Too many records are boring. This one is visceral and scary, which is an improvement.

Whether Ferraro’s singing is purposefully amateurish or not, it puts the album in a particular light, one in which NYC, Hell 3:00 AM is either an awkward misstep or a tongue-in-cheek spoof. Actually, it probably falls somewhere between the two, but either way, this isn’t James Ferraro playing to his strengths.

There is something very powerful about these interpretations, as Stewart and his crew cut past the elegant phrasings and the precise constructions of Simone’s songs, and expose their bruised and bleeding vulnerabilities.

Though each of its cuts clocks in at less than 10 minutes, Forever Becoming is still largely imbued with Fire’s sense of movement and grandeur.

Even as Barnes works with a more limited palette, the drums/bass/guitar ensemble sounds as tight and crisp as could possibly be desired. He just doesn’t seem to want to be as gentle as the music that he has created here, resulting in a frustrating, and sometimes rather irritating listen.

Solar Motel is Forsyth’s most traditional album in recent memory.

Burial doesn’t step into the spotlight particularly masterfully. For the first time, his rhythmic choices get a bit lost, and some of the cuts to silence are more clumsy than disorienting.

One of its strongest allures was its comfort and maturity.

It’s still a trip, just a marginally more vivid one, and that’s a good thing.

The songs on WOT are about as accessible as any Donovan has ever written, with bright clear melodies, relatively tight structures and minimal instrumental embellishment, but they still resist easy analysis.

Uncanney Valley looks like a Dismemberment Plan record and largely sounds like a Dismemberment Plan record. But yet, it’s not a Dismemberment Plan record. Not a very good one, anyway.

The Bones of What You Believe loses steam quickly, leaving nothing new that approaches the promise of the group’s early releases.

It’s its own thing, and a pretty good one.

While there might be a sketchy blueprint here, Prince took R&B to unknown places both musically and by integrating a bizarre personal philosophy that tried to make sense of God, sex, life, and death, but mostly sex.

The n’goni and Cheick Diallo’s flute indicate that Touré is going for a more pan-Malian sound; whether that matters to you or not, they give Alafia a more varied sound that its predecessor without sacrificing the propulsive, calabash-driven feel of its predecessor of its immediate predecessor Koïma.

Functional Arrhythmias moves briskly through these terse, but usually quite rich pieces.

As pleasant as Gunn is a guitarist, he’s an equally low-key vocalist, his flat delivery and barbiturate baritone unobtrusive and lackadaisical — just kind of there, often, buried slightly beneath Trucinski’s and well below his own gently spiraling guitar in the mix. It’s kind of a shame, actually, as Gunn’s Impressionist vignettes are quite interesting on close listen, showcasing Gunn’s marked maturity as a songwriter.

He is comfortable enough with the sounds and effects we associate with Sonic Youth to replicate them without the intervening distance of reference, but he is also ready to push these sounds into other more conventionally tuneful byways.

Though this release is bloated and sometimes inconsistent, Horseback remains a distinctive, at times even bewitching band.

It’s an intricate, carefully crafted set of songs that blows by in a warm breeze.

You don’t so much listen to this album as dive into it, immerse yourself, let it flow past you.

A tremendously satisfying and thunderous effort, and their finest work to date.

While bubblegum’s reliance on the hook has afforded Collins the opportunity to write some of the catchiest songs of his career, Ooey Gooey Chewy Ka-Blooey!’s strongest selling point is its extraordinary attention to detail.

Despite some good ideas and intriguing moments, tracks like “Inside World” feel unsatisfyingly aimless.

It’s a solid album where both songcraft and the estimable loud-quiet-loud dynamic can share the spotlight.

For those of us who love music, in whatever genre, that distorts and mutilates its own conventions, Legacy! is undoubtedly one of the releases of the year, with an infectious, yet challenging groove that startles even as it enchants.

Hard Rubbish is only a simulacrum of thoughtful, accomplished indie rock of the post-adolescent doodling variety.

It’s restlessly beautiful stuff.