It doesn't take long to notice that the men of Camper Van Beethoven were having a lot more fun up north, while El Camino Real finds them playing with a technical skill that puts their early classics to shame but sounding curiously short on the joy and spontaneity that were once this band's trademark.

New Eyes remains such a small, subtle, and soft record that by the end, it doesn't feel very daring or different.

La Grange's newfound electronic experimentalism also fits nicely next to works by her similarly inclined contemporaries like Goulding, Grimes, and Alex Winston, adding a unique and unmistakable twist to the subgenre that makes it seem all her own.

This Machine Kills Artists is a worthy experiment, and a few tracks work rather well, but ultimately Osborne should aim for a more distinct game plan before he goes acoustic again.

Emma Jean even stands out from its excellent predecessors in performance, arrangement, production, and inspiration.

The result is an album of beautiful juxtapositions, steeped with poetic gravitas that nonetheless never fails soar.

It would be unfair to call Black Hours a missed opportunity; even if its glimpses at fresher musical territory are tantalizing, Leithauser carries on the Walkmen's tradition in ways that fans will welcome.

The band beautifully marries its dense and intricate compositions with Abraham's sledgehammer vocals to create something that feels like the next evolution of the genre.

Perhaps Platinum would've benefitted from a tighter construction, but its mess and lopsided sequencing wind up appealing: at its heart, this is a classic double-album where the misses enhance the home runs and, eventually, are endearing on their own terms.

Consider it the album before the album, and it plays out as interesting and often awesome, but put this next to his major works and it seems a bit off and quirky.

Like the late-night cautionary tales that play out in their songs, the real key to enjoying The Orwells is to just not overthink it and listen and enjoy the music, because time spent pontificating about their age is time that could be better used for partying.

This is indie pop at its absolute finest, Gold-Bears telling their own story of resentment and an always slippery grip on love with the same melancholic charm as some of the many unheard legends of the C-86 scene or the mixtape champions of the American underground.

Youth and the group walk the line between grandiose and epic throughout, never falling on the wrong side even once.

Sunbathing Animal may not be the shock to the system that Light Up Gold was; it may not be quite the sensation. It is the work of bandmembers in total control of their sound, doing exactly what they should on a second album.

While his songs may individually fall into any of these genres, he is first and foremost a songwriter. Thankfully, that is what he does, and he does it as well as anyone in recent memory.

Overall, Movements lives up to its name perfectly, moving listeners to get on the dancefloor, moving them to feel something real, and moving We Have Band right up to the top echelon of modern dance-rock acts.

Ultimately, on Towards, We Were Evergreen have moved slightly left of the indie pop center and achieved something quite interesting and enjoyable.

Even at its bleakest, Fortuna reveals more colors and emotions at the band's disposal than Antipodes did, and its unsettled songs become oddly comforting and endearing with repeated listening.

Underneath the amplification, the songs are still there and still sturdy, but the buzz of stomp boxes hides that craft while also suggesting the songs run much longer than they do (most of the songs barely tap out over three minutes).

Between the fine ensemble playing, the excellent songwriting, and the subtle but superb studio technique, Tightrope is a high-water mark for Chatham County Line, which is no small statement given the strength of their work to date.

Runaway's Diary is the rarest kind of concept record: one that wears the seriousness of its topics like a light jacket, and whose inventive musical savvy counters the restlessness of the soul at its subject's core.

Winter and Benge often seem to be living out their fantasy of being Cabaret Voltaire members as the bloops, the bubbles, and the time-rips are all familiar devices, but so be it, and more please, and another listen for this one as well.

This set might not be as insularly perfect as the Secret Sisters' first album, but it's ultimately just as impressive, if not more so, breaking the duo out of that "honky tonk made of fine glass" feel that could have easily trapped them creatively and artistically.

Those eight songs are noisy psychedelic pop at its best, however, on par with anything else treading a similar path.

If you're just looking for some furiously raw background music, Trash Talk will do just fine, but if you're hoping that the songs will hit as hard as the band does, No Peace is a real letdown.

While Lee Bains III & the Glory Fires may be a great rock & roll band, they haven't quite cracked the code on making a great album, at least in terms of audio, and Dereconstructed manages to be impressive, encouraging, and frustrating at the same time.

This is an understated and promising first step from an unpredictable and distinctive talent.

It hammers the anger home in most tunes, and that's exactly what he feels young people around the world are projecting. He's telling them they're not only heard, but that he feels it too.