This is Blitzen Trapper’s fifth album, and there’s a sturdy professionalism evident on each of the songs. But it’s such a faithful recreation of a particular style that its appeal will in all likelihood be correspondingly limited.

Before Today accomplishes exactly the same thing all his other good records do, so I’m not sure it does much for me that, say, House Arrest didn’t. Nonetheless, it’s still one of his better records--there are some excellent pop songs here, and it’s a good place to start for listeners who are unfamiliar with Pink’s bizarre schtick.

Marked by inconsistent, not fully formed songwriting, Here We Go Magic's new tracks also make for an indecisive, if not bipolar, collection.

If you set aside some uninspired, cryptic-as-poetic moody fantasy lyrics (and a few forgettable songs truly as slight as whispers), Becoming a Jackal reveals a hidden stash of imminently memorable melodies.

John McCauley's transformation from singer of a rock band to something a good bit deeper, is on display within the running order of The Black Dirt Sessions, the band's third and finest album to date.

Unfortunately, the greatest asset to Splazsh also feels like its greatest Achilles heel. The territory this album spans is substantial, but almost impossible to get into without focused, repeated listening.

The problem is that it all sounds so familiar, and they just seem far too comfortable perpetuating stoner rock cliches.

Jurado may not be as concrete or direct as he has been in the past, but his ability to conjure emotion is still very, very strong.

On the whole, this is the best album yet from Ty Segall, as joy-ride thrilling as the debut, as clearly delivered as Lemons, but with stronger, more varied writing.

To wit, what irritates most about Compass is the way it assaults the listener with wave after wave of sonic winks, of moments intended to be witty or clever that instead fall flat. Busy and fussily filtered at every turn, I guess it’s ‘crazy’ sounding or something, but there’s nothing communicated in the slightest.

I like this relatively blunt, unadorned Tracey Thorn – not that she was ever forced or florid in her expression, but Love and its Opposite offers her most complete disarmament yet.

For those unfamiliar with this exemplary quintet and its composer, there's no better place to begin.

It's compelling from the start, particularly insofar as they not only avoid genre clichés but also cheap drama. Instead, they play emotionally ambiguous stuff--shifting modes and dynamics, or rather simply smashing them together until the edges are indistinct.

Overall, High Violet feels more like a protecting-the-franchise record than a new phase in the National's sound. And yet, even so, a handful of its songs rank with the band's very best.

While this is the most accessible Phosphorescent album, Houck's flair for musical surrealism is still very much on hand.

It either needs to at least nod to actual humanity or just be off-the-wall insane, but doing neither, it just comes off as fake. Grey Oceans falls in-between the cracks of the extremes, and while still an interesting album, feels too shallow and too Serious.

It’s a serious, earnest “lighten up, kid” that returns to Francis’s strongest mode, the slightly stilted personal journal; like the rest of Li(f)e it’s honest, sometimes brutally so, occasionally just brutal, and it’s hard to ask for more than that.

Nothing Hurts goes in the ear loud and fast. And out the other ear just as quickly.

This is a fun summer record, and just as bitter and conflicted as any fun summer record could be. There is still an art to misanthropy, and Free Energy has it down to a science.

This record clears a spot. And in some temporary way, wins against the ever mounting pile of post-punk consumer artifacts.

At first, it sounds a bit of a mess, and takes serious patience to unpack. But its catchiness does emerge with time, and it cements Ellison's position as one of the few genuinely unpredictable artists at work.

Together is a good album that is catchy and full of hooks and does a lot of what we've come to expect from the band. Having said that, it's also a step down.

The band comes together neatly, covering a range that encompasses stripped-down recordings and wider-canvas anthems. Avi Buffalo make songs that, at their best, remain lodged in one's head for days.

What Lali Puna does, and it’s very apparent on Inventions, is to really use the simplicity of pop for all it’s worth.

You’ve got death and exaltation, followed by a sly wink at rock history. Not a bad set of tools for making smart, defiant music.

This is Cornershop doing Cornershop very well.

Swim sets the more developed tunecraft that Snaith has practiced on recent records to his first set of dance grooves in half a dozen years. When it works, it speaks more accessibly than anything else he's done, and also attests to his growing ability to snag your attention without throwing all of the kitchen sink's contents at you.

The first half of this album is so annoying that you might give up before you hit a few of the better songs, all tucked away after the halfway point.