A bit melodramatic, but undeniably compelling, Scattergood’s work has already drawn comparisons to Tori Amos and Kate Bush.

Nothing terribly exciting here, but as it comes from a guy who made his bones as one of the most genuinely fucked-up-sounding people in music, it may be a welcome relief to hear him act like an adult.

This is not a bad album, and if it weren't carrying the Gang of Four name, you might find it casually enjoyable.

This is a significant step up for an already promising band. Speedy Ortiz may not be major yet, but they won’t be arcana for long.

A band that glides effortlessly when it might benefit from a bit of friction. A little ugliness might break up these pristine gate-reverbed vistas and make them seem not just stylish and cool but real.

An album that is easy to listen to, but hard to grasp, Everybody wraps its complexities in bright soap bubble diaphanies.

No one’s going to herald Waiting For Something To Happen as a great leap forward, but there’s a subtle refinement in approach happening for the attentive of ear.

Ultimately, The Iron Soul of Nothing feels considerably more like a NWW album than a Sunn 0))) album. But somehow that doesn't come at the expense of the source authors. Rather, it's a satisfying document of Stapleton's ongoing creativity as well as confirmation of the potential always nascent in the doom duo's earliest work.

For now, Extended Vacation is nice enough, at times seductively lovely, but it lands short of essential.

In A Wonder Working Stone, Roberts continues to tinker thoughtfully with the shared tradition of the Isles, always somewhat familiar but modern and discordant enough to render pause and consideration.

Overall, the album has an over technical, over clean vibe. All three musicians play very well, and they’ve obviously gotten more intuitive and engaged with one another. But it’s too much skill and too little viscera for my taste. Despite a continuous onslaught of face melting solos, Anthropocosmic Nest feels a little cold.

In the end, Hall Music is an enjoyable but paradoxical album, both an expansion and contraction of Svanängen's palette.

Intentionally or not though, the vibe here tends to conjure more of a '71 than '01 frame of references, working up a slightly discordant, cacophonous sound that brings to mind everything from the Kosmiche synth-klang of early Cluster to the Industrial scree of late Faust.

At its best, then, Vanity is Forever seems to be an album where the nostalgic references are intentional: New Wave as touchstone rather than simply gazing backward fondly.

Their debut conveys a unique sensibility that's endearing without being cloying or calculated.

On the Moog axis of pop, they’re skewing less towards Six Finger Satellite and more towards an asymmetrical version of the Rentals.

Modeselektor's willingness to collaborate and explore sounds while still sticking to their identifiable, fat, bass-heavy crunk techno style is worth applauding, and there's no reason to think that they won't continue to remain relevant.

For all the ups and downs, this collection fulfills Martin's goal of continuing the conversation.

Living on the Other Side sounds as good the first time through as it's going to, perfectly pleasant but slight.

On every LP, Harris creates an impression of something that is emerging but never quite there, and she’s done it again on The Man Who Died in His Boat.

Over its brief 26 minutes the songs crest and fall within a fairly narrow band, and when one feels like it’s about to peak and explode, the group instead will pull back a bit. There are shifts and changes aplenty, and there’s certainly no risk of tedium, but this is a reserved set of songs nonetheless.

I'm not sure if I'll ever be sold on his approach, but scattered moments do shine.

These are beautiful, rather unsettling pieces that feel almost right, almost wholly natural, and yet just off.

The songs here simply stand together as individuals, each quite memorable while comprising a solid album.

On the inauspiciously titled Take Care, Take Care, Take Care, the band's sixth album, it's focused inward and enriched its traditional dynamic ebb and flow with some artful embroidery.

If the album’s second half falls off a bit due to the programming of consecutive slow burners, the orchestral layering we expect from the quartet is still there.

Under Stellar Stream does one thing exceptionally beautifully, with great consistency and intelligence (but not intellectualism), rolling out an unending thread of song.

The results are pretty weird. Which is a good thing.