A bipolar rock opera for the ages.

Far less lucid than his past work, even by Animal Collective standards, all nine untitled compositions reflect a man whose soul is adrift.

The flaws in A Ghost is Born are almost as interesting as the album's considerable triumphs.

Throwing Muses is an exhilarating ride that manages to marry the helter-skelter rhythmic pulse of the band's first few records with the poppier sensibilities of their nineties releases.

The record's disparate experiments are unified by an overriding darkness, the black light Albarn shines on the dancehall. It's this unusual tone that makes Demon Days intriguing long after it's ceased to be novel.

Mice Parade is an original, hovering over multiple traditions without disturbing any of them.

The record may have a little less electronic slink than prior efforts, but it has a propulsive energy, even in the mid-tempo tracks, that makes the record easy to like.

Some songs are sloppily stretched out and others simply half-finished, but the ample charms of Doherty and Barat are just enough to rescue any of these lows.

It's easily the artist's most cohesive, polished work.

This is a headphone record of the highest order, where every last detail should be isolated against your ears and pored over.

Snaith simply dictates the flow of emotions and events on this record, with the kind of command presence rarely seen.

Somewhere between Beth Orton and Iron and Wine, Molina's music feels like it's been pulled direct from the surrounding air; a spring breeze given shape.

The subtle mix of acoustic instruments with warm electric washes gives Holopaw's songs a surprising amount of depth.

The only thing that holds this collection down at all is the fact that you're listening to it at home, and, no matter how good your audio setup, it will never come close to the band's famously loud and beautiful live sets. And, at that, this comes close.

[Kasher's] ability to toss off seemingly effortless melodic hooks makes one wonder just what kind of water is in Saddle Creek.

It's one thing to treat your influences with reverence, eyes and goals fixed on a past that brought them to you. It's another to fold them into the present, into the elusive omnipresence of the moment. And how Dead Meadow pulls this off on Feathers is an amazing thing to hear.

The results are far more interesting than one might imagine, revealing an album that is imminently accessible yet refreshingly unpredictable.

If gripes were to be made, one could argue with Crow's length, which at 74 minutes may be a little more whimsy than one can handle.

The results are predictably wonderful.

Zilla delivers a cleverly orchestrated junket of joyful raucousness and synth whirls.

Tanglewood Numbers, musically at least, is Berman's most fully realized album.

[A] sonic sheen (and the punchy rhythm section) gives the songs an immediacy that the previous reunion records have lacked.

The album's last third slows to the glacial pace of 2001's Covers Record with underdeveloped song fragments rendered in a numbing, spare style. But the album's first half more than makes up for it with Marshall's inimitably concise songwriting painting roses on demons and frowning children alike.

This is an absolutely satisfying listen and a feat of songwriting that few acts could match.

The results are stunning.

Part of the reason this record succeeds is that they haven't tried to replace Coxon, but rather rely on their remaining strengths like inventiveness and songcraft.

Dents and Shells matches the intensity and concision of Impasse, while adding an organic, spontaneous feel to the proceedings.

If the fifties rocked this hard, we'd be dead now.