While the sonic textures remain in their typical buzzed out territory, the tracks where tempos ramp to harrowing speeds don't entirely work.

Goodman and Bevan's take does an adequate job of representing the variety that has spanned over the Fabriclive mix series, but unfortunately manifests as being somewhat unkempt.

Despite how thunderous Thatcher sounds behind the drums or how dirty Kerr's bass tone is, unfortunately there isn't a pedal for more robust and compelling songwriting.

While Howl falls squarely into a no man's land between soul and pop, Brooks's smooth style ultimately proves refreshing.

Lyrically, Newman continues to play games that amuse him, but the logical and narrative backflips might be too much this time.

Although it may be impossible not to compare it to its most immediate predecessor, Weed Garden becomes, as a result, a quaint coda for those fans wanting a little bit more of Iron & Wine's signature sound.

While working on the album, the band reportedly tried to blur the lines--primarily through scattershot vocals--to make it hard to discern who wrote what. In the process, they've lost the collaborative, intersectional sound that's always provided a sense of humanity heart at the centre of Animal Collective.

The tracks are well-produced, but lack the soul to make a deep enough impact.

Thank Your Lucky Stars is definitely a treat--we shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, as another new Beach House album is always welcome--but arriving so soon after Depression Cherry, it is bound to get lost in the shadow of its predecessor because frankly, it isn't nearly as compelling.

Both Lights fails to hold together because of its numerous failed lines of attack, which undermine the goodness.

Production-wise, the record includes what are easily some of the least memorable instrumentals that the trio has ever worked with in comparison to their catalogue of freeleases, though the continued emphasis on minimalism gives the rhymes room to breathe.

Calico Review may leave the listener feeling a little parched, too, as it doesn't paint as bright and stirring a picture as either of its predecessors.

There's a hidden level of responsibility in his words, with Mill striking a balance between the glorification and the lamentation of his actions.

As a standalone collection of songs, the Aladdin LP doesn't reach the heights of his recent recorded output, but it's an interesting companion piece that will please the Green faithful and fans of the film

Alex Winston is capable of writing some excellent indie-pop gems, she just hasn't figured out to do it with consistency.

The second half of the album has less attitude, exposing the softer side of the band that has come across in the lyrics since its beginning.

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

The crystalline vocals and dazzling harmonies that TEEN have become known for are replete throughout, and ultimately there are more great than good songs, with the best coming in the latter half of the record.

While not a particularly daring record, old school Fratellis fans will unquestionably be satisfied with their most consistent release in well over a decade.

That's Why God Made the Radio is the dad-rock album of the year.

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

The New Abnormal is not a bad record, but it is a frustrating one, made by a band that feels pulled in a dozen different directions.

Though the band have toed the line between boyish charm and adolescent callousness for most of their career, this ambivalence has not aged well, and often obscures the more successful moments of sincerity on the record.

Geese build up to the album's conclusion: a charged and accelerating train ride, 16 stops from Brooklyn into the darkest parts of "Long Island City Here I Come," Winter issuing poetic threats that crosswire Bob Dylan and Van Morrison into a barroom bible-mishmash scored by screaming guitars. It's a thrilling exit point, full of ecstasy and menace, but it still feels a little like dress-up rather than lived-in.

The result is a listening experience that demonstrates a capacity for intimacy, but more often acts as an intermission or interruption to an otherwise steady pace.

The Sun's Tirade is pleasant, but it's not timeless.

The result is a better-than-most modern pop record filtered through an indie aesthetic that nevertheless lacks the forward-thinking drive of the best of either genres.

Using the album as a full-length thesis on the blending of Berlin and Manchester sounds causes Living With Ghosts to feel rather analogous and tedious, at times.

The result is flat and congealed, lacking danger.

If they dropped the ambitious approach of 15 tracks and stuck with the most notable eight or nine, Let's Go Sunshine might have been a bit more consistent and interesting.

It's an album that has a nice enough groove throughout, and again, the quality of the production really cannot be overstated.

The production is competent, yet very derivative for 2014, appearing stuck between ornately symphonic leftfield pop and Timberlake-brand R&B.

There is not enough energy here for one to latch onto and so the EP passes uneventfully.

Spring certainly isn't the worst Weezer album (don't worry, Pacific Daydream, that title still belongs to you!), but it's frustrating to hear them sabotaging their own songs in a futile attempt to pin down the sound of a season. So far, SZNZ feels less like a lofty concept and more like silly gimmick.

Sleigh Bells should be applauded for their attempts to move beyond their simplistic formula, but the growing pains are evident and awkward to listen to.

More Is Than Isn't showcases an artist refusing to learn from prior mistakes and not yet ready to capitalize on his past achievements.

Sonic Highways is an attempt to channel a different musical energy, but it's one that Grohl does a far better job capturing with his camera crew.

Pure, Beyond Reproach feels lost and directionless at times.

The album starts off relatively strong, with hard-hitting choruses in "Narrow Mouth" and upbeat, catchy verse lines in "Magnolia," but lose momentum quickly thereafter.

A frustrating album that manages to both thrill and disappoint in equal measure, which suggests that with some trimming, this could have been an incredible EP.

Levi hasn't exactly grown with each and every album, and his wheel spinning has gotten the better of him again, because, apart from a couple of catchy tunes, Medicine isn't very exciting.

Everyday Life has more blunders than hits, but let's give Coldplay some credit — they've got a "go big or go home" attitude that's entertaining, even when it misses the mark.

Bad Love has just too many things going on.

Interpol are far past the point of trying to recapture their glory days, but even their attempts to change things up come off as a mixed bag. Prospective fans and diehards alike are better off starting at the beginning.

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

While it provides plenty of tell, there's not nearly enough show.

There are great moments that fulfil expectations of Jesu as a dissolving whirlpool bath of glass shards, but these flashes don't carry the full weight of the album.

In a Dim Light turns out to be a frustrating listen; it's an adventurous outing by a band that plainly need to sharpen their craft.

For much of Meteorites, strings attempt to fill in the hole that was the band's characteristically dynamic, propulsive low-end, to mixed results.

Unfortunately, Keith is treated to some friendly fire here, as most of his cohorts outshine him.

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.

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.

Molina once seemed poised to become a reliable purveyor of sticky throwback pop. But absent the visceral thrill of his early work, or anything new or profound to say about grief and heartache, Kill the Lights offers little more than the sum of its influences.

Galore, is a soulless collection that feels more like a grasp at brand synergies than an attempt to make meaningful music.

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.

There's very little on offer to ground the listener here, which makes Maze of Woods a challenging collection; it's the aural equivalent of a 90-minute movie that feels like a 3-hour watch.

The interludes and instrumentals only serve to interrupt the flow of the record, and it becomes clear the album is a bit of a mixed bag.

With its jarring synthetic brass--which is neither as charming or amusingly ironic as its creators seem to think it is--Someday World starts off on the wrong foot from the very first bars.

Look Park's weakest points are the frills that seem to dominate more than half of the album.

Overall, the album doesn't have a lot of replay value besides a few stand-out songs like the Drake-featuring "Oh U Went" and "Went Thru It," which is led mainly by the strength of Metro Boomin's production.

Too often the band fall prey to the conventions of the music from which they're borrowing.

Green's harder edge and presence as a musician can be heard lyrically, although her soft vocals fall flat, shrouded by a sea of synthesized blips and bleeps from the ubiquitous drum sounds.

I Sell the Circus is an uneven collection from an artist clearly torn between the future and his past.

As a standalone product, Vroom Vroom only offers a scattershot glimpse at what these two might be able to accomplish.

As it stands, the album is a half-baked effort that resembles a collection of demos rather than a high-stakes sophomore album.

[The guitars are] the most interesting thing about Broken Water and when they aren't around things plod along uneventfully.

As an album wanders, more opportunities arise for a wrong turn. Omnion veers to a fault.

Here's hoping they ditch the alt clichés and find their own sound on the next record.

Spread over 12 songs, Del Rey becomes so ordinary, even bland, that no amount of little girl vocals or pouting can save her.

Unfortunately, the band play it safe on No Coast.

Teri Gender Bender's vocals are the star and the driving force here, pretty much the only truly engaging element.

The thing with As You Please is that while it feels uneventful, it also seems like Citizen might be just on the edge of a breakthrough.

The risk of keeping things breezy is that tracks can often lack weight.

The EP is good but not great. Diplo missed an opportunity to explore a variety of emerging EDM genres, instead releasing a slew of tracks that bang hard but fail to resonate.

Tracks like the rambling "Old Things," the hoedown-lite "Bluebird" and perhaps the most precious song about outlaw life, "Private Property," shoot for middle-of-the-road appreciation, sucking out any grit from the recording.

The album's missteps aren't egregious; rather, it's that after multiple listens, very little sticks. The Tourist's inconspicuousness is its biggest issue.

Something Beautiful does, of course, sound beautiful — Shawn Everett's production is widescreen and larger than life, but still remembers to dial things back when needed, although maybe not always quite enough (Cyrus is an impressive balladeer! "The Climb" was a moment!) — but it also rings hollow.

The mixtape format may excuse the lack of sonic cohesion for the project, but it does not explain the faltering artistic direction that is more than likely to leave Yachty's fans disoriented and disenchanted.

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.

On By the Fire opener "Hashish," Moore and his trio wholesale borrow the intro, main riff and melody from Sonic Youth's 1998 single "Sunday," while the most poppy and compact track on the LP, "Cantaloupe", freely cops the guitar rhythm of SY's 1992 classic "Sugar Kane." But once Moore becomes tired of repurposing old riffs, noise breakdowns, and tunings, he reverts to simply repeating intros and harmonies across the album's nine tracks and 80 minutes, melding together elements from the sluggish "Calligraphy" and the guileless "Dreamers Work."

There's nothing super memorable about this record, nor is there anything horribly offensive about it either. Ultimately, ACR Loco doesn't match A Certain Ratio's past glories, but it doesn't erase their legacy either.

V. never rises above space rock, making the album feel like any other '60s hippie/psychedelic record. It's adequate, but when you can easily predict how it's going to play out, you're never left wanting more.

There's nothing quite crazy enough, however, to be truly exciting and the slower numbers offer little in the way of texture or atmosphere.

The sparse "Phone Tap" tells a tale of drug dealing paranoia, while the Big K.R.I.T.-assisted "Brimstone" is a remorseful hymnal. These moments are still few and far between, and the rest of Ross' tales of pushing fall short of revealing whether his ascent to boss status is factual or purely fictional.

Most of the material just hovers around the same tempo, tone, lyrical style and sound dynamics, robbing the listener of any sort of emotional peaks or valleys that are so important when floating a double album. It's simply a shame that the execution of Cyr fails to match the naked ambition Corgan's concepts promised.

Diehard fans of the Brazilian band who rekindled their interest in the band with the return of Roots producer Ross Robinson will find Machine Messiah lacklustre, possibly even forgettable, when held up to Sepultura's better past work.

A good portion of Total Folklore finds Friel treading the same murky path, leaving the listener with brazen, barefaced ideas and shambling, barefoot execution.

Team Ghost and Fromageau have a number of good ideas, but the band's biggest downfall stems from the fact that they sometimes condense too many of these ideas into too small a space.

Many of the tracks, all recorded since 2007, echo the questionable cacophonic splurges of 2008's Skeletal Lamping through to this year's lacklustre Paralytic Stalks. But there are some respites.

On Pentagram, Gui Boratto seems uninspired, but worse, unsure of what made his music so inventive in the first place.

The inevitable has caught up with O'Brien, who finds himself struggling to stay afloat on The Art of Pretending to Swim. The self-produced record dives into murky waters in an ambitious attempt to incorporate an electronic flair to an already complete set of folk tunes.

Sadly, despite flashes of brilliance, fourth record Radlands more often finds Mystery Jets operating on autopilot.

Despite many of the songs not building on the promise of the opening track, there is a sense of playfulness to the proceedings. You can practically hear Grohl grinning throughout as he indulges in some thrash metal cosplay. Unfortunately, it sounds like Dream Widow was more fun to record than it is to listen to.

Firepower is exactly what you would expect of Priest almost 50 years into their career. It's well-produced, expertly executed and understandably quotidian.

If more attention was paid to crafting better songs, rather than just sounds, Howl would have been much more fulfilling.

While the sound splashed across Wrecked is quite gripping (exceptionally gritty electronic that heavily works the industrial angle), the lack of distinction within, and contrast between, tracks makes it tough to get behind.

The lower your expectations, the better it will seem.

Legend is content to adopt a croonerific sound that doesn't challenge existing soul genre parameters in the least. That's fine, in theory, but rather yawn-worthy in execution.