequelle, Ghost deliver fully on the promises of earlier records. Their strengths--including one for imitation--are fully assembled and focused in an exercise of irresistible arena rock excess without sounding like a pastiche.

With Palo Santo, Years & Years have crafted an album that pulses with that richness.

While nothing can compete with catalog classics Lungs or Ceremonials, Everybody Scream does come close, channeling the same energy and offering similar delights and thrills for the first time in a while.

For an album whose lyrics often feel despondent, this record feels like a gracefully administered tonic.

Even if it is a very impressive statement overall, Figure 8 isn't quite the masterpiece it wants to be -- there's something about the pacing that just makes the record feel long...

Boca Negra is the most sophisticated and improvisationally complex recording CUD has ever recorded, while easily being its most accessible.

Musically, there's much greater richness and variety in the arrangements now, heightening the shadings that have always been there, and bringing them to the fore, while also making it easier for a wider audience.

It results in his most adventurous and fulfilling work to date.

Bucolic, pastoral, and often willfully impressionistic, Extralife imagines a future that's not bereft of suffering or hardship, but tempered with hope and brimming with life.

Despite its occasional uneven moments, Boy from Michigan is a frequently brilliant album from a gifted stylist and songwriter who never stops challenging himself or his audience.

Greer's vision of barbed future pop isn't easy to immediately understand, but Barbarism is as thrilling as it is challenging, and a rare example of art truly existing on its own terms despite how difficult it might be for an audience to digest.

Throughout the album, otherworldly touches -- loops, processed acoustic instruments, imperfect multi-tracked vocals, echo -- work effectively alongside sighed deliveries and fingerpaint-like lyrics that capture the emotions of otherwise fragmented memories.

The rest of the tracks are more like exercises in sound manipulation and reduction than songs. The approach is no-fault, but Blake pares it down to such an extent that the material occasionally sounds not just tentative but feeble, fatigued, even.

Rough and explosive yet perfectly controlled, Guidance is yet another powerful statement from the heavy instrumental rock behemoths.

An album that shares a spacy sadness with Sparklehorse's Good Morning Spider and Radiohead's OK Computer. Though it's a little more self-conscious and not quite as accomplished as either of those albums, it is Grandaddy's most impressive work yet and one of 2000's first worthwhile releases.

I Don't Like Shit is heavy and lacks much hope, and yet it communicates these feelings with such skill and artful understanding that it still fills the soul.

Despite FM!'s brevity, Staples jams so much into every bar that it fully satiates, all while still managing to end so abruptly that it comes as a surprise. The electrifying thrill of FM! is a triumph for the rapper who remains at the top of his game.

Regards / Ukłony dla Bogusław Schaeffer reveals itself as an inspired tribute to Schaeffer and another fine example of how Matmos' circular interplay of invention and reinvention remains exceptional.

He comes up with a mind-bending, low-key triumph, the kind of magnetic album that takes around a dozen spins to completely unpack.