Anchored by Blake Mills' tasteful and creative production, the ten-song set feels like a small step forward for Mumford. It's both rooted in the past and primed for the future, like an exorcism gone right.

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.

Things Happen That Way is solid, fun, and a bit sad, but a fitting, heartfelt sign-off from an American treasure. It's quite beautiful. One hopes, however, that the deleted tracks will surface on a later release.

While lyrically bleak, Gulp! delivers its pessimism with fist-pumping enthusiasm for the most part, at least until the meditative, Kinks-evoking closer "Light Industry" emphasizes life's repetition on the album's one true outlier, like a final wink and a nod.

Only time will tell, but at this point Courting are delivering some smart, bracing fun that will keep you guessing in plenty of good ways.

Doggerel pushes the boundaries of what a Pixies album can be, but not aggressively -- quite the opposite, in fact. The peaks may not be quite as high as they were on Beneath the Eyrie, but it's still a lot of fun to hear the band's reinvention.

Wave's formula of recounting painful memories and reflecting on how far he's come on the road to stardom starts to wear a little thin midway through Beautiful Mind, but he switches things up enough with the unexpected R&B vocal samples of "No Deal" and the booming, anthemic arrangement of "Mafia" to keep things moving along.

Some tracks work better than others, but the album ends on an impressive note with the open, ringing distortion of "Or Head On."

The End, So Far may not be a home run, but it proves that the band are still in it to win it, even if they're playing the long game.

Grander in scope than Gibbs' rightly praised single-producer efforts, $oul $old $eparately is nearly as consistent, as the project is driven by his unyielding focus.

A like-minded, generally uplifting, uptempo set (this time comprising a still generous 12 songs).

Even if The Will to Live ultimately proves the old adage that you can't will a masterpiece into existence, what's here is the work of a great band with a fine songwriter giving their all in the studio and playing at the top of their game, and that makes it a great listen, if not quite an example of Ultimate Rock.

This is Sherwood's album more than Andy's, experimenting wildly with his dub mixes with all the abandon of an excitable kid at recess. This willingness to go off the deep end makes Midnight Scorchers an enjoyable ride, but it's not quite the essential listen that the original album was.

It may be a bit disjointed, but Into the Blue offers enough thoughtful songwriting and creative sonics to suggest Broken Bells has matured into the pleasantly offbeat side project it was always meant to be.

If Forever Blue was a great debut, As the Moon Rests is a very good follow-up, and leaves no doubt that A.A. Williams is a remarkable talent who is still honoring her singular vision.

One of Eno's most sobering releases, FOREVERANDEVERNOMORE is a cautious reflection on the state of our planet and its future.

With ¡Ay!, Dalt succeeds at constructing and exploring an elaborate sound world that resembles a surreal reflection of her past.

While some of the record's lyrics are lost in ambiance, Ballentine's ethereal vocals are a key component of an artful sound design that, like a movie, is optimized in its full-length context.

Turner seems to be angling for atmosphere, not hooks, with his melodies. The free-floating croon helps The Car amiably drift in space but it also highlights how the record could use a couple of elements to bring it back to earth.

Only Built for Infinity Links is an energetic, fun, and multifaceted project from Migos members Quavo and Takeoff that stays lively and keeps away from the type of filler that can drag down mainstream rap albums and mixtapes.

The reliably uncompromising Omens includes some of the band's heaviest and most apoplectic works to date, with highlights arriving via the pummeling "Nevermore" and "Greyscale," and the unrelenting title cut.

It's impressive how purposefully murky the band can make this music feel when you notice that the tracks are actually pretty coherent, with imaginative layers of sound working in support of the songs, and the passage of time hasn't robbed them of their spirit or significantly bent vision. Apocalypse Love is as weird as it wants to be, and coming from this band, that's always welcome.

The sleekness calls to mind the Strokes, as does the guitar interplay. It's definitely an avenue the band might want to explore more if they get tired of unhinged rock & roll. Not that they needed to change; they could keep putting out records like this -- filled with energy and a tiny bit of polish -- and it would be a long time until the Murlocs got stale.

By the end, the album both feels like an inevitable destination from prior albums and represents an excellent entry point for the uninitiated.

King Gizzard are never less than compelling and even when their concepts are modest, they deliver a final product that's psychedelic pop/rock/funk/soul/prog/what have you at it's very best.

With the exception of the over-five-minute, tempo-shifting "Empty Head," the songs here are still short and bittersweet and still distinctly Frankie Cosmos, but there's a little less bounce in their gait and more weight to them on the whole, as Kline negotiates self-examination, affection, regret, and apprehension.

No one who is a fan of Haines' previous work is likely to be disappointed with All the Kids Are Super Bummed Out, and he's fortunate to have found a collaborator in Peter Buck, who makes music as strong, idiosyncratic, and witty as the lyrics they support.

Rarely deviating from a mix of elation and stupefaction, Cometa doesn't have the range of emotions examined on Green Twins and Will This Make Me Good, but frayed-nerve howls, phrases of distress -- anything other than loved-up susurration -- would have disturbed the groove.