JG manages to both make fun and have fun, their music more goofy than cynical.

Now comes the Orchestre's first album in 20 years, Cotonou Club, and it has some of the bet-hedging one tends to see when musicians don't trust what they've got--re-recordings of old material and guest stars.

Emotional Mugger isn’t a bad record, but the songs are nowhere near as strong as the ones on Manipulator, and whatever Segall is trying to get at here is not yet in his grasp.

It is something of a missing link, and therefore a reminder of the often uncomfortably close proximity, between indie baroque’s earnestness and the pyrotechnic baroque of a lead singer who keeps a “passion coach” in his entourage.

The Tree of Forgiveness, ten breezy songs and thirty-three minutes long, is slight, but its brevity fits. The Tree of Forgiveness doesn’t rage against the dying of the light. Instead, it’s funny and it’s sad. It’s complicated. It’s over before you know it.

What ties all the disparate elements together is a taut thread of hip hop breaks, clattering electronic beats and wobbly dubstep bass.

While there are moments where En Form for Bla (named for the Oslo club where it was recorded) rolls right over you like a rogue wave, more often it sounds like the main action was situated a couple rooms away from the microphones.

Perhaps whatever he's wishing for or doesn't have is something too personal or boring to tell.

While not a rapturously groundbreaking record, Cold of Ages is a rock-solid entry.

The record called E, then, is not exactly what you’d expect from any of them, a volatile concoction of musical ideas and impulses that amplifies their distinctive gifts without sanding off any of the jutting edges.

The music’s references doesn’t sound particularly new, but Batoh sounds newly energized and fully in command of his new band.

Fans ignore these efforts at their peril, since Chasny’s long-form efforts are often his best.

Time Is Glass is lovely music — that much should be no surprise to anyone — but beyond that, it taps into something invisible, deep and important. Is it too much to say that these songs manifest the divine? Maybe so, but let’s stipulate at least that they’re trying.

Lights’ debut was a strange, beautiful thing, and one of my favorite debuts of last year. Rites is bigger, sharper and in all ways better. Lights just got a good deal brighter.

Lovely as it may be, Light of a Vaster Dark largely lacks the surprising, adventurous quality of Faun Fables's past efforts, coming off as monotone and unremarkable in comparison.

A successful homage, What the Brothers Sang seems to distill and convey this vision, showing us the Everlys through McCarthy’s and Oldham’s eyes, but in such a way that allows their distinct aesthetic to shine clearly through.

The thing holds together remarkably well, thanks to Wale’s upstart charisma and remarkable versatility.

The Unicorns manage to polish an array of pawn shop instruments into miniature masterpieces.

Rave ‘Til You Cry is a welcome reminder of Raczynski’s skill, his lightness of touch and the sheer exuberance of his music. If it’s exhausting to dance to it’s great to hear and to reminisce about the Battles of Beatdom.

The band’s mechanics are becoming more masterful, with Marian Li Pino’s drums particularly boosted on this outing.

DOOM’s sounds as bold and battered as ever. You can almost hear the accumulation of Dutch Masters on his larynx.

“Sublime Eternal Love” closes the album with an affirming major progression. The vocal overlaps are still there, but Chrystabell’s diction is more distinct, ending a recording of dark pathways moving towards an imagery of endless light.

Ufomammut has a compositional focus and restraint that frames the sonic elements well. An excellent continuation of their recent work.

Most of what’s here isn’t memorable, but there is a steady flow of moments so ersatz that it is oddly listenable.

If nothing else, it leaves you receptive for the bruised and ravaged beauty of “meet me under the ruins,” as radiant as a Jack Rose raga, and a fitting elegy for all that precedes it.

The pulsing, nodding, whisper-y grooves are a kind of accomplishment, too. Subdued, sure, enveloping and lucidly becalmed, you can float on them like warm salt water, no effort required at all.

It often feels vast, tracking the curvature of the Earth, but it never forgets that music is made by people, and that there is real intimacy in the consort of two individuals relating to each other through simple gestures like singing, or brushing against six guitar strings.

It’s kind of fun to hear Ex Hex experiment with their production, but it would have been more fun to hear them take some real risks with, say, an acoustic number or some synths. Truth is, despite its heft, It’s Real isn’t a huge departure from Rips. It’s more like a bulky rough draft of the record that preceded it.