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.