Though it's a stretch to call it a happy album (from an artist who routinely pondered the dark side of his life), it's full of charm, wit, and guarded optimism as Rouse tells us a bit about his demons with an honesty that suggests some, if not all, of them are in his rear view mirror. If only therapy was this effective and entertaining for everyone.

Gallows are certainly not getting any happier, but they've got torment down to a science.

As a whole, Culture of Volume is an intense and fascinating album, one that leaves sequel-like anticipation for what else East India Youth may have in store.

While their debut acted more as a fairly straightforward (and cleanly captured) document of Drenge's live sound, Undertow's cohesion comes from its intentionally murky tone which provides just right home for their (mostly) controlled fury.

As pleasant as the album is, this time it feels like Calexico are just passing through.

Ultimately, with Future Hearts, All Time Low have delivered an almost perfect blend of stadium-ready fist pumpers, ballads, and fuel-injected pop hits.

Spacy yet grounded, cosmic yet physical, Insides is a satisfying journey and Fort Romeau's finest music yet.

It's perched at a point between the past and the present, protest and satire, and that inscrutability is often where Rundgren does interesting work.

The entire album has a general lack of excitement that could be Matt and Kim mailing it in, or taking one step too far toward the pop mainstream and losing the punkish edge that made their music pop like bubbles in a bottle of shaken-up soda.

While The Air Conditioned Nightmare represents growth for Doldrums, the caustic and sometimes overwhelming directions the album goes in are more difficult to unravel than the often blissful landscapes laid out in earlier songs. That said, deeper digging reveals Woodhead taking hold of the confusion, conflict, and ugliness of the record and sculpting it into something compelling in a voice all his own.

No Pier Pressure seems genuinely weird, as it's perilously perched between the best and worst of Wilson's pop talent and Thomas' showbiz instincts.

Grass, Branch & Bone is a low-key triumph from an artist who had made a career out of demonstrating that in music, simplicity is often the approach that tells us the most.

While not truly a debut, since Jalbert has been around awhile, Cosmic Troubles does herald the arrival of a band doing psych pop in an idiosyncratically unique way, something that any scene, and especially a scene as crowded as this one, desperately needs.

While, depending on perspective, the album's a bit shallow on dignity, it goes a long way on atmosphere and seductive, despairing style.

Radium Death finds Whitmore at his songwriting and singing best. That said, his successful indulgence in rock & roll's various forms makes one wish he had just put the entire album on stun.

Same as You bears a less forceful signature than previous Polar Bear offerings, but it is also their most musically satisfying album.

Whether singing new or old songs, he presents them in the moment as living, breathing entities. He remains a song interpreter who has few--if any--peers.

New York Before the War isn't quite a full-on rock & roll album, but it comes close enough that Malin has more space to move around than on his more subdued solo works, and he sounds energized and eloquent on these 13 tunes.

The Björk-based art piece works better when consumed as album number two.

Add the way "Roadblox" provides the cinematic side of Prodigy that's often overlooked and the album seems a triumph, but lead single "Nasty" is a lesser "Firestarter" and at 14 cuts, this chunky effort is built for returning fan club members and not the EP-craving EDM crowd.

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.

Ultimately, III is some of Föllakzoid's most confident work yet, and a testament to their ability to be heavy and atmospheric at the same time.

Everything swirls in cacophonous, ever repeating, four-beat drones; only Trudeau's violins offer variation in a frenzied, harmonic counterpoint.

So, a mixed bag: good enough to satisfy and also to wish the whole thing was slightly better.

This Is the Sonics is an outstanding return to duty for one of the great primal rock & roll bands of the '60s, and if they don't sound like kids, the flame that fueled their best discs is still burning bright, and they're louder, crazier, and wilder than most bands a third their age.

This is a welcome, snarling, and satisfying return.

Gibbard has a gentle touch so having cushy, sugary melodies mirrored by a production equally as supple feels like a marriage of intent and sound.

Carrie & Lowell is the most harrowingly personal work Stevens has offered us to date; it also ranks with his most skillfully crafted albums despite its spartan approach, and it's a sometimes difficult but profoundly moving work.

He makes no bones that he's here for a good time, and the appealing thing about Postcards from Paradise is that it's as much fun to hear as it must've been to make.

With its ready absorption of, homage to, and engagement with the past, Walker's skills as a guitarist and arranger make Primrose Green as musically compelling as it is willfully indulgent.

Semi Detached is sincere in its distrust, distaste, and ire, and by the time "Bloody Hell Fire" underlines it all as a dour closer, the album winds up a worthy companion for bad days or chucking it all.

Listeners looking for something in the realm The 1975, Emarosa, I Prevail or, to a lesser extent, a darker Sleeping With Sirens, will find a lot to be excited about here, but anybody looking for something that pushes the post-hardcore envelope a bit will probably find themselves wishing that they had walked into a different Hot Topic.

It's a casual and friendly record with less of the nostalgic melancholy Sexsmith is frequently known for.

While plenty of folks might pick up Dungeon Golds because some well-known musicians are on board, even with a cast of unknowns Scott McCaughey would still be writing fine songs and singing them with heart and humor, and that's what makes Dungeon Golds worth your time.

The aptly named Run never really finds its mark, as it too often charges brazenly into the ether and is gone forever.

Hinterland's tough, hard-won beauty reveals Campbell coming into her own.

It feels as if this is as calm as a placid lake. Sometimes, the record is as pretty as that, too, a nice, polite collection of adult alternative pop designed for young girls and their moms.

Sonic Soul Surfer is an album that doesn't need to be 57-minutes long, and the final third features more than one moment where the record feels like it should coast to a close, only for another slow number to jump up and keep the show rolling. When Seasick Steve is laying out a fiery groove, Sonic Soul Surfer more than delivers the goods.

The Scene Between isn't the Go! Team's best, but it is an impressive new start that consolidates most of their strengths in a bright shiny ball and sends the band shooting off in a brilliant new-ish direction.

Freedom Tower: No Wave Dance Party 2015 isn't quite the best album of the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion's career, but they've never made one that documents the frantic energy and atmosphere of their live show as well as this.

As exciting as the promise of the band going full Albini is, For All My Sisters shows that a cleaned-up Cribs can also be pretty thrilling.

If it's a long way from a triumph, it's a solid, heartfelt work from a veteran artist who isn't about to give up the ghost.

Here, he makes his own form of dream pop, one that is inspired by stark realities yet filled with hope for a brighter future.

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.

Ultimately, it frustrates because the listener doesn't get much in the way of reward for the chore of endurance.

To Pimp a Butterfly is as dark, intense, complicated, and violent as Picasso's Guernica, and should hold the same importance for its genre and the same beauty for its intended audience.

All These Dreams, much like Combs' expressive voice, feels lived in and authentic, and while it may lack some of the gravitas of his heroes, it certainly never does them a disservice.

Lost and Found is better served as a companion volume to the painstakingly curated Buena Vista Social Club album than as a general listener's introduction to the various musicians. That said, for anyone who ever wished there was more music in the can, this all-killer, no-filler program is indispensable.

Where My Weekly Reader shines is on the quieter moments.

Often compared to Ed Sheeran and Ben Howard, Chaos and the Calm shows James Bay has the style and the ability to stand on his own, and it's the work of a new performer with an impressive potential.

Depending on what aspect of the band the listener pays the most attention to, Chastity Belt can be either brazenly hilarious or mysterious and moving.

Fortune certainly counts as one of their excellent albums, and if it doesn't seem to reach for the same sonic heights as some of their recent efforts, it surpasses them on an emotional level.

It's been a long time coming, to the point when it seemed it might never happen, but Soft Connections announces the reappearance of a major talent, one whom all fans of indie pop owe it to themselves to discover or rediscover.

With We Fall, Haynie puts all of his eclectic skills and stylistic tastes together, showcasing his studio prowess and compositional talent, as well as his knack for bringing disparate talents together to create new and serendipitously effective songs.

Summer Bones, the band's fourth studio long-player and first outing for Pure Noise Records, effectively seals the deal, offering up an 11-track set of slickly produced, earworm-heavy, festival-ready singalongs shot through with enough good old-fashioned punk/hardcore spirit to make the transition easy for old-schoolers looking for a respite from breakdown town.

The duo's desire to strip the music of all energy leaves the songs limp, unable to make an impression in an age when songs are screaming for attention everywhere you turn.

Their new sound might scare off some of the psych lovers who dug their debut, but for anyone looking for some weird heavy rock noise, Golem fits the bill.

Though it may not be quite as consistent as Forget or Confess, Eclipse still reflects Twin Shadow's dedication to atmosphere and hooks in engaging ways.

There's not much one can do to deny the emotional weight or the eerily '70s character of Goon; it's probably best to settle into the La-Z-Boy, flick feathered hair off of your polyester lapel, grab a box of tissues, and let it be.

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

Madness is their most consistent and well-crafted set list to date, and while it may move them further toward the pop end of the hardcore spectrum, it does little to dampen their combustible core.

Strangers to Ourselves is an album where the trees matter more than the forest: song for song, it demonstrates the exacting nature of Brock but put it all together, it sprawls.

This skillful interweaving of Knopfler's personal past helps give Tracker a nicely gentle resonance.

The experience of this album is to have listened to an Elliott Smith record and not an Avett project or to anyone else--a testament to Smith, certainly, but also to Avett and Mayfield's tasteful if fail-safe renditions.

Houndmouth have the right touch and impressive chops, but this album makes it clear they needs a songwriter who can make their music seem fresh even as it's modeled on the past.

Ultimately, with Froot, Diamandis has crafted an arch, swaggeringly impressive album that balances its pop sweetness with a deep-rooted maturity.

"Karaoke, TN" and "Coat Check Girl" are good neo-power pop, but what gives Wasted on the Dream its kick are those earlier moments, when the band wants to be a different band than it is.

There are no frills here but there is a distinct, compelling voice evident in Barnett's songs and music alike.

Bouquets from a Cloudy Sky vividly illustrates what a wild ride those 50 years were.

All the new songs find Bryan looking back over his shoulder at all the fun he's had over the years. Even when the songs get a little funky, as they do on the descending blues riff of the title track, there's a slight melancholic tinge

Brava has a unique voice, one that's choppy, quirky, welcoming, and likely smells of blunts when it burps.

If I Was is an album that expands The Staves' musical range without smothering the qualities that make them so memorable, and it's a step forward that brings out the best in the trio.

If there's a scattershot quality to Always and Forever, that seems partially due to the band just dumping a decade's worth of ideas. Either way, it's their liveliest record and possibly their most interesting to boot.

With In Times, Enslaved prove once again that they are among the few survivors of their generation that have never repeated themselves, nor have they morphed into something so unrecognizable that they're merely another metal band. This is vital, bracing music.

It's a promising debut that doesn't skimp much on melodies or emotion, and while it might have been interesting to hear a few songs that took a step outside the comfortable bubble of sound the duo creates, what's here makes for a very rewarding listen that's always warm and very, very comforting.

Clearly, Asleep at the Wheel draw sustenance from the music of the Texas Playboys, finding life within these old songs, and their love remains infectious and palpable after all these years.

It makes for an album that's hard to love right away, but if you stick with it, is a rewarding listen.

Ultimately, this short EP is an extension of Cheatahs' ambition as they seek to establish themselves as a musical force in their own right.

Ultimately, this is likely to satisfy only the most devout sects of Brown's and Tyga's fan bases.

Artistically, three is the charm for Big Sean as Dark Sky Paradise is much more expansive than previous efforts, sometimes grinding with executive producer Kanye West's love of the dark, and other times bouncing with the snark, swagger, and style that propelled this Detroit rapper to the top.

It's Decided is more than just another comeback album; it's proof that Andy Kim is here to stay.

This is music that's lived in and deeply felt, so it resonates long after the album finishes.

While there's much here Gill can point to with pride, more than a few fans are likely to feel they didn't get what was advertised.

The sounds he and Smith craft together gel in a way far more urgent and quickly unfolding than most Eluvium material, taking Maze of Woods into a place that seems less quietly observant and more driven to explore, attempt, and understand.

An emotionally raw yet aesthetically fine album. She may have reached into the depths for these songs, but she's delivered us the gift of a burning light.

As with their debut, Cosmetics never takes itself too seriously and some of the tracks, particularly on the album's second half, sound like fun if slightly forgettable, garage bangers. In general though, the highlights here are higher, proving that this second effort was one worth making.

Album closer "Snow White (& the 7 Dwarves Fans)" brings all of Fantasy Empire's best elements together, with manipulated vocal loops, dynamic riffing, and unhinged near-free drumming exploding in a metered, hypnotic assault that never loses power for any of its more than 11-minute running time.

While Tigercats are unlikely to turn many heads with this type of overly polite pop, songs like "Sleeping in the Backseat" and "Wendy and Lisa" are perfect companions for a hazy summertime day trip.

Few of the songs are worthy of life outside the context of Empire, yet it's impossible to imagine the program, an unequivocal hit, being half as appealing without them.

This album is a high-water mark for an already impressive artist, and essential listening for anyone versed in abstract pop.

The relatively sparse ambient instrumentals, frequently unpredictable as they twist and turn, are almost as fascinating. Even the relatively tranquil sections seem slightly turbulent.

No band will ever be able to replace the Go-Betweens or fill the void their demise left, but if Dick Diver keep making albums as deeply satisfying as Melbourne, Florida, the pain will be a little less severe.

This is an intriguing, promising debut that suggests lots of possible directions for Ivar's next move.

Segall and Company get straight As in terms of delivering big, psych-damaged, garage-infused hard rock, and if you want to hear Segall kick out the jams, Live in San Francisco is exactly what you need.

The band manages a reasonable re-creation of the Ramones-esque sound the band delivered in its salad days. But if Zero comes within driving distance of the classic sound of the Rezillos, it seriously misses the mark in terms of feel.

"Al Q8a," Suicide by Cop," and "Patriot Act" live up to their provocative titles, dropping punch lines even Bill Maher would deem "risky," but those who disagree with the man's bullshit detector will have to give it up on his wordplay and layered arguments. Such uncompromising rhymes means Eat Pray Thug falls firmly in the category of "ain't for everybody," but that's the thrilling bit, as everything else about the album is alluring.

It's exactly what a second album should be, and it's rare that any band delivers as well as Evans the Death do here.

With The Velvet Trail, Braide, with his consummate skill and sensitive brilliance combines Almond's theatrical and lyric personas with the emotional honesty in the grain of his voice. As a result, his lyric creativity, at once direct, defiant, vulnerable, and deliberately excessive, is out of the mothballs and back out where it belongs: front and center.