The Stand Ins is a solid achievement cut from the same charming cloth, even if it doesn’t crisp in quite the same way "The Stage Names" did.

She takes some swings on Losing and Smog, but somehow, they don't end up distinguishing themselves too much compared to the songwriters of her generation. Still, Indigo's genuine frankness and distinctive vocals perfectly convey her vulnerable performances.

The sound remains unmistakably Shellac: guttural, sarcastic, and chock-full of anger.

A four-year wait is inexcusable, especially when more than half of the album exudes familiarity.

It's not one of the year's best records, but it's churned out a couple of its best songs. At the very least, they've managed to create an atmosphere that's intriguing as it is entertaining.

Death Deams almost faultlessly conveys the volatility and incomprehensibility of their particular genius. There isn't even one clunker in here, which is a lot to say in a year that's already seen another rock renaissance.

Face the Truth is probably the most eclectic of all Malkmus’s work. There are elements of every Pavement album in amongst the tracks, with familiar noodly guitar intros, shouty, jaunty refrains and languid deadpan-rap segments.

The production is inconsistent and largely a bit too bombastic for Das Racist's usually free-associative, untechnical rapping.

Alvvays takes a decidedly more shambolic direction as it reaches its final half, which is worrisome considering its brief runtime, thereby overstaying its welcome by lacking some much needed punch. But it shouldn’t in any way discourage Rankin’s efforts as the band’s core member, whose astute, lovesick descriptions are more than just a pleasant diversion.

Guero is a record with lots of great ideas and some very good songs... but I can't help thinking that there's just something missing from this release.

His voice a weathered and worn device, there are facets to his personality that seem to make this album work, when otherwise its disjointed presentation would seem haphazard or pasted together. It’s also very short, clocking in at shy of thirty minutes despite its fifteen tracks.

Occasionally sounding like an air-raid in progress, as in 1956 And All That, Mclusky fortunately prove to be more than a one trick pony by the time grinding, pulsing closer Support Systems draws to an end.

Overall, it's another great GBV album that continues to spotlight the Pollard's staggering work of genius.

The album’s generative “concept” is as strange and incredible as its music.

Delightfully off-key and inimitable in their vision, Illegals to Heaven is another peculiar leap forward for a band that only sees through a singular filter.

Despite his grander statements falling flat and a mid album slump, Trick sees Jamie T at his absolute best.

Ruiz is an effective and ruthless firecracker who grills her subjects with no remorse, but she’s also welcoming and receptive to those who speak their mind with courage. Along with the rest of the band, they understand that they can only encourage participation and bolster awareness.

The Hanged Man is a return to form--not with a whimper but with a bang. It’s just not the bang we expected.

Feels' seething frustrations thrash with a clearer focus and no shortage of attitude.

Beyond the Door isn't without its filler (particularly on the back half) but considering how its 11 songs breeze by in around 30 minutes, the weaker songs are easy to shrug off and forget. It isn't one of those albums that finds the band pushing the limits of its riff-filled overdriven bubblegum pop, either, but it's just as satisfying as any of their other albums.

Swimmer and a few other songs hint at what could have been, only to have the other half of the album play it safe. If only more of Tennis' songs took risks on unexpected palettes of emotion and drew from more complex poetic wells, then they might provide us with something special. Instead, they've created another enjoyable, if a bit rote and predictable album, like a relationship drifting into comfortable and boring domestic habits.

Where their songs backfire to a degree comes from bringing in ex-Chairlift member Patrick Wimberly for production duties. .... Still, they're truly at their best when their tuneful choruses come paired with a raw, stripped-down treatment.

II triumphantly bypasses novelty for a more meaningful level of significance: An album whose songs, personality, and band-chemistry come together for something that could well outlast its own current weirdness.

While the album isn’t quite the overhaul that quote makes it out to be, there are enough twists to catch longtime fans off guard. Even with eight albums to their name, The Hold Steady continue to prove that consistency doesn’t mean going stale.

The cryptic nature of Moonshine Freeze impresses when at its uncompromising best, but it can occasionally underwhelm when she favors slimmer bare-bones arrangements. Still, these marked contradictions only reveal an artist who’s allowing herself to walk on a less purposeful path.

The Rip Tide lacks an extension into flair, even though their music is already considered exotic by the instrumentation alone, the creative panache is missing.

This is the main strength of Fang Island's songwriting, their ear for power-pop catchiness. But they've also implicitly revealed their fatal flaw: they don't give you enough of a sense of suspense and release which makes those climaxes your favourite parts.

Sensational isn’t as good as its title suggests, but there’s plenty to enjoy, even if you’ll be tempted to look for the joins to see how it’s all been done. But still, don’t think about things too much, and you’ll be “lovin’ it, lovin’ it, lovin’ it.”

Chance of Rain is a good techno album, but never strives for much more than that. It’s a bigger adventure, for sure, but it never feels more adventurous.

This isn't a bad album, and these quotes are by no means deal breakers, but it is a little telling that an album about “feeling lost” suffers from a distinct lack of focus or specific vision.

A pretty decent album with a lot of filler.

Endearingly sorrowful without descending into outright misery, Leaders Of The Free World is exactly what we the listeners should expect from a band's third album.

Musgraves plays up her lyrical prowess to the detriment of the instrumentation, which is crisp but generic and unremarkable. Neither is there much stylistic variety in terms of vocals or even the attitude Musgraves brings to her songs.

A Sufi and a Killer never, ever repeats itself. Gonjasufi’s beautiful, instantaneously classic voice is the glue that holds it all together. It’s captivating.

Campbell’s resplendent tone delights with the plaintive cry of classic torch singers; instead or feeling pity or sympathy, we’re now in the presence of a commanding performer who doesn’t have to sacrifice an inch of naiveté to make an impression.

Dehd are mighty expressive even if their songs are fairly one-note. With the personality thing down pat, imagine what they'll achieve when they continue to expand their scope.

The trio compels you to return to it again and again on Ripped & Torn—it's just that catchy—all while paving the way for the next generation of curious teens who have uncles with cool record collections.

Foals create a testament to their longevity but also consider where this new era is going to take them. Is this Foals’ first front-to-back essential record? Not quite, but with Pt.2 around the corner, it’s surely just a matter of time.

Entrancing in its stillness, Phantom Brickworks solidifies Bibio as an artist of remarkable versatility.

Though The Golden Casket shows Modest Mouse at their most accessible and tuneful, a creative shift that started with 2004's Good News For People Who Love Bad News, they return to some of the experimental aspects that defined so much of their early work.

The result is that most rarefied of things, a Paul album with no throwaways.

Nothing Valley is an intense, hugely engaging listen.

What’s most startling about Clean is how Allison manages her emotions with compassion and a great sense of composure.

If you’ve enjoyed what you’ve heard before, you won’t be disappointed – all the darkness, grime and perversion is here or implied.... But if you’re looking for variation, innovation, or thematic depth, it’s unlikely you’ll find it here.

In Love With Oblivion may only display grey intonations on first impression, but multiple spins begin to unfurl its ghoulish sense of atmosphere.

The effect is stark, and intensely compelling. At 17 tracks long, this is a listen that plumbs substantial depths, but in Blake’s world, time ceases to be a constraint.

A real record of substance. Yes, it has the undeniable single; but boy, the nine tracks either side of that are really something.

Sports Team does have the tunes to match their swagger, and having a sense of humor certainly doesn't hurt.

It's the murkier-in-tone moments that stand out: while The Price Was High emerges with spellbinding dissonance and keeps the tension throughout, A Hitch surrounds its ringing hook with rippling guitar work. Tarantula is poised to become a staple on their future setlists alongside past singles like Winona, on which the band turns up the tempo with a driving melodic groove that satisfyingly fades as soon as it hits.

Don't get it twisted: this isn't a classic. There are a few lame tracks, and Freeway still occasionally stumbles over some dumb rhymes. However, listening to his Ghostface-esque storytelling on Never Going To Change or his Tyson-like intensity on One Thing or even his fear on Money, it isn't had to believe that Free has a great album in him.

The more tastefully formulated tracks just can’t offset the profusion of soppy lyricism and the tedium of weaker songs. Ultimately, Odd Blood reads as a well-informed but poorly executed homage to the ‘80s.

Their burst of creativity comes to life in a lively tapestry of moods, both musically and thematically, but they make sure to balance the fun with genuine sincerity.

It’s promising, but if it catches you in a bad mood, it might cause a headache.

Regardless of its more sophisticated tone, the same cannot be said for the album’s rather callow lyrical content, which doesn’t just border on, but fully embraces, mawkish poetic cliches, which causes one to question if the band is truly willing to insert more of their own growth and experiences into adulthood. Which, in turn, reduces their return as nothing more than just a faithful look into the past.

This compilation isn't for everyone and does contain a few duds. But there are more than enough gems in here to deserve a purchase from any Elbow fan or fanatic.

Her sound is a junksale of clutter and certified gems. I can feel you… is her most sonically sharp weapon to date, and full of plenty to get excited about if you rifle through it.

The songwriting [on Bloom] is rarely stronger [than on previous albums], never different, and more hit-and-miss than I thought Beach House were capable of. It's not their worst record, but it's already their most tired, and that should never, ever happen on a fourth LP. But at least it's pretty.

The English Riviera is a perfectly listenable album, and it's one that will, quite rightly, be the soundtrack to the summers of more than a few, but the often indistinct music and insipid lyrical content mean that it's doubtful if its charms will last through to the autumn.

With The Bride, Khan has created a sublime tale of sorrow and recovery, of accepting loss and working through pain to become a stronger person. Likewise, Khan has taken her interest in similar journeys from earlier albums and used them to make her most consistently captivating work thus far.

II follows its predecessor’s footsteps to the T, acting less as an evolution and more as a sharp, acute continuation of what made that album such a force to be reckoned with.

Several Shades of Why is plaintive and embryonic to the point of breaking down barriers, musically and personally. It's as if the meat has been torn off the bone leaving us with the carcass. And as carcasses go, this one is mighty pretty.

Not only is Seeds the most direct and optimistic album, but in some ways, it's their poppiest.

Try it out, it's definitely worth it, just not anything you'll be rushing to your guitar to emulate. Or maybe it is, if you're in to taking it easy.

With such masterful creativity and an ability to connect with listeners emotionally, no matter what language they are singing in, Ibeyi may have already released the debut album of the year.

It’s grandly impressive and points to potentially greater things in the future.

For most of this album, Costello switches between percussive anxiety and odd ditties with ease.

It does breeze on by without any major impact, but there’s a select number of pleasantly bittersweet cuts that are sure to liven up your afternoon commute for weeks on end.

They honestly sound like no other known band.

It's not much different to a Sleater-Kinney record in second gear, which still means there are flashes of brilliance.

Dissolution Wave is a phenomenal record with a broader appeal than you’d expect. If you like your shoegaze heavy or your metal atmospheric, you’ll love it.

As a first attempt, Tremors is stirring, maybe, but not earth moving, unfortunately.

Bish Bosch is a wilder, more scattered (and scatty, in the case of Epizootics!, ten minutes of sax-driven jazz which could almost be seen as accessible, if it wasn't so dark and threatening) work than its immediate predecessors.

It has all the joyousness, all the Pet Sounds hallmarks, and yes, all the bloody echo chamber of the best of the genre.

On this fine album, Wilkinson seems intent on capturing this precious, ambivalent space.

There’s more of an improvisational focus to a lot of Thread, where they take on themes such as immigration policy and ecological concerns with their usual storytelling flair. It does have a familiar, intuitive touch; this is Calexico, after all. But the duo never does things with little effort or care.

What Terrestrials does reveal about Sunn O))) is their amiability, their unique potential to bring the concept of Sunn O))), if not its distinct sound, to an album that really isn’t quite their own.

Momofuku has glorious fragments and plenty of passion.

They write songs that make you feel good, and sound good, whenever they come on, and they do it in such a way that you truly feel like you’re listening to them for the first time.

This EP is not a singles-ready collection, nor should it be. Instead, the atmospheric songs do their part to transport the listener to another mood or mindset.

Ritual Union is catchy and well-produced, but it certainly doesn't demand any more than a handful of listens.

Rather than the nostalgic, distant wistfulness of last year’s work, Bem-vinda is much more open, and while there are complex rhythms and arrangements in abundance, none of this gets in the way of some eminently hummable tunes.

It has all their trademarks--simultaneously elaborate and raw, idiosyncratically punk-rock, dedicated to chronicling the unrelenting ugliness of western society--but this time little of it sticks.

Varied yet elegantly stitched together, Hard Hearted Woman shows the many sides of Cogan, whose story is as resilient as the subjects she depicts.

Ultimately, like many live albums before them and certainly after them, it's just okay. It succeeds in capturing a performance that is an apt representation of the band and is largely an aural pleasure, yet you never really shake the fruitless nature of the album.

Multi-Love demonstrates that the band isn’t beholden to a singular, lo-fi aesthetic. And for now, that’s more than enough.

There are additions to her guitar-pop foundation here, but they’re mostly limited to the occasional keyboard line or an anomaly like the dreamy synth outro of Outside with the Cuties. Met on its own terms, however, it’s a record that plays entirely to Kline’s strengths and confirms her as a worthy successor to the legacy of indie modesty.

There’s a deferential tone to Light Information that suggests he’s never really going to change his signature shtick, and even if we always know what to expect, it always feels like a warm return home from an always generous friend.

Strange Peace is about finding even a semblance of mental calm when everything seems awry, and hard to think of many other modern hardcore bands who could accomplish this with such genuine physicality.

On an album where Taylor nakedly reveals his most pressing moments of despair, it’s only in the album's handful of brighter moments that you wish for maybe just another small taste of the darkness. Taylor manages to flip his career-long look for the silver lining by acknowledging the pull of the worldly can only be put in a tidy little box for so long.

There's very little to complain about in Constant Future, apart from the fact that it's no great step forward from their previous material.

You, Whom I Have Always Hated is a beautifully punishing listen.

From start to finish, the instrumentation and production on We Are Him is immaculate

Lust For Life may be a scattered, confusing record, but it's a beautiful ride--one worth repeated listens, even if Lana's intentions--like her enunciation--aren't always clear.

Dance is best enjoyed when you accept its familiar pleasures--it bursts with pure deliverance, coming from a band that refuses to hang in life support.

Though Darnielle skillfully furthers his compositional approach in In League with Dragons, there are times where his unbounded, bookish wit gets the best of him.

While not the most creative thing he’s produced, it feels naturally cohesive and stands as an interesting piece on its own.

Frankly, Love Kraft sounds like a different band, which would be fine, if it wasn’t so less loveable and not nearly as bizarre.

For the most part though, it adds little to a genre that’s already saturated and is disappointing from a band whose past evidence has shown can do better.