A successful exploration of dance music both subtle and sharp.

Portico still holds appeal for ambient music fans and those who embrace the fringe, along with Portico Quartet regulars who might find this trio's temperament a bit different, but the musical textures will be familiar.

I Don't Like Shit is heavy and lacks much hope, and yet it communicates these feelings with such skill and artful understanding that it still fills the soul.

Exhaustive but not exhausting, The Complete Recordings is a veritable jukebox full of fun for Frank Black obsessives.

No Sad Songs is a quintessentially solid and affective offering from the band, and with the continued rise of indie folk stylings well into the 21st century, the Nick Drake-inspired approach they've been loyal to since the '80s might not be embraced by the masses but should at least find itself in fashion.

While the snap into tightly focused and sometimes more fiery songwriting is remarkable, the songs aren't as across-the-board strong as they'd need to be to make the entire album as remarkable as the shift it represents.

While Black is lucky to have friends as skilled and giving as the Brewis brothers, he brings plenty to Slug, and though it's tempting to think that the Brewis brothers' participation is the main draw here, Black proves on Ripe that he's good enough to stand on his own.

Second Hand Heart is prime Dwight Yoakam: traditional yet modern, flashy yet modest, a record that feels fresh but also like a forgotten classic.

Despite their best efforts to thwart it, Stealing Sheep's intoxicating otherworldliness ultimately wins out.

While there's no clear mission statement or overarching theme to the album, the group's collective energy is exciting and propulsive throughout, sounding very much like a group of close friends ecstatically pushing each other into uncharted musical territory.

More accessible yet no less honest than their first two records, Bonxie is an expansion of Stornoway's best attributes.

The album is a bit too pretty and polished for its own good, with the kind of approach that fades into the background at times, but there's no arguing the quality and thoughtfulness that Calder put into this work, and if you like the notion of indie pop as ambient music, then this may be just the album you've been looking for.

With Infinite House, Ava Luna don't narrow their ambitious scope of sound, but manage to rein in the rapid-fire impulses that made earlier albums harder to swallow.

All that is certain is What For? is the best one so far, with Bundick really coming into his own as a songwriter, vocalist, and producer.

Admittedly, these are also slower-burning compositions that lack the hooks and pop immediacy of much of Villagers' previous work. Ultimately, however, the pulling back feels intentional and fitting for an album of songs that always seem born out of O'Brien's most personal experiences.

Born of D.I.Y. punk culture, Waxahatchee's fuzzy, introspective pop stands out due to the fearless honesty of the songs, and Crutchfield's refusal to dumb down her emotional currents or underestimate her audience. Ivy Tripp is another excellent and remarkably bold chapter of this exciting, unflinching sound.

Ultimately, it's this kind of life-is-short pop energy, imbued with Murphy's well-curated sense of time and place, that helps elevate the Wombats' Glitterbug from just a one-crazy-night soundtrack to an album that might stick with you for years to come.

It's the group's most lived in and emotionally authentic sounding release to date; it certainly doesn't fiddle too much with the formula, but that's hardly a negative.

You don't have to care about wrestling to be knocked out by Beat the Champ, but Darnielle makes it clear that these stories mean something real to him, and this is a fascinating portrait not of who wins or loses, but those who play the game.

The resulting album successfully fleshes out Shlohmo's previous sound into his most accomplished work so far, and ultimately manages to find hope in darkness.

More atmospheric than their regional contemporaries Baroness, but just as keen on opening up the blast furnace doors when an exclamation point is needed, Royal Thunder spend much of Crooked Doors skillfully dancing around the almighty power ballad (the Nazareth radio standard mentioned earlier looms large throughout), but not truly succumbing until the very end.

The Ruffian's Misfortune shows the man is doing some of the very best work of his career 40 years on, and anyone who cares about American roots music in any form would do themselves a favor by adding this set to their collection.

There are no big surprises here; fans of Lonesome Dreams will surely be pleased, and Strange Trails' serene ambience and unconventional narrative may capture the imagination of inclined first-timers.

Though it's a stretch to call it a happy album (from an artist who routinely pondered the dark side of his life), it's full of charm, wit, and guarded optimism as Rouse tells us a bit about his demons with an honesty that suggests some, if not all, of them are in his rear view mirror. If only therapy was this effective and entertaining for everyone.

Gallows are certainly not getting any happier, but they've got torment down to a science.

As a whole, Culture of Volume is an intense and fascinating album, one that leaves sequel-like anticipation for what else East India Youth may have in store.

While their debut acted more as a fairly straightforward (and cleanly captured) document of Drenge's live sound, Undertow's cohesion comes from its intentionally murky tone which provides just right home for their (mostly) controlled fury.

As pleasant as the album is, this time it feels like Calexico are just passing through.