The character of each new Low album is always a mystery until you hear it, so speculating on whether they’re likely to continue working in this manner is pointless at this juncture, but it’s good to know that ten albums in Low still have the ability to put together a stirring collection of songs.

Here she sounds more polished and pop-friendly than ever, largely thanks to some new additions and some smart subtractions.

With Lines, Lynch has managed to trudge on ever closer to the boundary separating the two worlds that he calls home, though at least for now he’s decidedly, satisfyingly settled on the side of the outré.

Thematic speculation aside Green has managed, more simply to write a compelling collection of guitar pop songs.

As commendable as their attempts at exploring different genre’s are, Fol Chen do sound their best at their poppy moments.

On balance, it’s what you’d expect from a Wavves record, hardly revelatory and moderately inconsistent, but packed full of reckless exuberance and fun, hyperkinetic jams to thrash around to that take only a couple of listens tops to get lodged firmly in your head.

While Comedown Machine drags itself through a number of dead zones (most notably the dud pair of the title track and “50 50”), there are moments where they recapture some of what made them a great band.

It’s not an album that immediately reveals itself, but when it lets you in it’s hard to find your way out.

the record does manage to impress despite being vaguely familiar and prone to flights of guitar fancy for no other reason than it can.

House of Woo suggests an artist who’s still coming into his own without being afraid to play chameleon at the DJ booth.

It’s rare to find a lyricist so honest and a vocalist so earnest, and when put into song it seems to Houck as if every word is vital and cathartic and necessary.

Outrun is exactly what it aspires to be: a fun retro-pop-dance album for those who like to drive fast through cities at night, perhaps behind a pair of sunglasses.

There are a couple of lesser tracks on Nostalchic and it’s up for debate as to how well Howard sticks the landing on the LP format, but Lapalux is a singular talent and his debut is evidence of that even if the pieces don’t all quite click neatly into place.

Despite the thimble of predictability or aural similarity, Wahlfeldt has accomplished in Crusher an interesting take on familiar sounds. It’s too fuzzed out to just be post-punk, too sparse to just be a home-recorded take on his alt-rock idol.

On Mala he certainly could have done himself some favours by trimming away some lesser moments (particularly the pointless minute long “Mala” or “A Gain”) but there’s certainly a sense that’s he gradually becoming more efficient with his song writing.

Girls Names does not dwell on the dourness, but conquers and transforms it into a solace--a sound resulting from some hallucinatory fever like a Max Ernst painting, realizing the shadowy dimension parallel to this existence.

Frank Ocean might have a gutsier pen game–and Usher more moves and Miguel more sex appeal--but 20/20 is easier to fall into a groove with than any of the best contemporary pop/R&B albums out right now.

There’s a confidence exhibited here that’s refreshing.

New Moon has extended the the group’s realization of their own freedom.

Punk Authority sounds too accomplished to be the product of mere caprice.

A tangled and glorious mess of aggressive glitches and clipped synths and stuttering beats and hints, shadows, and fragments of tunefulness.

The duo retain a stripped down approach and it helps make each production choice and songwriting turn feel pondered and noteworthy, each track carving out its own identity and mood within a larger thematically consistent body.

Sweat’s new album, All My Love In Half Light, follows from her debut, Mantic, utilizing the same setup albeit this time she sounds clearer, grander, and more in control of herself and the world she’s creating.

Javelin’s sound has in fact undergone distilled changes, but the result is still a fun album that once again brings up the question of what could be next for the duo.

When viewed on its own, Vol. 3 is a pleasant, though fundamentally flawed, ending to Smith’s musical journey.

Sudden Elevation is her first album entirely in English, and is the result of an escape to a seaside cottage to focus herself on her songs and the concept of the album itself, detailing the way tracks would ebb and flow. As a result she’s created arguably her best work to date.

Lesser songwriters might stop there, and accept lyrical maturation as the only necessary step toward a sophomore effort, but Crutchfield also uses Cerulean Salt as a way to expand her sonic palette beyond the crackling acoustic guitar ballads that marked her previous work.

They’re wisps and fragments that might leave you feeling nostalgic for the nostalgia that marked Payseur’s past. If only the messages contained within the songs rang as true as the guitars.