If False Idols was the return, Adrian Thaws is the great diversification, and if being disappointed with your universally accepted classic inspires greatness like this, then Maxinquaye be damned (but only in Tricky's presence).

There's no denying that Zeus are very good at what they do, and refining their process with each album; there's no real call for false modesty when you're making albums as good as this.

The whole thing succeeds as a sort of night music, and Parry's engineering team, sending the music rock-style among several different studios, gets superb results.

There are moments where Single Mothers feels like art therapy as much as music, but this album communicates its pain with intelligence and a gentle touch, and as a singer and lyricist Earle grows with each album; there are more than a few moments of brilliance on this set if you don't mind sharing a rough and lonesome road with Earle for a while.

Perfect Hair contains all the usual reasons Busdriver is wonderful, just with a little more sugar baked in.

When you put together the sympathetic production, the strength of the songs, and the power of the performances, it adds up to another great record by a band whose members are in complete command of their thoughtful, tender, and sneakily hooky sound.

By adhering to the fidelity of a side, there's a dramatic arc within every four songs and, combined, the sum is greater than the individual parts--which is how it should be with a band.

Delta Spirit's commercial aspirations may be more apparent this time around, but they've done an awfully nice job in pairing that inclination with material that benefits from the slick production, resulting in their most cohesive (and television- and film-ready) collection of songs to date.

On Worship the Sun, their subtle excavation is even more impressive, richly rendered, and worth checking out than before.

As direct as a touch and as subtle as feelings, This Is My Hand is exciting in a way that's different from Worden's previous work--when she sings "this is my time" on the title track, it's hard not to agree with her.

The gorgeous and haunting ending leaves more than a few questions unanswered, and begs listeners to play the album again from the start to seek them out once more.

It all makes for riveting listening for anyone willing to let Vessel punish--and reward--their ears.

This set manages to be reverent to Waller's original recordings, but since facsimile was never the goal, it also manages to create a completely new veneer for them, and the end result is a marvelous tribute that still retains its own shape and coherency.

Equally bold, vulnerable, concise, and expansive, Too Bright dazzles.

I Don't Dance may sink its teeth in slightly slowly, but that's Brice's style: he lets the listener come to him and, once they're there, he offers a warm seduction that lasts not just for a night but for a relationship.

It's hardly fair to wish hard times on songwriters just so their work might sound more real and meaningful, but if they have to suffer, one can at least hope that they are able to turn it into the kind of revelatory art that Lerche has on Please.

Weirdon feels more lighthearted than its predecessor, offering just as many aggressive guitar freakouts and blasts of antagonistic noise, but handing them over this time with a smirk instead of a scowl.

Low on frenetics, Syro is anchored by rotund and agile basslines that zip and glide, and it's decked in accents and melodies that are lively even at their most distressed.

There are times when tracks drag slightly, but it's safe to make an assumption that soon there will be a change in style, rhythm, BPM, or dimension, resulting in a complex and magical record with many twists and turns.

Add to the mix boundary-pushing production and what might be his most developed set of tunes so far and the album immediately shuffles to the higher tiers of an already stellar body of work.

All but the most stuck-in-the-'90s shoegaze fans will see that Sway is an album that would measure up to almost any album made by the first wave of shoegazers. And by the current wave of revivalists, grave robbers, and crafty thieves as well.

This double-disc live album, recorded during a 18-month-long tour in 2013 and 2014, reveals a clearer and more in-focus look at what Clark offers than Blak and Blu does.

This is something better: a record designed to carry on the tradition of smooth, fizzy bubblegum into the new millennium and, against all odds, it succeeds mightily.

Some of the songs could have been fronted by anybody. Hudson occasionally sounds disconnected from the material, but the singer, as powerful as ever, still leaves her indelible mark on everything.

This music is taut and soulful, but also a document of one woman baring her spirit and mind to the world, which has always been the case with her best music, and if this isn't a masterpiece, it's as pure, straightforward, and compelling as anything she's done since Essence.

A feeling of acceptance underpins Everything Will Be Alright in the End: there's a sense that Weezer made another record of massive, hooky rock not only because that's what the fans want but because they know it's what they do best.

All told, Our Love stands as the most straightforwardly danceable Caribou album to date, but holds on to both the experimental bent and composition-minded musicality that helped build the project's one-of-a-kind sound world.

For as much as Way refers to other acts, this is a thoroughly original work, a vibrant reflection of all his artistic obsessions.