The band sounds vital and energetic, and while there's still a hint of sour grapes to be heard, all in all the album feels like a return to the basics.

Where the band's last effort was rooted in their past, Last Act of Defiance has its feet firmly planted in the present with a message that feels both important and timely, making for a solid album that shows Sick of It All aren't just going through the motions.

Chamberlain sounds like he's exorcizing some demons with Sleepwave, and he's doing so in the style that comforts him the most.

Despite a few bright moments, Motion is disappointingly bland--especially since Harris has made plenty of memorable electro-pop before and after his EDM makeover.

Mysterious and riveting, Rhythm is one of the most stunning distillations of Wildbirds & Peacedrums' powers yet.

The way Arca plays with and decorates time, letting sounds and moods mutate spontaneously, makes Xen a complete picture of his artistry and also promises much more.

It may not displace Toro y Moi as Bundick's most satisfying project, but as an outlet for his dance music urges, Les Sins works very well.

The smaller Guggenheim portion, served up in smaller doses, decreases the tension only slightly on Clark's most exhilarating work yet.

While Ruins' sound is stripped-down, it's filled with emotional magnitudes. Harris' confessions are that much more devastating thanks to their almost overheard nature, and her whispered vocals mean her audience has to listen to them as closely as possible.

Even on these songs, it feels more like Deerhoof are coming full circle than looking back; that they've been able to put different but cohesive spins on their sound so well, and for so long, is truly remarkable.

By delivering this big, sloppy valentine to everything he is and everything he loves, he's not being neat but he is true to himself.

These sly revisions gave the 1975 album a slight veneer that's been stripped away by this unfussy, startlingly clear remastering, but the big difference is that the chronological sequence on The Basement Tapes Complete gives the set a narrative.

Ultimately, while Bass Drum of Death's reach never exceeds their grasp--there's no MC5-style ersatz free jazz, let alone a guitar solo to be found here--Rip This nonetheless grabs your ears like a drunken biker in a bar fight, letting go long enough for you to pick yourself off the floor just in time to get pummeled again.

A large portion of Black Metal resembles the kind of lo-fi, quantity-over-quality, solitary works of eccentrics who would have been at home in the mid- to late '80s on labels like Factory Benelux, Creation, or, well, Rough Trade.

Sense of purpose gets eclipsed by sense of self on If There's a Hell Below, but Black Milk deserves to ride the vibe of his previous work more than most. Consider this a returning fan's album, and then go about becoming one.

Third album Lifer continues that album’s gnarled tendencies, offering up blurry washes of ghastly rock that have more in common with '90s metal-leaning grunge acts than the sometimes artsy punk undercurrents that wander in and out of Dope Body's sound.

It's a stellar record, one that captivates both the heart and the imagination with an almost imperceptible grip, clutching the listener's attention with its painstakingly beautiful construction and a sadness that is all-consuming but somehow warm and comforting.

This kind of work doesn't make for an album which one is inclined to return to for repeated listening.

Once again, they have succeeded and prove that they aren't just an oldies act; they are at the forefront of the modern shoegaze/noise pop scene.

At their best, recall a sort of world-weary punk troubadour but occasionally feel a bit too put on. For the most part, though, Restorations succeed in delivering a well-built album that feels ambitious but remains engaging, with its sights set on the wide-open horizon.

Just like Kendrick's stunning Good Kid, M.A.A.D City, Under Pressure is an autobiographical and odds-beating debut that arrives more fully formed than expected. Maybe all those mixtapes were all called Young Sinatra because the best was yet to come.

A beautiful collector's piece commemorating one of America's most vital indie bands.

Even if The Night Is Young could have been improved by better editing, it's still a welcome return from one of dance's most endearing acts.

If Florida Georgia Line feel anonymous, that's not a bug: by design, they're playing to the largest possible audience, so nobody should be surprised that Anything Goes is so broad it avoids such messiness as personality.

Blurred is unique, although akin to the old 808 State and LFO efforts where blue rooms met bass music and all the hoodies understood, but it's that same meeting happening in 2014, after house and bass followed their own indie and dubstep routes.

Honor is the first album where Rancid sound obvious, like on the heavy ska "Everybody's Sufferin'," where the lyrics about how everybody's suffering are delivered in cornball Jamaican accents. It's the first time they sound empty, too, like they're going through the motions with little or no passion driving them.

If the first album was the supernova, RTJ2 is the RTJ universe forming, proving that Mike and El-P's one-off can be a going, and ever growing, concern.

Nobody else can sing like Jerry Lee and it remains a pleasure to hear him sink his teeth into nearly any song, especially when he's supported by a team as sympathetic as he is here.