These songs may sound fun, upbeat, and lovelorn, but there's a dour and utterly realistic undercurrent that makes Cape God Allie X's most relatable and human effort to date.

Four years later, the follow-up, Monsters, picks up where that album left off, submitting an unpredictable sequence of 13 tracks injected with elements of cabaret, hip-hop, indie electronic, modern pop, and more.

They haven't stopped being unpredictable and confounding, and they're even exploring deeper emotional territory than before, yet their work becomes more cohesive the more one becomes familiar with it.

Like the first Georgia album, Seeking Thrills is a sophisticated, emotionally complex pop effort that seems to encapsulate the London native's life experiences to date.

Stripped of some of their later sonic ambitions, Band of Horses play to their strengths here on what feels like a solid return to form.

So It Goes is as pure as they come, so strap in and get ready from some rich rewards and hard truths because this one returns hip-hop to a time when it was "dangerous," and in the best, most progressive way possible.

At a time when so many bands co-opt various sounds of '90s indie rock and don't add anything new or interesting, Pip Blom make it work on Boat by basically becoming a '90s indie rock band and doing it better than anyone else around. Maybe even better than most of the bands they are borrowing from, too.

Ward's voice is a slap-delayed pastiche of Ron Sexsmith's easygoing croon and Andrew Bird's closed-mouth drawl, and like his front-porch fingerpicking, it's as effortless as it is effective.

Beautiful, thoughtful, and sad on a grand scale, Fordlandia is nearly as ambitious as the stories it tells, but unlike its source material, it's another success for Jóhannsson.

The cathartic release is absolutely joyous on this stylish party album, a heaping dose of maximalist escapism from a quartet that just wants you to dance your cares away.

The release of the Cool Kids' debut EP still radiated sonic excitement, a blast at once sharp, funny and intimate. Here, after all, is a triumph of absolute aestheticism.

It's all a pleasing time warp without turbulence, one with songs built more to evoke the past than to last in one's memory.

A Giant Dog's greatest strength, however, remains their ability to tap into the enduring elements of rock's true grit and create feelings that are appropriately cathartic, dangerous, and fun.

Their inspired, eclectic mix of sounds and textures is always playful, but Taiga's powerful playing and sophisticated arrangements make it OOIOO's most mature album yet.

After 15 years, Boris are doing exactly what they should with fascinating if uneven results: testing their limits as a band and expanding their sonic horizons.

Wabi Sabi definitely feels like an album that could only have been conceived in an arid desert rather than a bustling city, and the remoteness of the couple's surroundings has certainly made them pay more attention to details and take notice of small, unique things such as the scorpions that adorn the album's cover.

Making the most of the various environments where it was recorded, the album feels like a travel diary picked up sporadically along the way. Some entries expand on every thought and some are left half-finished, but these contrasting moods reflect the peaks and valleys of Vile's journey, both literal and metaphorical, in getting to this chapter of his music.

The rest of Laugh Track simmers at a precisely modulated temperature, bringing the songs to warmth slowly and steadily, which makes the ragged drone of the closing "Smoke Detector" so welcome: its insistent pulse and maze of guitars feel full-blooded and messy in a way the National has avoided for a long, long time.

On the whole, American Saturday Night is one of his dreamier albums, filled with swaying slow dances, sweet love tunes, and the occasional brokenhearted blues, all delivered with a worn-in ease.

If Dark Dark Dark are one of many acts who seem to define the realm of vaguely quirky and slightly winsome indie rock of the 21st century, the lean of the performances tends toward the quietly contemplative above all else, however much in a band context.

Meliora jumps so quickly from classic hard rock to prog to glam metal it can be dizzying (and perhaps even dazzling) for listeners. What holds it all together is solid writing that sticks close to stock pop/rock methodology.

Sheff's willingness to strike a balance between his roots rock past and his personal past should please longtime fans and newbies alike, even if they spend the majority of the ride wondering why the tour bus never actually stops at the Silver Gymnasium.

This wasn't the kind of record that lights up the charts--which could account for the reason it didn't appear on the shelves in late April 2002, as expected, and only earned an official release in 2009--but in many ways it's superior to the released Amplified.

These are the album's best songs, but the rest are good, too, and the whole is a worthy addition to the ever-growing catalog of sly Texas country-rock.

Sun lives up to its name, but its album cover is more revealing: like the rainbow crossing Marshall's face, these songs are the meeting point between a stormy past and optimism for the future.

Besides being an impressive melding of unlikely worlds, the five pieces here are transcendently beautiful, and essential listening for a fan of either player or any sound art enthusiast.

On Terms of my Surrender, Hiatt has the blues, and he's got the goods, and this is another solid chapter in a recording career that's drifted into an unexpected but pleasing renaissance.

Hunter is an enigmatic presence, and even with the all of the new trimmings, her rich alto always rises to the forefront, carefully shepherding in the band's newfound sonic might with equal parts audacity and vulnerability.

Swimming is ample evidence that Miller can pick up the pieces and continue evolving, his grasp on thoughtful, introspective hip-hop getting stronger by the album.

The songs that make up Sremm4Life are lean, purposeful, and to the point.

At its heart, it's nothing more than the Rolling Stones knocking out some good Rolling Stones songs, which seems like a minor miracle after such a long wait.

A welcome return, Ladytron is a remarkably consistent and engaging album that befits the band's status as synth pop veterans.

The use of production and electronic treatment amplifies almost all of the tracks here, creating interesting pockets of unexpected tension and menace in what would have otherwise stood as somewhat straightforward compositions.

Brightly Painted One sounds more like a loving tribute to a simpler, slower time and once decanted, the songs begin to take on a personality of their own.

Ben Cook is no doubt a very talented guy and he puts his talents to very good use on Ripe 4 Luv, crafting the kind of pop music that should appeal to anyone who likes singing along, feeling things, and a little bit of weirdness mixed into their fizzy cocktails.

There is a buoyant creativity to many of Lake Street Dive's arrangements, and cuts like "Bobby Tanqueray" and "Seventeen" reveal such time-tested influences as late-'60s Muscle Shoals-influenced soul and Dusty Springfield-esque pop.

Even though her lyrics can be a bit on-the-nose at times, she's always sincere, and her best songs are fully relatable. No one else is making jungle that's this introspective while staying true to the genre's sound system roots, sounding raw enough to ignite a rave yet catchy enough for the radio.

It's personal, it's cryptic, it's hilarious -- it's Laughter's Fifth, and Sam Jayne is definitely some kind of genius.

The wisdom, humor, and literate, biting world view, is all balanced with the wisdom of tenderness, and a poetic sense of the heart's own aspirations and disappointments.

While both performers are too iconic for Better Oblivion Community Center to truly feel separate from their respective bodies of work, there's still a strange magic that comes from the combination.

To Believe is very much an experience that requires engagement if a worthwhile connection is desired; otherwise, it makes for a terrific soundtrack to a film that resides purely in the soul.

Stronger than ever is the group's proclivity for shiny pop.

Although it's unlikely In the Silence will have quite the same impact on the charts beyond the shores of Iceland, it does suggest another musical gem has been unearthed from the island's formidable pool of talent.

The moderate pacing and more personally derived songwriting make the album one that demands closer attention to fully understand and enjoy, but it rewards that attention with some of the band's most nuanced and subtly detailed pop constructions to date, ultimately revealing new depths both musical and emotive.

Though Chris fully commits to Paranoïa, Angels, True Love's sweeping scope, as a whole it doesn't feel as rewarding as the diamond-like clarity and brilliance of Chris or La Vita Nuova. Even if it's missing some of the electrifying immediacy of those works, there's a lot of challenging and emotionally powerful music here for fans to appreciate.

Though the concept and the band’s handling of it are impressive, listeners don’t have to be aware of it to appreciate the almost tangible moods Liars create on each song.

If the music on Go-Go Boots is less physical than what the Drive-By Truckers typically deliver, it's emphatic and passionate, with an impressive sense of dynamics and as much soul as these folks have ever summoned in the studio -- they've rocked a lot harder, but they've never cut a more natural and telling groove.

The six-song Heretofore breaks down fairly neatly into a clutch of songs where the more unsettled side of the band's work exists as shading to fairly formal compositions and one big song where that overtly exploratory side is front and center.

Released in celebration of the Preservation Hall's 50th Anniversary, the album is a rootsy, high-energy, and spirited mix of New Orleans jazz and blues with some gospel and country inflections.

This is Saginaw's most colorful and accomplished release, and it indicates a vast range of individualistic possibilities for his next move.

It's another triumphantly jubilant album by a band who are second to none when it comes to that kind of thing.

Gou's DJ-Kicks set, as with some of the series' most interesting volumes, feels like a music-obsessed friend enthusiastically sharing all of her favorite tracks with you, and the results are always charming and exciting.

More than a few of Lanegan's longtime fans will be puzzled by his transformation into the party animal of the dark side, but his vocals are typically strong, and he sounds fully engaged with the material, happy to be visiting the VIP section of the Place Where Nothing Living Goes, and he's excited and challenged in a way he's hasn't sounded in a while.

La Femme's passion for seeking out new (or vintage) sounds to add to their omnivorous pop is contagious, and never more so than on Paradigmes.

Personal, endlessly catchy, and a mature step for the new father, this consistent effort might not shake anything up in the zeitgeist, but it's one that was made for his own personal and artistic growth.

There really are spaces everywhere, and most would be better served if they were filled with Monochrome Set albums.

Fans of James Blake's Overgrown and Bon Iver's self-titled second album should find this appealing, but this stands apart from both those records. It's not only smart, it's honest, emotionally and musically.

Where some see restraint, others may very well see refinement, and those who appreciated Antidotes' more spacy passages will find that Foals' reinvention of their sound is a calculated risk that definitely pays off.

A Giant Dog aren't necessarily offering anything that hasn't been done before, but Pile is definitely a fun listen with enough bright spots and kinetic energy to sustain it.

From the serene liquidity of "Karuna" to the spatial experimentations of the instrumental title track, Silberman's personal transformations are revealed on this thoughtful and understated debut.

Even if it occasionally borders on being too indulgent, Metronomy Forever still gets at the contradictions and surprises that have always made their music special.

Not all of the melodies are as striking, however, and song for song, it's not quite as memorable as the previous two Molchat Doma records. Still, it's a massive step forward in terms of production, sound design, and overall ambition, and it signals the beginning of a new era for the band.

The California-bred Hoop does indeed have plenty of additional idiosyncratic ideas to offer, not just lyrically but musically, on her second album, Hunting My Dress.

Back once again with the ill behavior, Lonely Island's second effort is more of the same, which for many means that life is still worth living.

Despite its flashy sounds, it's one of the group's most insular sets of songs. Nevertheless, Kirk and company express how the past can poison the present and days yet to come in ways that are uniquely theirs.

As great as Alkaline Trio are at relating their booze and blood-spattered lives to listeners, it does get a little tedious. But Skiba and Andriano's interlocking harmonies never flag, and the band's rhythms are just too catchy throughout.

For all of their serious, avant-garde inclinations, Can could be awfully fun to listen to, and this alternate universe hit parade is a sterling demonstration of the group at its most immediate, energetic, and enjoyable.

Girl Band have similarly taken advantage of their expanded recording budget in order to craft their most bracing work yet.

Quasi's crass sense of humor is in full force, but throughout their witty criticisms Quasi are imaginative songwriters and conscious of their curiously cool indie rock style.

What it lacks in discernible hooks, Das Not Compute accounts for with tautness and subcutaneous bad attitude.

Bows + Arrows may not be a drastic change from Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone, but their music, built on loud guitars and organs and strange reflections and remembrances, is so unique that drastic change isn't necessary, and simply having more of it around is more than enough.

There's a real fire to his writing here, turning Revival into a missive as immediate, effective, and telling as Neil Young's "Living with War."

Our Own Masters is an album that's ridiculous without being ironic, and fun without being silly, making it an album that will not only appeal to the die-hard Thorriors out there, but also to anyone who appreciates heavy metal and hard rock and is not afraid to cut loose and have some fun every once in a while.

Among the handful of earlier tracks is Steve Poindexter's crucial "Computer Madness" (1989), technically a Muzique release. The compilers could have just as easily included "Work That Mutha Fucker" from the same EP.

It certainly won't spawn four number one U.K. pop hits the way his platinum-selling fourth album, Tongue N' Cheek, did, but it's a necessary re-evaluation and re-focus of his talents, and proves that he's far from finished.

With engaging basslines that act as the hooks and the glue to Maus' carefully contrived sound, Screen Memories succeeds by basking in its murky splendor.

Hints are abundant that they are on the cusp of stylistic and sonic evolutions balancing bold and experimental elements, but their commitment to the material, as well as their energy and focus, aren't forced but are occurring naturally. This is easily the band's strongest outing since Leach's return.

The album is warmer, friendlier, and fuller than anything Hardware has presented before, yet somehow just as emotionally naked.

The album goes on to offer a range of dreaminess, arguably reaching its lushest and loudest point on the jammy outro to "Superglued," its liveliest on the appreciative, post-breakup "Lights Light Up" (though there is a case to be made for the jaunty but fatalistic "Pick"), and its sparsest on the brittle, comfort-seeking "Henry," which still features a full band. The musical contrasts aren't far-ranging, however, and similarly, even the most optimistic lyrics seem to be biding time.

Final Summer is another strong album from a remarkably consistent band, but it's the wisdom, maturity, and joy Cloud Nothings bring to it makes it an especially satisfying listen.

With In My Dreams, Frisell pulls you into his western reverie, a wagon train journey into his soul.

This is Yorkston's world and story, and his gently picked guitar and rough-hewn voice provide the heart of yet another fine release.

On its own, KicK iii may have the smallest range of any of the project's volumes, but its relentlessness is a key part of the anthology that provides lots of fascinating moments for those who love Arca at her most outlandish.

It's an orchestral record for those who prefer the simplistic, a darker one for those who prefer theirs twee, love songs for the scorned and sad songs for the content, an engaging and alluring combination that makes Marry Me nearly irresistible, and one of the better indie pop albums that's come around for a long time.

The funky soul groove template that Jones helped create in Memphis some 40-plus years ago never really goes out of style. One wishes there were more of that here.

Lanterns on the Lake allow themselves to build on and expand the sound of their debut for Until the Colours Run, bursting open at times with purpose, while drawing on the cinematic sounds and folk storytelling that bind together a magnificent collection of tracks.

One might not have expected the Coathangers to still be making interesting music 12 years after their debut album hit the streets in 2007, but The Devil You Know reveals growing up doesn't have to be a bad thing after all.

There's an endearing tenderness to Trifilio's personal songwriting style that mostly avoids emo clichés, and the band's cautiously buoyant indie pop walks the line between sweet and muscular on this solid debut.

Every part of Purgatory/Paradise has meaning for the band and its listeners, making it a satisfying artifact in a time when music is becoming increasingly disposable. May they ever go against the grain.

Tucker and Brownstein are in the process of figuring out what Sleater-Kinney can do as middle-aged indie survivors, trading their signature catharsis for reflection and mild experimentation. They haven't landed on a solution, but listening to the duo lost within their process is rewarding, feeling emotionally direct even when the angles are somewhat obtuse.

Her respect for the power of the groove results in one of her most cohesive projects, and one that makes the dance floor that much classier with its presence.

Boy King may be some of Wild Beast's most consistent and accessible music, but at a price: It comes dangerously close to predictable, something the band never would have been called before.

It's the contrast between their writing styles and voices, slight as they may be, that works to make Sainthood another rich and rewarding album.

As rewarding as his earlier slow-paced drones are, so is his incremental development as an artist with each subsequent album, I Love You being one more step along the way.

Nozinja Lodge is a gleefully frenetic album that continues to broadcast Hlungwani's singular vision to fans of otherworldly dance music across the globe.

This is another chapter in the sonic evolution that began with the name A Silver Mt. Zion, and contains many more dimensions, layers, and textures. It pushes harder and further with much less, yet comes across as no less raggedly and poetically majestic.

Even though there certainly are a few tracks ("Swift and Unforgiving," "Hey, Thanks," and "Apartment") distinctly lacking for a little more oomph in their execution, the album's overall balance is overwhelmingly positive at the end of the day.

You've got good set track by track, but compared to his Revenue Retrievin' onslaught, which was sorted into thematic sets (Day, Night, etc.), these unwieldy Block Brochures come off as a hyphy data dump, leaving all executive production up to the listener.