The trio showcase their curiosity and inventiveness to create dark, deranged atmospheres that are simultaneously appalling and beautiful. Even with its lack of live drums or guitar riffs, Grave of a Dog is bound to keep listeners up at night.

On ONE MORE TIME…, blink-182 don't always hit that sweet spot, but when they do, it feels earned.

Bossalinis & Fooliyones is a taut, humble and profoundly aware medley of late afternoon joy--the best time to listen to it.

Zomby changes style a frustrating amount, and all of it crawls along at a painstaking speed. He's gone for something different here, which is commendable, but the end product, sadly, comes off more pretentious than deep.

It isn't without its flaws, but Rather You Than Me positions Rick Ross as the boss he's always claimed to be, his raps reinforced by lofty, gold-plated production and added lyrical depth that's as refreshing as a glass of Belaire Rose.

Fragrant World challenges from the first to the 15th listen, yet lacks the hooks that made Odd Blood such an impossible album to ignore. But, at the same time, Yeasayer are a talented bunch who make forward-thinking, 21st century pop music designed to make you think while you dance.

The Portland pair embrace vitality and exploration, but their polarized approach to psychedelia overcompensates at times.

This is perhaps Krauter's best work yet, as their artistic project comes into sharper focus.

The Ash & Clay is an album sure to become increasingly meaningful with time.

Ufabulum shows Squarepusher pushing forward some of his leanest, most unfurled compositions to date.

Skip the umpteenth "BMF" re-treads and the album's soggy R&B bottom quarter and there's much to savour.

This is Nguyen's strongest work yet, with the aforementioned songwriting taking a leap forward, while gradually perfecting her melting pot sound of country, folk and pop.

With Afraid of Heights, Williams has achieved a rare type of punk rock maximalism, crafting a massive, buzzy record on his terms.

Not every song on the record lives up to the anthemic nature promised in the title, but there are certainly moments of triumphant redemption and plenty of nostalgic nods to fulfill fans' understandably high expectations.

It comes in flashes, and then it's back to a sort of dull, flat affect.

The usual Jeezy tropes of hustling and encouraging others to also hustle haven't gone anywhere — the rote "Been Getting Money (featuring Akon)" could be plopped on any Jeezy album and no one would notice--but there's a heap of real-life wisdom here, too.

Dig deeper into Heroes and you might find a newfound respect for the aging outlaw.

It's not time to write Porcelain Raft off, but Remiddi needs to bring more ideas to LP number three.

As an original whole, Art Official Age is Prince's most complete, most consistent and most contemporary album in a minute.

The minor tunings work and, as a result, Nobody Realizes gives Terry Malts the added depth some may have felt was missing.

Although Köhncke may have released stronger singles in the past, Justus Köhncke & the Wonderful Frequency Band stands as his most all-around complete full-length to date.

Mungodelics remains an uneven effort in design alone, promptly adding another layer of mystery to this hard-to-pin-down duo.

The improv pieces are purposefully positioned so that the Unsemble seemingly upset their own composure, like a film reel that's become stuck: it distorts slowly, then bubbles feverishly until it finally melts away.

A sense of glee infuses every weird noise and sludgy riff.

It's more fun than 2010's Darkly, Darkly, Venus Aversa, but with a slightly less lurid and lingering "oomph" than classic Cradle of Filth.

On the businesslike Cozy Tapes Vol. 2: Too Cozy, Rocky and his acolytes convene for a rundown of trends worth exploiting; as such, it often sounds like a Migos album as interpreted by 16 clueless New Yorkers.

Sleep On the Wing finds comfort in discomfort. The emotions expressed are not completely happy but there is also the sense that listeners can make peace with this.

This isn't going to be one of the classic Slayer albums, but there's still plenty of good thrash to be found on Repentless.

A bold, far-reaching and determined work that continues Brock's journey creating music both accessible and eccentric.

Thought Gang is for lovers of non-expositional storytelling, crude mystery, lipstick-red esoteric jazz, and noise.

Exo would appeal to fans of the aforementioned Amon Tobin and, at times, Exo is also evocative of Plaid, or even Aphex Twin in the midst of his most acidy madness.

With gale force drive and buffeting rhythms, Winter Kills is as entertaining as it is carnivorous.

You can tell he genuinely attempted to deliver a well-rounded record. However, there's not enough innovation to interest casual fans in the project.

The grimness of the lyrics works, and for fans of HEALTH and their style this is a worthwhile listen.

The lower your expectations, the better it will seem.

There are mere days until the autumnal equinox, make sure you spend them listening to Lookout Low — the album of the summer you didn't know you were missing — with a loved one.

Melding pensive acoustic picking with sweeping synths and barely there rhythms, Raül Refree helps Lee Ranaldo sound daring, fearless and downright experimental again on Names of North End Women.

While musically, the tracks can sometimes bleed into each other, sounding perhaps too similar, this album is meant to be consumed in order as a whole. Birdie sets a solid foundation for Slaughter Beach, Dog's future.

With its often bright, and chill nature, the album is a fitting soundtrack for the transition from spring into summer. It saunters by delicately, evoking floral scents and pastel colours.

As Morrissey's ability to deploy his wit and worldliness fades, it's nice to hear him wax romantic, but for the first time on record, he seems more obsessed with others than himself. Sadly, it doesn't suit him well.

All ten of the album's songs overflow with sparkling synths, sighing pop hooks and made-for-summer beats. The lyrics are often difficult to parse, particularly since Mars frequently dips in and out of Italian and French, but the overall impression is one of sweet, big-hearted sincerity.

Dub Egg is an album for guitar heads.

Minimum Rock N Roll is a dynamic and vibrant good-time screed; it's not anti-consumption but it is out to have people consume discerningly.

They have made their most consistent release yet, stretching the earworm-y catchiness their album Weeds employed.

They're still more than capable of cranking up the guitars and making the kind of caustic, spiky noise that's been their trademark for more than 30 years, especially live.

Stewart's reliance on familiar 'intro/build-up/drop' production structures can at times run repetitive, but his own subtle guitar playing, hyperactive synth pads, mallets and bells make the songs anything but predictable.

Estoile Naiant works as a satisfying continuation of patten's work, albeit one that moves his sound in a sideways direction.

Oak Island has a deftness that makes it hard to resist, but some songs disappear under the weight of everything that's transpiring.

The end result is even more unhinged than expected, taking the underground approach of his many side-projects over the years, adding Pantera grooves and staying miles away from anything approaching Down in sound.

The record succeeds when the band give into the temptation of pleasing their crowd with ramshackle tracks that will work well in a live setting.

In 2014 this just seems like the kind of better-than-average album that befalls way too many British musicians past their prime.

The record's quieter moments give a welcome reprieve from the extended jamming, with "Right On Time," "Heart Full of Scars" and the slow-burning "Swamp Dog" giving the record some welcome balance.

As the whole, though, Discreet Desires is more introverted than Hauff's previous material. She's attempted to present a unified piece with this album, rather than a selection of similar tracks, and it's a gambit that's paid off in spades.

While this project will likely infiltrate the Serato of many a nightclub DJ, there's little--outside the three or four cohesive, codeine-fuelled joints surprisingly carried mostly by Future--that reaches the potential of what What a Time to Be Alive could have been.

Domo's Genesis is a step in the right direction, but he's walking to his destination, and not anywhere near where he needs to be just yet.

At its best, it sounds like a long-lost Pink Floyd album actually meant to be synced to The Wizard of Oz (the album's title track and "Mr. Wright"); at its worst, it evokes old Tame Impala (the first movement of "Cricket And The Genie" and "Boomerang Baby"). Basically, it's a win-win situation either way.

Modern Pressure feels vibrant and impassioned, adding a freshness to the otherwise vintage sound.

While Suuns' albums tend to reluctantly hold your hand while guiding you through their universe, Felt reaches out and pulls you in. It may even make you dance.

Automata I cherry-picks from some of the best elements of previous Between the Buried and Me records, while injecting their masterful sense of musicianship and structure.

Given the breadth of Hood's output and influence, hardcore fans may have wanted a more encompassing and historical selection but there's enough here to satisfy both newcomers and devotees.

Buoys requires repeat listens to appreciate fully, but those willing to dive deep enough will surely be rewarded.

By paying proper homage to his soul elders, while also employing more distinctly subtle singing and a greater relatability via his plainspoken lyrics, Smith sets himself apart with 1634 Lexington Avenue.

What looks like an odd couple cover album at first glance turns out to be one of the best matched and executed collaborations of which either group have been a part.

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.

His whimsically removed approach worked out quite well for Strange Pleasures.

It's a tried, tested and true formula that has allowed these two humble cats from the land where Kirby Puckett smacked homers to do this for so long.

Sun Structures is a simply wonderful record.

Eight is a solid album of bass-heavy, tribal dub techno that employs plenty of analog synth and is among Deadbeat's strongest releases to date.

Fans of Frusciante's solo career will love this latest addition to his catalogue; it's one of his strongest releases to date.

Indigo pleasantly recreates the sounds of 80s synth-pop, making for another winning chapter in their discography.

Whether Nicki Minaj is the rightful queen of rap is up for debate, but the album, despite having several songs that were more filler than functional ("Sir," "Majesty," "Chun Swae"), highlights her ability to adapt to an ever-changing sonic landscape.

Even Islomania's bleaker moments kinda bounce, refracting their darker sentiments in compelling ways. And in that, Islomania proves a lively, welcome return.

Suitably cinematic, percussion-heavy and mostly instrumental, it's enjoyable as a standalone album, but it will be interesting to see how it works alongside the film.

It may not be quite as consistent as its predecessor, but Interiors showcases the continued development of a vital emerging voice in popular music and features frequent moments of shiver-inducing beauty.

Myths 002 certainly delivers in terms of a successful, collaborative and twisted effort between two rather different artists, and may they find themselves recording together again in the future.

As a whole, the 16-track project is reverent, and pays respect to the musical icon. Whether this is an essential album is up for debate, but it's worth checking out for the heavy hitters that are on board.

The album is fun and enjoyable, but it never really reaches what they are capable of as a dynamic group. Every song bleeds into the next, almost sounding the same. It's not the worst feature ever, but as a collection, it doesn't stick out as anything exceptional.

At times, the blend is less than palatable and, frankly, too busy, as on the title track. However, this franticness is occasionally contrasted by a song that manages to draw you in.

Not only is Passion, Pain & Demon Slayin' loaded with hits, but it also draws attention to Cudi's renewed sense of self. Cudi has finally slayed his demons, and he sounds all the better for it.

Dream Police take an expert background in far noisier music and strip it down to its bones, offering something that is simultaneously intense and easy on the ears.

Shallow Bed is refreshingly free of archaic, "old timey" references; it feels both relevant and familiar.

World Wide Funk doesn't break any new ground, but it showcases Bootsy Collins blissfully stretching out.

Thankfully The Silver Cord's hits overpower its misses, and disco battle epic "Set" strikes with a punch, adding another track to the short yet mighty list of King Gizzard songs to play in the club.

Strangely familiar, yet still a major leap forward, there's a nice pop sheen that sells the record without losing the idiosyncratic production that drew listeners to the duo in the first place.

Freed from the confines of their regular gigs, Morby and Ramone go for broke, creating a record with hooks that just won't quit.

Undoubtedly this album will get a cursory listen by fans of hardcore, while gaining a special place amongst those whom embrace and follow its tenets.

Unfortunately, there are a few too many moments with a "more is more" approach, and they hold the record back.

Drenched in fuzzy guitars, '60s girl-group melodies and a dash of light punk (closer "When I Was Yours" blends all three), it has plenty of sticky hooks and sing-along choruses.

Nicki is more personal, more timeless and more connected to her own artistry here, serving some of the most superlative work of her established career on The Pinkprint.

The Air Conditioned Nightmare feels like another uncompromising work from the intriguing Woodhead, and in its wide-spanning sound, offers something to both long-time fans and new ones.

At times emotive and playful, Broderick has created a cohesive album of delicate, Russell-esque melodies with enough wonkiness, experimentation and spoken word to make a unique, personal and engaging release of happy accidents.

On their debut, they don't seek to out-pummel other contemporary hashers with speed or heaviness; rather it's on the golden fields of mood and groove where they excel.

Toronto deep-funk messengers the Soul Motivators deepen their groove and expand both their sonic palette and social consciousness on their sophomore full-length, Do the Damn Thing.

At a tight nine tracks, any fat that needs trimming from Motorheart is easily digested. This one runs smooth.

The Last Shadow Puppets excel when they craft attention-grabbing pop with lush arrangements and unique lyrics, and they mostly do just that on Everything You've Come to Expect.

Even though there's a dramatic shift thematically, Collett maintains his signature sound of acoustic slow jams and the occasional up-tempo number.

There are some missteps along the way, namely the plodding electronic misadventure “Time Cloud”, but Bleeker still manages to pack a nifty little story arc within How Far Away’s 10 short tracks.

These 10 dark soundtracks fail to chart new territory. They're not bad; they're just not challenging or frankly all that interesting.