Like any good exorcism, Year Of The Witch allows Ryff to share and shed what's haunting him.

Both Campbell and Millan shine on their own, but the album's stronger tracks happen when these two team up together.

The compilation moves like a mixtape and the tracks work better together than individually.

The perfect concoction of guitar riffs, synthesizer wails, the mullet, 1980s reverb and two awesome animals, the dinosaur and the walrus.

On the album as a whole, the guitar riffs are what stand out the most from the thrashing drums and growling vocals.

Chillwave touchstones are alive and well on the record; tender, nostalgic vibes still emanate from each throwback synth pad and ethereal two-part harmony, and there's still plenty of reverb to go around.

The emphasis on reacting to criticism and persona-maintenance occasionally overshadows the significant developments and leaps Tyler has made as a producer and musician on this record.

Acousmatic Sorcery is an occasionally iridescent collection of songs, but at the end of the day it feels too tasteful, too self-consciously curated.

Dry Land Is Not A Myth blows by in what feels like an instant, but it is so easily engrained into your memory, you'll find yourself humming it all day.

Fulvimar has, all at once, figured out what works and built up the self-assurance to do just that.

Bursting Visions can at times feel like a record that emphasizes quantity over quality. Then again, this also makes it easy for pretty much everyone to find at least one song they like.

A World Out Of Time was recorded as a whole, a distinction that has some subtle effects on the album's sequencing and pacing without diminishing the elements of collage.

Ab-Soul puts out a solid release here, helped along by some big name features and big performances from his TDE labelmates, but at times These Days feels too generic or just flat out stale, ultimately failing to carry the Black Hippy torch in the ways that good kid m.A.A.d city and Oxymoron did for the crew.

It's a seriously cute band that writes seriously catchy love songs that you will probably seriously enjoy--if you're all right with that ebullience thing.

Lightning Dust finally sound like what the scientific matter of something called “lightning dust” should sound like: a lull after a thunder clap, a sharp beam of light, something that sprinkles down after the heated rush, something organically beautiful. And in its beauty, it hurts.

Boris channels the heart of heavy metal music with a massive sound and unparalleled aggressiveness.

Sankey and Warmsley still have a lot to offer on Welcome To Condale, with Sankey's large vocal range that easily adapts to the feel of each song and Warmsley's ability to match her perfectly in background singing.

Conversations is an album that will sink you into some kind of woozy hypnotic stupor, not pull you out of one.

His heavy use of synthesizers might pin him to an era, but his tenor is timeless.

The best thing to do on The People's Key isn't to connect with Oberst's lyrics. It's to connect with how connected Oberst is with what he's singing.

Gendered pronouns do not appear on the album, thus the record feels distant, as if Rostron is isolated from the listener, a tactic that makes the album intriguingly impersonal yet universal.

Perfect Darkness becomes half a dip in lukewarm water, when it should be a moody walk on a cloudy day.

Jonquil excels at frolicking, but the band can also play it more subdued.

It is an unapologetically gorgeous piece of work and one that is better appreciated without considering the confines of its genre or how the chillwave brand has become passé in most circles.

The results of these bursts of levity are as stark as Quran verses scrawled on Vegas brothel walls and recall why Sumach Ecks remains a rare, unsettling voice.

His song progression is static, manic and as mutely thrilling as ever.

It unravels itself while unraveling you at the same time. It’s happy-go-lucky on the surface, more mellowed out underneath.

In an increasingly bleak post-recession climate, jagged and somber post-punk seems a rather fitting lens, and Prinzhorn Dance School has mastered its execution.