Can’t Love is a sonic semblance of moving from a bustling warehouse in gentrifying Brooklyn to wandering around alone on a culdesac in the rust belt and wondering what the next stage is.

NONONO are Swedish afterall, so while uneclectic, the album is not without its well executed, catchy genre charms. But what NONONO does well on We Are Only What We Feel, other people have done better time and time again.

Although most of Careers chugs along with a sandy roadside candor, some tracks, like the churning, heavy Planet Birthday or the clinically pulsing Hong Kong Hotel, play with disparate textures.

Liberation! may not achieve its loftiest goals, but Bauer does manage to launch his solo career with talent and class.

Neon Icon is the weight the internet has left us with. It’s a much-delayed product of Tumblr art, Big Brother reality TV, corporate worship and urban fetishism. Or, maybe it’s pushing against these things. I dunno, whatever, at least it’s pretty fun.

By existing at their own preferred pace, PHOX’s wonderful inability to conform to anyone else’s standards is what forces listeners to slowly digest their subtly multi-layered sounds. PHOX may be self-sufficient enough to do without your love, but it certainly deserves it.

Tropics Of Love is an experiment in inertia. When it’s good, it stays good, and when it’s not, it’ll be over by the time you swallow your pina colada.

Familiars‘ ultimately succeeds in delivering the third consecutive full-length gem from the Antlers.

It’s a cracked, smart and surprisingly powerful album, you just have to listen a bit closer than usual to hear what it’s trying to say.

When Smith gets a little feistier (his last resort), the songs feel more ambitious; but it’s the more minimal, quiet ones that hit home emotionally.

The band demonstrates its growth from angst-driven punks to thematic artists (although still retaining enough angst) by having developed and refined their musical style, as well as further grasped the emotions that are intertwined within the songs’ depths.

There doesn’t appear to be much room for hope, but they execute their sadness so beautifully that it’s easy to accept their blue moods.

The music is smart, diverse and tuned to perfectionist standards, but frequently the lyrics leave the listener wondering, “Where is White’s gut on this?”

Where Tim Cohen’s vocals should soar, scream or sink low, they remain at a consistent monotone, rendering his occasionally poetic lyrics into lukewarm sentiments that do not invite further investigation.

The evolution is slight but impressive, and worth taking note of.

Despite some sugary moments, Dalliance, mostly ringing with fizzy excitement, is nonetheless a record that toes the line between bitter and sweet lonely dude moments.

Mainly, the band locks into grooves and reigns in some of the cackle of earlier releases, while wisely drunk-dancing in the under-four-minute mode.

It cannot be denied that this album can’t help but fall short of the previous two records’ effect, given the massive quantity of pioneering moves captured in those albums. Nonetheless, whether or not Fucked Up can see it, they’re still doing the music world some good.

Written and recorded herself, Are We There, her fourth full-length, is a Sharon Van Etten record through-and-through.

Pallett’s vocals that move from soft quiver to full tenor on the title track. And when paired with his simple pop tendencies, the intricacies are easy to absorb. All you have to do is listen.

The Moon Rang Like A Bell is both subtly understated and completely overstated.

Taken as it is, this is a great summer’s coming album, the most fresh guitar pop record of the year, though it might be a bit too bright at times.

Dark Arc’s unique sound is a team effort of acoustic instruments, raw talent and the life that comes from breathing the fresh, crisp, if sometimes foggy mountain air.

Not exactly a massage, but a wind-down from the tumult that is Ultima II Massage.

III is an album so methodically arranged yet lawless at times that even its more flatlined moments play an integral role in its rebellion.

Every track on this album is relatable and takes us on an emotional journey through the steps of a breakup, which in Li’s interpretation seems to be frustration, pain and ultimately loneliness.

While the lyrics have always been one of the main highlights of every AJJ album, the ridiculous level of the lyrics on this one might stretch the tolerance of even the most dedicated fans.

At certain points in Nikki Nack, like the track Manchild, her quirkiness feels out of reach, but it always comes back down again to teach you a little something about life, love and letting creativity shine through.