The results, though rarely the caliber of the albums that bookended this era, are a consistent delight.

It’s all very soft and comfortable, musically speaking, like an old couch you can’t get out of.

The main issue with this Arbouretum album is that it sticks stubbornly in a mid-tempo calm. There are no big, ripping guitar solos and few instrumental crescendos. The one big exception comes late in the album with “Let It All In.”

The Midnight Organ Fight is sharper, more polished, and better in parts than "Sing the Greys." There’s only one unfortunate downside. This sharper, more polished effort displays fewer of the things that made the first album so enjoyable.

This is one record that gets better when you play it on shuffle.

Nothing on Fantasy Island is as sharp or cataclysmic as that ["Voodoo Wop"] (the title track comes closest), but the unease is palpable. ... It’s very hard to tell whether Clinic is enjoying the hedonism of their hand-clapping, synth-bopping, drum thumping songs, or just trying to forestall the apocalypse. Perhaps a little of both.

It’s all rather good in a discombobulating way, where the monotonic tension of, say, the Pop Group, meets lavish, emotion-harboring flourishes reminiscent of Orange Juice and even, in a couple of places, the Joe Jackson Band. You can’t get too comfortable even being uncomfortable, because Omni likes to mix it up, the jitter and the sway.

His latest LP, Everything She Touched Turned Ampexian is another sinuous but seamless blend of the organic and synthetic, embodying the hand-in-everything spirit of hip hop.

It more or less picks up where Beaches and Canyons left off, allowing for more subtle changes in tone while distilling the Black Dice sound down to a considerably purer essence.

The initial pleasure of past Animal Collective albums is missing, but that may be the point. Panda Bear's grasp of the sublime makes this disc more than worth checking out.

It is a hazy and misty record, delightfully ambiguous to an extent, pulled together by meandering but highly competent playing tied down by small grooves, at times reminiscent of Sandro Perri.

The Jackson-White reboot casts the song as a swampy, country vamp, and while it isn't a horrible idea in theory, it does feel contrived and a bit of an unnecessary pander. Even with that misstep in mind, though, it's pretty tough not to root for Wanda Jackson and The Party Ain't Over.

The Twilight Sad’s second proper album is an encouraging step in the wrong direction. Perhaps the sensory overload of these recordings will encourage a more conservative route in the future.

Sniper is nothing if not reliable, and consistent. But what I will return to, even after the memory of this particular album becomes blurred, is "Blurred Tonight" and the other songs that have deviated, even in the slightest, from the program.

Nothing here is as punchy or infectious as Make Out’s “Boys Who Love Girls,” or Unwind’s “You Better Get Ready,” but the bangers aren’t missed; Birds Make Good Neighbors finds a lovely, whisper-quiet continuity to supplant the unevenness of these previous efforts.

It’s a testament to the strength of Ashley’s reality, and more importantly his adaptability, that the album holds together at all. Although it draws on half a continent’s worth of source material, The Golden Hour still bears, at every turn, the dark, swaggering cynicism that has always defined Firewater.

Nomad doesn’t particularly depart from the parameters that have already been set by the growing population of techstep tricksters, but it does serve as a concise document of dubstep’s travels to date.

The songs/pieces/tracks are too long. They take too long getting where they’re going. Everyone loses. But it’s a good record. Hang onto it.

Glynnaestra is not quite of this world, but that has a good bit of its appeal.

Sakamoto and Fennesz don't say how you should take their music, but its piano-forward sound aligns it with decades of delicate minor-key melodies that have accompanied countless images of rain on window pains and lonely pining lovers.

Declaration of Dependence is thus a welcome return from a long-absent band, and a fine easy-listening album, but one that ultimately feels emptier than its predecessors.

I Love People is over-the-top in a completely different way to Western Cum. It’s less freewheeling, and leaves an uncomfortable feeling, like a Todd Solondz movie soundtracked by Randy Newman.

The Mynabirds should probably have cut a couple of the less memorable and longer songs (“Omaha” and “Hanged Man”) to keep the disc focused. Even so, Lovers Know makes a strong statement, full of well-rendered wisdom and heart.

Skelliconnection feels more like a series of singles and EPs rather than one statement.

Ancient & Modern's one sticking point is that, like 2007's predecessor Natural, it's a slow grower.

McCombs has performed a bit of rodeo jiujitsu, stealing his band's name back by invoking the myth of the West.

Though far from perfect, they flit by in an instant, all washes of trebly guitars and nervous vocals that leave enough heartwarming traces to warrant subsequent returns.

Spooky Action at a Distance is an album with a lot of footholds--different kinds at that--and it spreads them out in a fashion just as lazy and distracted as the songwriting itself.