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.

The album is endlessly engaging, offering a look inside the band's collective head as a carefree playground of sounds where dour string sections melt into watery piano loops, driving electronic drum samples, and spirals of angelic vocals without missing a beat.

Sure, there's artifice and humor here, but there's also heart, and this blend of emotions is what makes A Letter Home one of Neil Young's quintessential, endearingly odd records.

A U R O R A is dark, dreadful, and dramatic; it is also a masterpiece.

Gustaph and Rouge Mary also prove to be ideal foils for Butler, who still makes his songs tight, powerful, and optimally shaped.

Do It Again is a much happier reunion of collaborators with perfectly matched strengths.

While still immersed in songs of emotional ravagement and betrayal, the confidence of her performances and spectrum of sounds represented here suggest a complete graduation from troubled, uncertain roots into a place where she can deliver her songs with a powerful, borderless command.

Even at its most wounded and immediate, the cavernous "Riverbed" and the spooky yet oddly comforting "Passions," there is a rich vein of humanity that remains tapped into.

Carey unfortunately doesn't feel nostalgic for the succinctness of her early albums, but this shows that she's still capable of delivering 40 minutes of strong, supremely voiced R&B when she's up for it.