Can't Say I Ain't Country is a successful blend of the cosmopolitan and country, sounding as assured on soulful slow jams and percolating crossover pop as it does on the breakneck twang of "Y'all Boys," a duet with their protégé HARDY.

Even on these quieter moments, Brickbat's invigorated feel is palpable--and contagious. It would've been easy for the members of Piroshka to rest on their laurels, but they prove they have a lot of new ideas to offer their listeners, regardless of how familiar they may be with the band's previous work.

A recording that will surprise and delight TTB fans as their most adventurous to date.

These are doomy, bass-heavy arrangements, rife with layers of orchestrated sounds that build and swell with a sustained dramatic tension. Think Matthew Dear meets The Downward Spiral-era NIN and you'll get a good sense of the grayscale atmosphere Biliński has achieved here.

Both as a listening and reading experience, the entire collection is fascinating and eye-opening, and far more than just pleasant, unassuming musical wallpaper. It's also somewhat overwhelming in a sense, simply because there's far more music from this era to discover, and this release barely scratches the surface.

If the duo's satire sometimes seems cheap--the Tinder jibes on "Easily Charmed by Fools" are a little too easy--they make up for it through sheer good humor, which is why the playfulness of South of Reality charms instead of alienates.

Crushing is riveting right from the spare, noir-tinged opening track, "Body," which remembers the moment Jacklin decided to leave the relationship after her partner got them thrown off a flight.

She's channeling her own experiences so they speak to the universal, just like the classic soul she loves. The result is an extraordinary record, one designed to be part of a grand musical tradition, and it contains enough emotion and imagination to earn its place within that lineage.

Though it's more than a little contrary that their first album on their own label is more melodic and emotionally immediate than their work for Rough Trade, it's one of many moves on Eton Alive that are pure Sleaford Mods.

Yorkston's devotion to regionalism and his own self-mythology remains a central aspect of his presentation, and with this album, he offers another mesmerizing glimpse into that strange but increasingly familiar world.

The way every part of Lung Bread for Daddy comes together to create a ragged but ultimately uplifting self-portrait of Du Blonde makes for thrilling listening.

The album never seems to stray from its design, however, and is loaded with catchy, memorable songs, an even more impressive feat considering its origins.

The casual, lived-in feel of American Love Song makes such political protests as "America" feel a little too blunt, but instead of being a flaw, its directness is a benefit, since it shines a light on how subtle and nimble the rest of this terrific record is.

Nowhere is Batoh's most provocative yet accessible solo album; its otherworldly strangeness is uncompromising, but somehow welcoming because of its deep focus. Its many textured ripples, fissures and psychic pathways resonate long after its playing timer expires.

It frequently upends expectations while confirming Clark's broad talent and imagination, and if this doesn't convince you he's a major artist, nothing will.

Dream Theater reaffirm their identity on Distance Over Time, displaying a collective hunger, abundant energy, creativity, and musical (re)discovery. This set should erase the schism between fans and win the band a whole slew of new ones.

Combative, defiant, and teeming with Victoria's distinctive mix of streetwise poeticism and literary depth, Silences is a strong and inventive follow-up.

Throughout the solid set of songs, Fitchuck and Tashian prove a tasteful fit for the duo, reinforcing and embellishing the sisters' languid technique but also staying out of their way.

Rather than a mundane breakup album rife with familiar tropes, Frawley channels his distress into a unique and engaging album that is easy to spend some time with.

The Black Album feels like the most fully realized latter-day Weezer album: it may flagrantly draw from old and new elements of pop culture, yet it belongs to its own feverish world.

Good at Falling is an extremely impressive debut LP from a songwriter who's more than proved that she's unafraid to delve into the melancholy parts of her past and wrap them up in dreamlike, atmospheric songs which are accessible for various kinds of music fans without ever sounding too saccharine.

While TEEN have covered all of this ground before, this is some of their most cohesive and satisfying music. As its title implies, Good Fruit is the result of thriving after hardship, and its sense of accomplishment is especially sweet.

Vynehall's DJ-Kicks plays like a set by adventurous college radio DJs eager to show off every record that's been exciting them lately.

Some portions sound raw enough to have been generated on the spot, prioritizing feeling over "proper" songs. Certain tracks offer little more than riffing and moodscapes, yet all 19 are shaped into a concise flowing whole with subtle twists and turns.

Much like Lotic's astonishing Power, Death Becomes Her is an urgent, forward-thinking work which fearlessly celebrates nonconformity while pushing the artist's innovative craft to a new level.

Sucker Punch is a masterful debut from a promising talent unafraid to just be herself.

Inferno is among Forster's strongest collections. Its songs are delivered with wry wit, subtle yet biting insight, and unpretentious poetic language. Combined with elegant, understated melodies that intuit rather than insist, this is a set of tunes that affirms life with earthy wisdom, vulnerability, and steely determination.

It's a brilliant debut and immediately vaults Ashworth and SASAMI to the head of the class of 2019.