Ultimately, Dagger Beach isn’t the easiest listen--“bewildering” and “bizarre” are perhaps the better descriptions here--but for sheer daring and intrigue, Vanderslice finds fruition.

Clark's talent is undeniable, but only when he's not flogging it half to death.

As evidenced by the rabid tones of Radium Death, his eighth album and perhaps his most demonstrative, Whitmore is both resolute and resilient.

Flowers is his third solo record and, unsurprisingly, it’s a collection of lush, textured compositions that, intentionally or not, accurately depict the graceful, exciting and endless landscapes that Iceland is so famed for.

"Det Hester!" and "Dresinen" vary the formula a bit with, respectively, squelchy synth-bass and fuzzy electric guitar, while the album-closing "Aldri Ska Me Ha Det Goy" is a oozing slo-mo ballad that layers Endresen's vocals to suggest The Four Seasons Sing Pet Sounds.

The point of Alright is not to churn out hit singles but to create an experience for its listeners, to create a concept album. Lindstrøm has successfully done so!

All ten tracks evoke surreal circumstance, given a delivery that's atmospheric, amorphous and hypnotic.

His latest is a bit of a challenge, but worth it for those willing to put in the time.

Sadly the momentum's not maintained once DeCicca and company quickly slip back into their plaintive posturing.

The record is a slow built; one that will likely take a few listens to finally grab the listener. But when it does take hold, these songs are hard to shake loose.

Though only nine songs long, Saturn’s Pattern is as close to heavenly as Weller’s ever been.

The quality [on End of Daze] is solid to great.

Nothing may not be particularly imaginative, but it’s so competent at its craft it’s hard to imagine any fan of the style complaining.

Finds the Present Tense reconciles past with future and makes for a compelling connection.

The acapella gospel of “True Religion” aside, this is a gritty set of songs, performed by an obviously unhinged individual who takes pride in his warped weirdness.

The rock vibe of past records is all but gone but not completely as the final song, “Brio” smokes along.

Essential Tremors hides some of the bands’ strongest songs in years. You just have to dig for them.

It is, obviously, a tribute to Fela’s lasting power and influence that so many different artists want to play his music, and not at all surprising that he was better at it than most of them. Still, no one wants to hear Fela’s fiery grooves diluted, slicked over, chilled out and made more commercially palatable.

Ultimately, Wine Dark Sea is all about the mystique, making it nothing less than a fascinating ethereal excursion.

Although it’s easy to lament the fact that Petty and the Heartbreakers don’t vary all that much from their usual template. Hypnotic Eye also affirms the fact they remain an austere and unapologetic outfit.

Written while staying in the New Jersey house in which he grew up, the record isn’t so much nostalgic as wistful, as if Jones was surveying the streets he used to walk with good memories but no desire to relive the past.

The Ash & Clay, which is the new record from The Milk Carton Kids, is a fine representation of a dish that’s been plated to near perfection with but a small amount of key elements to make it a delight.

Maybe they were trying to evoke Leonard Cohen’s Songs From a Room but they came up with something sweeter (albeit noir-ish) in the process.

Listening back on the first couple of releases, its obvious Alkaline Trio has learned to inject more melody into their songs over the years, though My Shame Is True is closer to their punk-ier sound than the last few efforts.

One Man Mutiny isn't perfect, but it's a highly listenable album from a man who's seen it all.

The themes that combine to create this opus are also suitably sprawling, with subjects that touch upon key events and cultural touchstones essential to British history.

Seven songs long, it offers the impression of one continuous tirade, despite the moments of sublime tenderness that illuminate tender courting tunes like “Heaven Is Here” and “The Enemy,” each of which bring to mind such heartfelt Harper ballads as “Commune” and “Another Day.”

There are hints of a potentially great band on Strange Land, just not enough to sustain a full length.

It’s always good to know there’s someone out there still doing straight-up guitar pop without irony or pretense.

Side Pony is a solid starting point for anyone who has yet to discover the band.

On its fifth album Fandango, Wellington, NZ combo the Phoenix Foundation doesn’t so much eschew the eclecticism of previous efforts as employ greater continuity

Bruiser is an entrancing album from start to finish and a promising peek into what The Duke Spirit's future holds.

Though some lyricless segments blur together, a few stand out.

Derivative? Sure. But also blissfully compelling and entertaining.

Smith matches oddball narratives with clever, catchy tunes; he’s a really good songwriter. If he were a little happier or a little less prone to baroque eccentricity, he’s probably have a bigger following--but he wouldn’t be Sonny Smith, and that would be a shame.

While the tunefulness of these tracks may not be so obvious--and in many cases, almost entirely elusive--she entices her listeners to peel back the layers and discover the shimmering glow that emanates from within.

The one thing missing from Dude, The Obscure, are a few more raucous, upbeat tracks, but that can easily be rectified with a new Diamond Rugs record.

Suffice it to say those looking for an album on the order of early Squeeze classics like Argybargy or East Side Story won’t be disappointed. Packed with winsome melodies, joy and jubilation (made all the more expressive by titles like “Nirvana,” “Beautiful Game,” “Sunny” and the all too appropriate “Top of the Form”), Cradle to the Grave is a stunning example of the brilliance Difford and Tilbrook seemingly command at their fingertips.

N.E.W. feels more like a victory lap than a new beginning. Nothing inherently wrong with that, and every track is here is at least solid, but it’s best to put expectations of revelation out of your mind before hitting the “play” button.

Graveyard incorporates as many repurposed elements of Free and the Faces as it does from Sabbath, putting more melody into their attack, and Nilsson responds with the most nuanced vocals of his career so far.

Away has some fine moments, but is an LP completists will get the most mileage out of, perhaps as that curio figure in an artist’s evolution to somewhere else.

The same basic sound is here, but a bit dancier and more electronic groove. Not nearly as much of the straight pop or shoegazey stuff.

In the grand scheme of things this is not epochal work. In the world of rock ‘n’ roll this is to the Rolling Stones or Bruce Springsteen as Chausson or Bridge were to Wagner or Mahler. But those lighter composers had their charms and pleasures, and with Herein Wild so does Frankie Rose.

They still have that dirty, carefree, uncompromising vibe, but on Underneath the Rainbow it’s able to be tamed, morphing into melodic garage rock that’s as catchy and easily digestible as it is rugged and in-your-face.

There are no hedonistic celebrations at the level of Wild Onion’s “Strawberry Smoothie” here, as many of the tempos have downshifted to soulful; nor do any of the hooks sink quite as deeply as “Mirror of Time” did.

Lyrics are hard to fathom, and, apparently, mostly improvised, but snatches of words suggest the same general mindset as the music.

The evolution may be jarring to diehards who loved the band’s take on old-time string band folk, but Black Prairie’s skill at playing its own version of rock brushes aside any carping.

You have an album that on balance is worth the effort it took to produce. But it's a precarious balance.

Unfinished Business doesn't breach new terrain, but then again, there's really no need.

The final product can both unnerve and captivate, though not at the same time. As far as consistency, well that's another story.

Look Closer sits in a similar wheelhouse as most Daptone projects, working a familiar vein of late ’60s/early ’70s soul.

This former power pop band currently eschews the pop in favor of the power. Melody is less of an essential, but the sheer verbosity suggests that they’re opting for a stadium-sized sound.

Time Off takes its time getting where it’s going, but deftly reaches its destination.

The weakest element here is Hawks' voice. It's not distractingly bad, but at times it sounds like he's attempting to sing better than he may actually be capable of. But overall the effect is a good one.

Repetition and simplicity balance the sadly beautiful sounds on Wabi-Sabi; an eccentric album that will find its home with those who seek something creatively different in their music on a mellow, rainy day.

Revelation continues to tow that tradition, with every song providing different twists at every juncture.

Majestically sad (“Almost Home,” “Saints”), soulfully sad (“A Case For Shame”), atmospherically sad (“Going Wrong”), trip hop sad (“The Last Day,” “Tell Me”), Northern soul sad (“Don’t Love Me”) are all interesting but often too subtle variations that almost make you want to force feed him Zoloft at times.

Overall, the EP--which would earn a higher grade if there were simply more of it--captures a contemplative Wareham midway between Luna’s driving pulse and the darker fare on Dean & Britta’s 13 Most Beautiful: Songs for Andy Warhol’s Screen Tests.

Shadow of the Sun sounds like Moon Duo is still working its way out of a corner, trying to find a way to expand its limited-palette sound without leaving it behind entirely.

Sonically, the band tends to be all over the map on this one.

Night Fiction is beautifully played, full of the clean, lovely sounds that can be made on traditional rock instruments, but it’s not very memorable.

The rest is a mix from great (Glen Hansard’s “Pressing On” and Deer Tick’s “Night After Night”) to the not so much (Aaron Freeman’s “Wiggle Wiggle”).

At a half hour, Too True might seem brief, but Penny makes the most of every minute.

L.A. Takedown often errs on the side of too much perfection, but here, a little messed up, it soars.

Cosmic concoctions of this sort are all too rare these days, so it’s rather refreshing to hear this sound revisited, particularly with the added investment in melody that Elephant Stone tends to allow.

Subtlety and finesse are the watchwords here, two elements that deliver artistic intrigue.

He's a vibrant and, indeed, impassioned performer and Bad Ingredients is filled with enough passion and conviction to spark an entire orchestra. And a rousing ensemble at that.

Not a far stretch from 2011's Reptilians, Miracle Mile is, sonically speaking, lateral to its predecessors. But it holds enough well-crafted tunes to make for an enjoyable album.

Wholly enjoyable, but nothing revelatory.

Woodland Echoes, his latest solo album, is cohesive and strong and despite being a little more mellow than some of his earlier offerings, would fits nicely alongside his work from the ‘80s and ‘90s.

Mountains composes the soundtrack to dreams you didn't know you had.

What they do is ply their trade with heaping dollops of Muscle Shoals soul, fiercely funky grooves and southern rock swagger, all doled out in substantial doses on This River, that hang heavy with the humidity of Grey’s Florida homeland.

Temples aren’t reinventing anything here so much as adding a distinctly British twist to well-trodden ground.

Another solid step in their ongoing evolution, These United States constitutes a genuine declaration of independence.

The raison d’etre here is warhammer shred, with little mercy and less restraint.

Jurado still seems fully intent on liberating his music while evading expectation.

Contrary to its title, Do Not Disturb might prove disturbing to those whose tastes don’t necessarily allow for introspection of intrigue, but for those that miss the adventure and ambition British prog rock once had to offer, it’s well worth the risk.

Though there are still plenty of the Fleet Foxes-meets-Beach Boys elements to much of this new record, it also finds the band branching out with new sounds.

The members of Gardens & Villa may spend a lot of time outdoors, but they're probably listening to Human League on headphones as they tiptoe through the thorns.

Growing up in the Nottingham projects may have given Bugg enough life experience to get away with penning “Seen It All,” but it’s his sonic aesthetic that give his tales truth.

The band is tight, and the music ebbs and flows as usual; it just doesn’t go anywhere original. I hope the band will be able to right the shjip on their next effort.

At its most affecting What We Saw from the Cheap Seats is a sad and touching record, filled with love and the memory of .... Parts of [the album] feel either disposable or a revisiting of old ground.

This is the kind of show that often carries a “had to be there” air, especially given the heavy participation of the crowd and the freewheeling nature of the performance. But Chilton’s charm and talent make Electricity By Candlelight wear surprisingly well.

Opening the door of your mind’s eye to the psychedelic sludge and acid punk hooks of Slave Vows will gain you a lot of decadent pleasure, little insight and even less mercy.

The results meld as mood music of the highest variety--dense yet delicate, edgy and yet elegiac.

The impotence of railing against it is a theme running through a lot of the record, and in the case of Nightingale Floors, coming to terms with the past has freed Rogue Wave to turn in what might be their finest work.

This pet project of Jack White uses all the clichés in spades on their self-titled release, The Black Belles.

This LA-based hardcore band turns out their most consistently solid set of songs yet; a dozen tracks of distorted guitars, machine gun drumming and throat-reddening vocals.

A musician capable of creating lush if sometimes unlikely arrangements, he uses his particular prowess as a means of fashioning spectacular soundscapes.

Whitmore may not have the same potential to fill the nation's arenas, but his rugged determination finds him undeterred regardless.

It makes for a varied bunch if ever there was one, a set of songs that proves both deft and divine.

As so few acoustic instruments joined each song, placing them all together lends a flattened feel to the LP. That is not to say the songs are not worthy of several listens, Oran Mor Session displays Twilight Sad’s great lyricism and Graham’s impassioned voice.

A rather smooth and relaxing affair, Best Blues proves that sometimes less is more.

As the set progresses, Simon seems to shore up his resolve.

For all its shattered circumstance, Carry the Ghost makes the most of its heavy baggage.

The album opens, confusingly, with an electro-funk groove that becomes a trippy, multi-vocal chorale. Most of what follows is sprightly power-pop with psychedelic touches, dreamy asides and occasional dance-club thumps.

He came out the other side with a hard-won wisdom, emotion and sense of craft that, like soul music, never goes out of style.

The London trio has hit its stride, churning meatier, heavier grooves without sinking into sonic muck.