While some tracks prove unradical, it is when Astronautalis fuses heavy bluesy-rock influences with his beats that Science truly shines.

Sermon on the Rocks should speak to anyone with an ear for melody and an appreciation for a commanding, compelling delivery. Whether or not this broadens Ritter’s reach remains to be seen, but even if it falls short, be assured that it’s still excellent regardless.

The problem is the album starts to wear thin about halfway in and never really gets back the strength of those first few songs.

They ply the same general furrow as American contemporaries like Wooden Shjips, though with a tighter, more consciously limited focus.

As Toro Y Moi is mirroring sounds from genres past, Anything in Return sounds all too familiar.

While not nearly as great as seeing the band live, this record does a commendable job of capturing the band at their energetic, playful best.

The Canadian chanteuse offers up a series of deceptively delicate entreaties that quickly give way to the sort of emphatic rhythms and boisterous melodies that reflect an unmistakably bold confidence.

All in all, it makes for a rich and resilient brew, and maybe, just maybe, the kind of opus that will propel Jurado towards the greater accolades he so clearly deserves.

None of these songs (well maybe “Hear No Evil”) will really shock long-term Lightning Bolt fans--but they do depart in interesting ways from the main project.

Mollestad gives us a generous and welcome taste of that classic sound, which her own twist on it that would hopefully make McLaughlin himself proud.

There is nothing particularly revolutionary about the new record, rather it is a band finding confidence in a sound that’s new to them.

With Sleeper Segall sounds almost, well, mature, and emotionally invested.

Deer Tick’s fifth and latest offering is a tad darker and surprisingly personal compared to earlier efforts. The result is ultimately a stronger album, but it takes a little time to get to the good stuff.

For all that remarkable restraint, Dennison creates a stirring impression, making this convergence of emotion and execution equate to nothing less than pure, evocative bliss.

If you’ve heard their main/prior bands then the sound of this won’t surprise you, but it’ll still feel like an old friend that you always pick up right where you left off.

One should not have to turn in anywhere from one-to-two-hours of wages to hear the old coot warble out Willie Nelson’s “On The Road Again”, regardless of how novel the way by which he crafted it.

Modestly presented but expertly crafted, Incidental Hum does exactly what a solo album from a well-respected bandleader is supposed to do: show off a different side of the artist’s talent and provide plenty of entertainment in the bargain.

The instrumental nuances make for a vibrant whole, but often times, less works best.

For you kids out there planning to attend space camp, I can't think of better counselors than Elders and Valentine to take you far out where few have journeyed before.

Musically, expressive and thematically sound, I’m Glad Trouble Don’t Last Always is as promising a pronouncement as its title suggests.

Though hardly the type of platter meant to accompany any sort of festive gathering, Little Heater still manages to stir the senses.

Breaking away from their by now trademark South Jersey, cruising with the radio on brand of punk rock that first got them noticed, the band is likely to alienate some early fans with Get Hurt. In doing so, however, The Gaslight Anthem is doing much more to preserve the band in the long run, evolving at a steady, but satisfying clip.

While the band may seem more aware of emphatic expression overall, many of the melodies maintain the anthemic perspective that ‘s always been so inherent and inspired.

It has, not surprisingly, an elegiac quality, a mournful, melancholy cast to its elliptical phrasing. Like the first iconic first lady, the music is polished and well reined in.

With Holly, Waterhouse really comes into his own, branding himself as a retro crossover crooner whose immediate intent appears intended to instigate a ‘60s soul revival.

The production values are practically negligible due to the archival effect. Still, Stoneking’s intents are obviously pure and prone to imperfection. A curious listen, Gon’ Booglaloo goes all out.

Not everything needs to be emoted so hard, not every line requires an instrumental ta-dah! Try a little simplicity next time. It makes the big swells all the more impressive.

With songs as downcast and despondent as “False From True,” “Worthy” and the title track, the steady ache doesn’t abide all that quickly. That said, Trouble & Love does find some cause to break the stranglehold of sadness and despair.

You're not going to learn much in this hot tub, or perhaps remember much about it afterwards, but come on in, the water's fine.

Hoop’s experimental tack often requires repeated listens, but it’s creativity and not mere quirkiness that ultimately leaves alingering afterglow.

Modestly presented but appropriately self-confident in its dedication to craft, Hendra is a low-key but sturdy delight.

Long Slow Dance is a schizophrenic album, at times frustratingly so.

Though the band seems to have packed all of its musical interests and abilities into the album’s 11 songs, this is a most likely only a sampling of their capabilities and of the colorful ideas yet to spring from the mind of Jocie Adams.

Non-converts won’t miss anything, but psych rock fans will eat this up and belch happily.

This is almost background music (think synth meets krautrock meets disco meets industrial), music to wash the dishes to or fold clothes or, simply music to dance to (that is probably what the band wants) and in that sense it is perfect for a darkened club where the only thing to do is dance (no drinking or fucking allowed).

The result is slightly uneven, but ultimately has some fantastic songs on it.

They still sound as brilliantly odd as their seminal self-titled debut.

He sounds more at home and natural on these [jazz] songs than on the country music for which he’s most celebrated, making Let’s Face the Music and Dance one of the most effortlessly enjoyable records in his large catalog.

Newcomers may not find Similar Skin the ideal place to begin, but longtime admirers will probably swoon in awe.

Sisyphus is ultimately as off the wall a release as you’ll likely encounter this year.

After the third track “Christine” floats past like a lost Julee Cruise track on soulful blues guitar and vintage 50s’ keys, the LP takes a surprising but effective turn into heavy, murky territory.

With twenty tracks and plenty of impromptu circumstance, it may not offer the same potential for pure appreciation that a standard anthology of studio tracks might provide. Nevertheless, there’s an adventurous spirit contained herein, and The Chills show they’re adept at heating things up as necessary.

Future Standards feels a little too respectful, well-done but static and without much animating fire.

Love Is Love isn’t clear cut, reading at times like the various stages of grief.

One interesting thing about Ty Rex is how Segall nicely balances the more familiar glam/Seventies side of Bolan with the early folky-faerie side that characterized his Sixties output.

The songwriting doesn’t quite match the ambitions here, and that gives the LP a transitory feel--that, too, may be fitting, given Huebert’s long season.

The album is a good beginning for Will Toledo and crew one on which they’ll hopefully build upon. Some of the tracks though seem too reek of an “indier” than thou attitude that’s best left at the door.

Elvis at Stax, discreetly packaged, replete with complete credits for musicians, singers, and studio personnel, and excellent (if fawning) Robert Gordon liner notes, is a nice corrective.

Whether the new album will get them anywhere close to the mainstream remains to be seen. Most likely it won’t, but that doesn’t mean we can’t root for them all the same.

ild Animals may be an exaggerated description, but their willingness to explore other environs still ensures ongoing interest.

The well crafted moments within Our Love outshines the weaker numbers and makes the album a fun and danceable listen.

Love ‘em or loathe ‘em, they provide the clearest picture of what Gira and Swans are trying to do.

It’s been an odd and unpredictable mix at times, but Mould’s always made a point of indulging his interest with passion and integrity.

On the album’s second half, Foster and her producer/bassist Meshell Ndegeocello steer more towards a softer sound (“Learning To Fly,” “New”) that glosses over some of Foster’s grit. Still highlights are easy to find.

If anything, Atlas sounds like a fully formed album from another era, complete with woozy harmonies, an assured shimmer and a constant jangle.

A little mellower and a little more introspective, but just as impactful as he was two decades ago when he first started showing up on the radio, Collingwood is proof that growing up and growing older isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Eric’s new album Construction Time & Demolition is all the title implies, an erratic set of songs that’s decidedly left of center but boasting the ebullience and energy that’s so critical to his motif.

More studio sympathy and less technical trickery might've made The Bravest Man in the Universe a minor classic.

He sounds like an old master these days, crafting material that would sound equally affecting if they came from the pen of Guy Clark, Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Steve Earle, Alejandro Escovedo or any of several weathered and revered troubadours who blazed the path before him.

While there are some great intimate moments (especially the beautiful “Wayward”), ultimately that lack of a more consistent balance between upbeat and slow tempo drags the album down a bit.

Maandig remains the primary vocalist; yet she is MIA on many of the vast orchestrations that feel like Tattoo leftovers.

It’s unlikely that Carrier will be the offering that brings that promise home. Yet it is a superb showcase for the pair’s ample prowess.

Well-constructed, sophisticated, relaxing, and pleasant.

For most, this will make superb background music for meditation or musing, a tangled tapestry that’s ideal as a soundtrack for seduction.

If you are looking to enjoy a continuation of the gals' intriguing blend of Breeders-esque harmony and Tall Dwarves-ish bombast, you may find yourself listening to this otherwise fine record Again and Again.

The record, produced by John Congleton (St. Vincent, Swans), was pulled together after a year spent on the road, and it shows.

This album may not prove to be everyone’s cup of tea and may require a bit of hope and patience to listen to Samurai. Joakim has made an album that is simultaneously familiar yet unique and sets you on a creative sonic journey.

With Feel The Sound, it's only the music that matters and the urge to enjoy it couldn't be more compelling.

Ultimately, The Body Wins serves up an unusual brew, one that spans the expanse between a perky bounce ("Mannequin Woman") and haunting circumstance ("Hooray for Love"). Both eerie and intriguing.

Stokes lacks Barnett’s songwriting diversity, worldliness and clever wordplay; too many of the songs on Future Me Hates Me are interchangeable, built on quiet, jangly verses and fuzz-button sing-along choruses that lament the usual litany of “I” and “me” woes.

There are some songs that sound like they were last minute add-ons (“Alchemy” is so plodding you can almost watch time stand still), but taken as a whole, Fool still finds Jackson playing some of the best pop music out there, immune to fads and current trends.

Not all the songs on Hardly Electronic are as affecting--and some of them are just good bubbly pop fun. There are some misses--the country-ish “Bye Bye Crow” isn’t very good--but most are at least solid and surprisingly fresh, and a few are much better than that.

The World’s Best American Band is all about cutting loose and having a blast via the method of catchy guitar-based rock & roll tunes--simple, direct and oh so very effective.

No one's asking Jackson to bare his soul. Still, there's a surface-y, writing-exercise quality to many of these songs. (I Can't Get No) Stevie Jackson doesn't really give us much Stevie Jackson, just some clever jottings and puns and tunes he's scratched out in a notebook.

Jason Lytle's solo excursions express a bewildering mix of emotions. Dept. of Disappearance, his sophomore set, muddies the waters as much as before.

Lyrically, the album is pretty mediocre, but the band has always seen their playing overshadow the words; Black Beehive is no different.

For as much effort Keenan puts into the head-scratching, overarching plot of this project, he puts as much gumption into the music that, on its own, could illuminate an applause sign.

Hatfield more closely follows the model of her most popular work, with multi-tracked vocals and hooky arrangements to boost the pop quotient.

To be sure, low fidelity contemplation has generally been Johnson's stock in trade, but even so, there's no denying that Scorpion simply lacks sting.

So while songs such as “Beautiful Dream,” “Run” and “Gloria” may be anchored with a touch of techno, there’s also plenty of sparkle and substance to keep most folks satisfied.

At 29, Winslow-King clearly has a bright future ahead of him, but Everlasting Arms shows he’s come a long way already.

Much of today’s music draws inspiration from more recent antecedents. Arguably Freedom Jazz Dance: The Bootleg Series, Vol. 5--even as a collection of material originally deemed unsuitable for release--is superior to much of what is new.

In the best cuts, the dance elements win out over doom-y post-apocalyptics. “AS A.W.O.L.” layers metallic-ringing keyboard notes (like a music box made of tin) over a sinuous, vaguely ominous beat.

An admirable effort in terms of daring and experimentation, Choir of Echoes reverberates ever emphatically.

The set eschews songs in any traditional sense, opting instead for murky soundscapes characterized by minimal piano and acoustic guitar, suspended strings and a dense overlay of synths and drums.

At times, Pterodactyl wedges in too many layers, so that the parts blur together in a formless murk.

Newcomers may be a bit overwhelmed by all the frenzied drive of their delivery, but the combination of irony and assurance guarantees populist appeal.

On Oni Pond, their fifth, is quite possibly the closest they will ever come to being considered de-cluttered.

Divine Providence apparently isn't a realm for the faint of heart, but those with the verve to vent their all may find it a welcome retreat.

Badwater is more accomplished but also less astonishing, a victory of craft over pure sensation.

Immunity pounds and pulses with pneumatic energy, its rhythmic tracks (“Collider” but also “Open Eye Signal”) gleaming with machine-precise hedonism.

Ultimately, Whispers suggests a kind of sublime sensibility, sentiments that will hopefully encourage all potential fellow travelers to quickly get on board.

Crocodiles play with great passion and honesty, and the album tackles every human emotion. Consider it an instant classic.

Songs like “Preludes,” “Tracking Shots,” “Tangletown” and “Rescue Blues” find his pliable vocals emitting that certain verve and swagger.

Whenever they appear close to becoming unhinged, that rowdy, reckless approach is even further affirmed.

While there is nothing particular off about this quiet, solid collection--consisting of little more than Hitchcock’s voice over quite acoustic guitars and the occasional piano and cello--it’s still a pretty muted, low-energy affair that is not immediately memorable.

Heaven isn't 100% bliss, but the Walkmen have taken themselves and their fans one step closer.

In the end, Pure Comedy isn’t anything close to the laugh fest the title implies, but it does provoke a deeper reaction regardless.