Seed of a Seed gives fans the stunning folk vocals and intricate guitar work they've come to expect from Haley Heynderickx while gently defying conventions set in I Need to Start a Garden. It's an album best enjoyed outdoors with a seasonably appropriate drink and box of tissues nearby.

While it's missing some of the frantic, desperate immediacy of God's Country, Cool World sees Chat Pile exploring their sound and aggressively antagonizing the world around them.

While his style here isn't too far removed from the melodic pop leanings of 2019's IGOR and the mixtape homage of 2021's CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST, he's continuing to expand his ambitions. There's theatrical Zamrock on "Noid," surprising sentimental softness on the polyamorous "Darling, I" and "Judge Judy," and a towering crescendo in the form of "Balloon" and "I Hope You Find Your Way Home," which end the album with celebratory grandeur.

At its best, the album delivers contemporary counterparts to feminist folk classics, but the good moments are often rushed through for seemingly no purpose.

There's a mature artistry wide awake beneath the concept. A thorough attention to detail and an obvious reverence for its anachronistic references pay off, conjuring an atmosphere that's as eerie as it is familiar.

Similarly to Manic, The Great Impersonator shines most when Halsey is unapologetically themselves.

Guided Tour is not a bad record, but it's not a particularly memorable one. It features some excellent work by a powerful band ("Mind's a Lie" is possibly the best thing they've ever committed to record), while also forcing the listener to sit through some truly bland, unoriginal filler.

Pomegranate is sharp and vibrant, like a pulled pin it explodes lofty ideas and ideals, dreams sold to us by mainstream culture and reigning ideologies, and offers the everyday as something worth celebrating.

A pleasant float into the blue of Allison's mind. It's a safe and comfortable journey, but you might find yourself dreaming of bigger adventures.

The first half of the album is presented with the clean and stripped down grain of early Karate songs, but the feel is less their trademark over-caffeinated tension and more suburban dad that used to be in punk bands jamming to Thin Lizzy songs with his buddies in the car port. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's not very remarkable either.

At times Clouds risks being dragged down by its bleak outlook, but ultimately it's a moving portrait of a band on the brink of its own breakthrough.

The songs don't hit quite as hard or as immediately as that high watermark [Celebration Rock]. But there's also nothing to suggest that Japandroids couldn't have carried on, dropping albums when they had material, touring when it suited their schedules.

PRUDE's half-hour-ish run time packs plenty of punch, mixing old and new strengths well, exemplifying why Drug Church have so much staying power.

They aren't reinventing the wheel at this point in their career, but as young artists with explosive, disillusioned and wrathful emotions for the world and social conventions around them, there isn't a rock band more suited to the times.

Spiral in a Straight Line is an album that represents the logical next step for a band who have honed in on what works — not reinventing the wheel but finding subtle ways to improve on what Touché Amoré is and what they can be.

The record's weakest moments often come when Amstutz flexes her pipes. .... Still, the record has enough shimmer and verve to keep it afloat. Amstutz has made a chart-friendly pop record that never loses sight of what made its central character so compelling in the first place.

Snaith's work is meaningful, and it pushes music forward in a way that's genuinely exciting.

The songs on Cutouts feel jammy and jazzy, and while the trio are of course experts at their craft, the instrumentation tends to meander.

It's a successful album, but it's not quite a SOPHIE project. If you follow the sounds long enough, you'll eventually find her — quietly commanding the aux cord from another, better dimension somewhere in the kitchen.

Wherever he goes, it's a journey solely for himself. That we're invited occasionally to check on his progress in all its disarming, emotional breadth is simply a blessing.

Sparhawk's plastic electronics are less invasive but still serve to create a new reality, sublimating the sadness and anger to a degree where they are less raw and more manageable.

If it was offensively bad, at least it'd be camp. Instead, each track is an ADHD simulation — so understimulating you forget what it sounds like seconds after it ends.

For some listeners, these lyrics might strike as free association, but there's a coherent logic to be traced from one line to the next, and strong thematic ground to be established as Menuck makes an important connection between the privatized experiences of the domestic space and that of the globally conscious citizen.

Nearly a decade on, Jamie xx proves he still has the X factor. It was worth the wait.

If there was ever any acquiescence to the particularities of one or another mode of creation on the part of Davachi, The Head as Form'd in the Crier's Choir is a sign that that is now over, and that she's freed herself to fully embrace the impulses that have made her work so rewarding all along.

There's a sophistication to the vocal phrasing on "Call It Love" and "Made Out of Memory," a newfound confidence that alone is enough to propel My Method Actor to heights not frequently reached on past albums.

From the lonesome synth pop of 2016's Pool and 2018's The House to 2020's hyper-Auto-Tuned Ricky Music to the freewheeling indie rock of All Day Gentle Hold ! — Shirt is an intoxicating feat.

Sensual and honest, Viva Hinds feels close to the chest, with throbbing pianos, soaring synthesizers, and drum machines accompanying profound reflections on staying true to oneself in love.

There are no more ghosts in these guitar solos, and the wiry licks and riffs are as sure-footed and confident as the tightly crafted structure of each song. It's easy listening, yet fiercely complex.

The return to a more electronic-based production style is a welcome homecoming, allowing every pluck of the guitar and gentle synth stroke to speak for itself. Infinite Health is medicinal music for the soul. Santé!

Although there are outliers (particularly "Final Rescue Attempt" and "Conversion"), for the most part, the album revels in its own straightforwardness, and the band makes it sound effortless.

Though Short n' Sweet falls a few inches short of the masterful pop its singles suggested it could be, it's buoyed up by its incredibly high highs, and establishes Carpenter's identity in a pop landscape saturated with next-main-pop-girl hopefuls.

The piece has a propulsive quality, even if it isn't travelling at a danceable BPM, and at 41 minutes, it never lags. It's also very listenable, its infinite aural nuances — blips and bloops, pounds and crackles, hisses and animal sounds — offering a constant source of delight, calm and exploration.

[Producer John Congleton's] keen ear helps make POWER Tudzin's most sonically complex album, with electric and acoustic guitars, keyboards, strings, crescendos of feedback and other sounds subtly layered just beneath her bright vocals.

This is no elementary Valentine's card; it's a treacherous and wonderfully unreliable encyclopedia of romance.

Creativity is what keeps Ill Times pretty damn fun despite its darkness. While soul-meets-rock can easily slide into awkward pastiche, the synergy behind this collaboration keeps its collage of free-floating ideas tight, yet effortlessly unrestricted.

FOREVER sees Charly Bliss firmly planting roots for themselves within the pop sphere with a sense of purpose and playful, joyous intention that even well-seasoned pop bands struggle to do.

If only he'd overcome his demons, finished these fine songs and enjoyed the accolades they surely would have garnered. Justin Townes Earle fans were robbed of that deserved future, but at least we can make do with this collection of songs that bookends an exceptional career that should have gone on so much longer.

Bird's Eye is tinged with her signature futuristic nostalgia, but her sonic and personal growth is clear, creating a vibrant kaleidoscope of sound and feeling.

Y2K! certainly isn't a disaster, but it's decidedly inessential, providing some new material for fans of her early singles without revealing any new tricks.

The story goes that Alabama red clay sticks around, its residue leaving a stubborn, permanent presence. The Red Clay Strays are here to stay, their story written in a cloud of red dust that's far from ready to settle.

Glover is clearly better than he's ever been in almost every regard; his rapping, singing and everything in between feel refined to a point they never have. The issue is that, without the movie, there's no connective tissue between these songs, as great as the majority are. For now, Bando Stone & the New World exists as a collection of songs that are mostly great, but lack any real sense of cohesion between them.

NO NAME isn't quite as white-knuckled as the first time White made music like this, nor is it as hooky as those White Stripes songs that took them from underground weirdos to superstars. But it's exciting to hear White fully return to the sound he's best known for, with its no-nonsense execution heightened by the thrilling manner in which it was released.

Inoffensive music Iike this is an affront to the very idea of what makes music so worthy of obsession and analysis. It's the antithesis of self-expression; this ain't no victimless crime. For the first time, I understand the term: this is pure co-worker music.

David's voice still sounds boyish after all these years, but All Hell noticeably showcases his increased range. Call it getting older, but it makes these songs that much more dynamic.

Longtime fans should recognize Lady on the Cusp as a strong late-career addition to of Montreal's vast discography, mainly due to Barnes's larger-than-life persona. But you can only be the horniest freak at the party for so long before it starts to get old.

While the majority of Harmonics was written solely by Goddard himself, he allows his songwriting to be elastic, bending and shaping around these guest vocalists, resulting in one of the most personality-filled albums of the year.

Wolf sounds like she's having the time of her life showcasing her range as a vocalist and songwriter.

Her experiments with cross-stitching sometimes unravel, but even the loose ends make for powerful listens.

C,XOXO isn't a bad album, particularly when stacked against the imagined disaster it could've been. The problem is that it sounds like it's been purchased from other talents rather than being curated and homegrown by Cabello and her team. You gotta hand it to her for trying though, even more so for the fact that it nearly, just nearly, works.

Strut of Kings requires more than just a first go-through, as much of the album could have benefitted from moving past the "first thought, best thought" rubric. Although it seems crazy to say, this is an actual Guided by Voices album that could have benefitted from an editor.

When Love Heart breaks the feedback loop of its own foundational creation is where the record is at its most compelling.

The variety of doors presented in the album's quest for answers, or more questions, present a challenge for those who prefer a more cohesive experience. For the adventurous though, the doors crack open onto a wide variety of styles and time frames.

The Oakland, CA singer's most sonically eclectic collection to date, the record bounces from club tracks to acoustic ballads and her personal brand of R&B that's been the backbone of their career.

Neige's constantly evolving approach to songcraft means that Alcest's music, for better or worse, will never be what it once was. While Le Chants de l'Aurore doesn't reach the same heights as some of their previous works (particularly the intricate Kodama or the aforementioned Écailles de lune), the album is still awe-inspiring.

The record's first two-thirds are very well-paced, from bashfully stoned ballads to instrumental to extended Floydian romp. It makes it all the stranger to see the album fall apart toward the end, where indistinct sanguine ballads are sent to die.

Meloy has his art down to a science, and the Decemberists take their fans through as winding and rewarding a trip as ever, complete with an abundance of twists and turns that suggest that the journey, long as it may be, is the true reward.

Although the band clearly wears its assorted influences proudly on their collective sleeve, this diverse approach can sometimes hinder progress, resulting in some songs that are vibrant, complex and uniquely Cola, while relegating others to the derivative badlands.

Wallows play it safe on Model, with a lack of distinctive storytelling shackling the album to its mid-tempo pop melodies, its highs too few and far between.

It's one of 2024's must-hear strokes of genius, crossing linguistic borders with its expression of understated, comforting beauty.

While it may be early to qualify his style or sound as timeless, it's managed to stand the test for the past 10 years and he's done nothing but hone his skills.

A rare and energetic vision of unfiltered creative impulse from a brilliant prophet of pop.

This is a well-travelled band firing on all cylinders. Enjoy it with a terrible house beer and hardworking, sweaty company.

A further expansion of the clean stream of consciousness that is her discography, Chaos Angel proves, at its worst, that Maya has found her groove and ain't nothing's going to break her autumnal stride.

Designed for finding communion with others while staying true to oneself, I Hear You touches the timeless with an ethos of openness, striking a vibrant and dynamic balance between familiarity and freshness.

While it can be embarrassingly earnest at times, impressively, the music never comes across as self-conscious or unsure. As always, Khan is unapologetically herself, and we're welcome to come along for the ride if we'd like. I'm happy I did.

On Big Swimmer, they embrace the uncertainty of it all with refreshing stamina and poise; letting the forces at play wreak some havoc so that they may reach new ground, transformed.

An incredibly concise and cohesive project, Dark Times clocks in at an airtight 35 minutes across its 13 tracks.

With Dark Superstition, Gatecreeper have cemented their place as one of modern metal's most visceral, exciting and endlessly-listenable bands, and the album is a more than worthy addition to their already-accomplished catalogue.

The album is certainly dreamy, but its lack of urgency may also cause some listeners to snooze.

These are decidedly intimate songs approached from remarkably wide angles, woodsy tapestries penetrated with modernist psychedelic touches (whirly tubes, piano strings struck with metal spoons), artfully woven into grand, sprawling arrangements that will reward repeated private listening perhaps even more than Portishead has.

For 43 minutes straight, she forces the listener to consider every facet of her sound without wasting a second of their time. Her self-assurance in her craft lays the foundation for an album that feels like a signature triumph.

Between its instrumental interplay and Gendron's singing and structural vision, it's a deep and gorgeous classic that moves her into the pantheon of our greatest living songwriters.

It's not a stretch to preemptively label Poetry 2024's record of the summer for the alternative crowd. It's fun, fresh and doesn't take itself too seriously.

The album's only real shortcoming is that the Chris Motionless-featuring "Slaughterhouse 2," a sequel to the Garris-featuring original on Motionless in White's latest studio effort, feels slightly underwhelming in the shadow of its predecessor. It's a small misstep in an otherwise robust collection of songs.

The segues on Death Jokes prove to be the highlights of McMahon's experimentation. "Joyrider," "Predator" and "Solo Tape" succeed because they are unencumbered by the weight of songwriting expectation. Unlike the fuller compositions, these interstitial tracks lean more on the side of musical vignettes.

Listening to Look to the East, Look to the West feels at once redemptive and healing; Camera Obscura have found their way through the dark.

The grandeur is all-enveloping here; a minor epic built from a surfeit of dissident spirit and Van Halen fanaticism. Don't let Mdou Moctar be the close-kept secret of suburban shamans the world over — this is pure Tuareg delight, palatable for all.

On first glance one might mistake it for a kind of "playing the hits" trick that many artists rely on as they revisit their origins. But digging in, Time Is Glass feels more like a progression of ease — 20 years on, Chasny is able to reach the astral plane the way most reach for a light switch.

The pair have fully blossomed from their early DIY start, showcasing an incredible range of indie pop craftsmanship and a grounded centredness built on empathy and understanding.

If you'd cooled on the duo for this reason, now is the time to jump back in. Justice have purified their sound on Hyperdrama, largely for the better.

Despite electric amplifiers and a plethora of pedals, BIG|BRAVE have created an album that sounds like it's existed since the dawn of time. Tears will be shed and embraces are encouraged.

On All Born Screaming, Clark sounds more at home than she has in a while, but all planets inevitably die — perhaps the next one she lands on will finally be her own.

It's yet another solid rock record from a reliable group who are very good at this sort of thing.

Like the colourless photo of a near-anonymous Swift that adorns the album cover, it casts an artful pose but doesn't have the guts to look the listener in the eye.

At its best it's far closer to the sort of comeback album that reminds listeners why they loved the music in the first place, instead of the hollow nostalgia of past glories.

There is unquestionable bravery in the access and vulnerability that sentiment communicates, and the journey into pop music is yet another promising step in rousay's always-morphing development.

Across its 10 songs, Don't Forget Me is as concise as it is exciting. Not a note is wasted, not a second under-utilized. What truly sets it apart is how comfortable Rogers seems embodying her full potential.

The glowering strength of If I don't make it, I love u is in its commitment to both sides of the coin, an album both experimental and laid fully bare — The result is one of the best rock records of the year.

Clocking in at only 35 minutes — though it feels longer, richer — Up on Gravity Hill is a quick glimpse into a more earnest METZ. This doesn't sound like a band experimenting with something new, but rather a group of musicians secure enough in their craft to humbly evolve with increasingly uncertain times.

Whether it's the sing-songy Britpop and jazz on a song like "Out of Options'' or the contemplative soundtrack to a late night walk home on "So Tell Me…," Archives captures intense closeness and isolation, often at the same time in one song.

As disjointed and tense as this sophomore effort may come across, angeltape is a proclamation of artistic and emotional resilience.

With Older, McAlpine enters a new era of her career, armed with bluesy seventh chords and simple rhythms. She's done the work; she's done the soul-searching; she's done the meticulous labour of shaving her thoughts down to their purest, most authentic truths. Consider the ceiling of her last album cycle shattered.

On The Sunset Violent, Mount Kimbie throw things at the wall and see what sticks — those flung with high velocity make the most impact.

A LA SALA is an endlessly rewarding album. There's always something new to be discovered in its haze, a whispered lyric between the layers, a little pebble of meaning waiting to be overturned.

Vampire Weekend have lost the carefree immediacy of some of their best-loved work; there's nothing on Only God as viscerally addictive as "A-Punk" or "This Life," and there's a prog-like complexity to these performances that's geared more toward the head than the heart. But there's also just enough stripped-down beauty — like the balladic "Capricorn," or the swooning brass outro of "The Surfer" — that Only God Was Above Us remains emotional as well as academic.

Love in Constant Spectacle features all of Weaver's strengths and none of her (very few) weaknesses. There's a kind of magical play here that conceals the emotional weight the album continuously heaves skyward, any evidence of the effort smoothed out in the subtitles.

There are admittedly some palatable textures here, an inevitability given the roster of talent, but so much of it is obfuscated in genre confusion and poor arrangements.