This is about as musically adventurous as Lou ever got and those who think he could only toss off simplistic three-chord tunes are advised to listen closely. Berlin turned out to be a place well worth revisiting.

The 20/20 Experience is an absolutely delicious guilty pleasure.

They simply combine their voices and come up with something unique in the process, which they’ve achieved. I’m interested, though, in how far they take their sound before it reveals any potential lack of versatility.

Recalling only bits of their awkward past-flirtations with electro-pop, this new material feels ripe with a formative momentum that only occasionally misses the mark (the elementary musings behind On a Hill in a Bed on a Road in a House, we can do without).

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.

Their free form approach is certainly amusing, perhaps too cerebral at times, but that’s just another way of reinforcing they want us to figure out what they’re aiming for.

Love and Its Opposite is often a careful-sounding album and while that synopsis may not quicken the heart, it gives Thorn’s work an air of professionalism and care.

His talent for frank, moderately depressing songwriting is still displayed, but the new album doesn’t have quite the candor and quality of his first full-length.

Trouble in Paradise is at once sleek and solid, every track pulsing with a kind of confidence that invites closer listening but is equally pleasant as a collection of mood-heightening jams.

What they lack in experience they make up for in pure zeal.

Their versatility and ability to channel some of the genuine peaks of the paradigm into their sound is a huge strength, and while it doesn’t break the mould or reinvent the wheel, Love in the 4th Dimension is a very impressive debut.

What it does manage to do, however, is function as an engagingly visceral work of provocation, on balance interspersing his trademark beauty with enough challenging moments to reward repeated visits, even if listening to it never exactly feels like a pleasurable experience, and maybe that’s enough.

Grace and Lies is at its best when opposing ideas collide into each other.

The ethereal keyboard lines and the chemistry between the two guitars are able to trap a listener within the album right from the start, and it rarely lets you stray too far from the music.

Acid Tongue is fuller and has more of a ragged, live-band feel than any of Lewis’ previous work.

He rarely reveals much of his true intent throughout, relying upon platitudes that, while truthful, make Hadsel sound a little thin in places. But Condon knows his audience well, resorting to a heavily cinematic atmosphere that will have his listeners contemplating their own aspirations rather than focusing on his. Just like he intended to do.

Blissfully addictive and dangerously catchy, Heza is most certainly one for the more bright and breezy of us this summer.

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

This may be no grand revelation, but it has its moments, and overall it’s a thoroughly satisfying sit.

Green continues to take us on a steady ride on Fragments.

Enterprising Sidewalks may not be the best album released on the label this year, or even Lorelei's best album for that matter, but if the band can continue this kind of determined progression, it leaves me with hope that both the band and the label will grow with each new release.

The Rhumb Line is at times moody and downtrodden, but it's Ra Ra Riot's ability to pull out of those situations that saves the album.

Even if Perdida does have a good amount of hammy lyrics and dull, strummy adult-pop, it's still the best music they've written since 2001's Shangri-La Dee Da. And, in many ways, is proof of why they deserve a fair shot at keeping the Stone Temple Pilots name active.

Preoccupations is a strong follow-up to an excellent debut record. It showcases a band that is evolving and finding new ways to stretch out their sound.

All things considered, as long as you don't go in expecting an album to change the world or to tax the grey matter, you'll find much to enjoy in Parallax Error.

Their initial EP documented a band that sounded ready to take on the world – but the follow up just shows that the journey may take longer than expected.

Reflektor hits too many high points to entirely consider it a failure, and despite its convoluted lyrical content and overreaching scope it still crosses the double album finish line with satisfactory results.

They used to make little records like this in the anything goes early 80’s. It’s nice to see Konigsberg bringing it back.

It is essentially indie-folk by numbers, with a nervy wistfulness and soft-hued canvas, but its aching beauty prevents the record from stifling a listener with its persistent translucence.

Bell X1 has found an absorbing but unshaven sound, set apart by ease and experimentation and yet inevitably spoiled by them.

Stuck on Nothing opens strong, closes strong, and the intermediate tracks are interesting enough to maintain interest. Free Energy haven’t created anything cataclysmically new, but they have created an entirely likable pop album.

Though not his strongest effort by any means, Fantasy proves that his songs can soar even if he dials it back.

More quickly than you'd expect, Busdriver's quirks become endearing; his cartoonish vocal stretches to reach those high notes become normalised and you begin to appreciate how much heart he puts into his singing.

Heavy Rocks 2011 is a full-on guitar rock album that utilizes the glam-ish, arena level riffs and sounds the band splattered across all three volumes of their Japanese Heavy Rock Hits 7" series.

Away may only appeal to those who are truly committed to Shelf’s unyieldingly wry judgment, but the score that accompanies it is beautifully intoxicating.

There is no doubt that it takes several cycles through the album for things to start to click. That’s if you find yourself willing to give in to the album’s concepts and approach.

On The Slideshow Effect, Memoryhouse strips away the full production, lets the vocals rise to the front, and lets their songs do the talking. The bold choice exposes their weaknesses, but Memoryhouse still has plenty to be proud of.

Maybe it's less intimate and personal than his past releases, but Revelator sure goes down easy when it's most needed.

Every musical detour she takes on KoKoro sounds carefully plotted, and though it may occasionally wander without a clear center, it hardly lessens her severe case of wanderlust.

Lines is Lynch’s most complete effort, altogether more rhythmically loose and less meticulously detailed.

Love 2 is not only the latest chapter in Air’s space-rock adventure, it’s a sequel that triumphs its predecessor.

The Mission sets the album in motion, Chasny’s voice angelic and kind of woeful as his opening stanzas are sung. He rarely strays from beautifully knotted acoustic strings, songs like the instrumental Pilar and My Familiar (which features my favorite vocal melody in the album) lush and memorable, the latter enhanced by some chunky strums of electric guitar.

Joyce Manor takes another assured step which reinforces their viewpoints, not their maturity, with finesse, and those who still think otherwise haven't been paying enough attention.

Oldham continues to reinvent his landscape as a relevant artist with each attempt, and Beware tests his ability to weave different instruments into the fabric of an Americana record without breaking the mold entirely.

Some tweaks are almost imperceptible, but when administered at the right place and the right time, Dusk shows an incidental dynamism that Ultimate Painting haven’t shown before.

Weirdon is a melodic and enjoyable rock album.

The Wytches mesh of sound is the musical embodiment of sixties surf dressed in severe Halloween costumes, and their ability to turn such agitation into something that is, against all odds, listenable, is a testament to this band’s grasp on their own sound.

As it stands, there is a lot to like here and a lot to digest. One advantage to having so many vocalists is that each song can be separated and dealt with accordingly, giving the record the sort of film soundtrack feel I think the principle authors were aiming for. Other than that, this unburdens Sparklehorse fans slightly of the wait between albums by providing a mainly interesting and, at times, genuinely moving distraction.

Despite not taking any drastic leaps, he’s once again delivered another wide-eyed, hypnotic set that finds a satisfactory compromise between quasi-ambient soundscapes and headphone-nodding grooves.

For the first time in a while, they’re moving forward with a sound truer to their nature.

It puts you on a kick after soothing you with its pacifying hooks. And really, it’s in making those small variations where The Feelies find their gentle collision of energy and contemplation.

The tension they harbor throughout can sometimes feel a little too detached for its own good, but that doesn't take away from an otherwise nonlinear experience that has the potential to grow over time.

Dinowalrus is at the surface, speaking the language spoken years ago by the voices on those dusty LPs they hold near and dear but that’s part of the problem.

In short, it's no Mass Romantic, but it will do quite nicely.

The songwriting does suffer as a result of their walloping, impatient joy, but as Spielbergs prove, some instant gratification is always called for.

Like unsettling lullabies, The Cave Singers brand of folk music is contemplative, but isn’t that of a summery strum.

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.

It achieves a good and meticulously contrived balance that will continue to satisfy the Brooklyn insomniacs, but rarely does it risk doing more.

There's also a strong pop influence, an element that can interfere with Young Enough's otherwise snappy sequencing—both Capacity and Chatroom incorporate an electro-pop bounce that, though competent, feel more suited for an entirely new project. Still, Hendricks' love-stricken admissions never go unnoticed.

While it seemingly ends in the same place it starts (Bognanno singing on loop “I don’t know what I wanted” isn’t really a positive ending), this is Bully’s best project yet, lacing all of their marvelous qualities into a candid and catchy molotov cocktail.

In all fairness, The Darkness aren’t just peddling 2003 versions of Unskinny Bop and Cherry Pie. They pride themselves on mixing in a bit of T&A humour with the right levels of lyrical wit, all to a foot stompin’, fist pumpin’ rock vibe, a la AC/DC.

The sparkling closer “Reverie” and the excellent “Butterfly” deserve special mention, but honestly, side B is uniformly strong. The tragedy of Ricochet is that it follows such a feeble side A.

It’s the first time he’s willingly given up a little of his signature panache in order to achieve a more palatable sound. Still, Blake’s ability to both appease and innovate makes for an always transfixing, if occasionally frustrating, album experience.

There's a marked inconsistency in her voice—something lilting, sometimes guttural--navigating her usual distress with a presence that is as hammy as it is heartfelt.

Even with its faults, The Magic Whip is remarkably cohesive; not a single track is superfluous, flippant, or jarring.

The swell of the strings is as equally terrifying as it is comforting, and Hysen’s fragile vocals always contain at least a small sense of peace. Picastro have created a record that is relentlessly bleak but nonetheless a rewarding and enjoyable listen.

What's most important is that the album marks her out as a talent to watch, more than able of holding her own against such forebears and, in turning in work as simple yet creepily perfect as Homeopathic or Twin Song, proves that she's more than worthy of our love in her own right.

Syd hasn’t quite molded herself as a pop luminary, but the self-determined themes on Fin do portray an independent woman who’s fueled by the power of love.

The first five tracks are some of the rawest the nine-man conglomerate has ever served. But this all transpires within the first fifteen minutes of the disc. From there Pretty Toney takes a few ugly turns.

While Meek isn’t fully out of the shadow that Lenker and Big Thief have created, Two Saviors makes a fine argument that he should be taken seriously as his own artist.

This album does its best to give certain fans exactly what they want in sexually-driven club grinders while offering up real, honest-to-goodness substance. It isn't always a perfect situation, and parts of the album border on forgettable, but when they get it right, everything's groovy.

It's Real is a traditional rock record through and through. But like that secondhand vinyl sitting on your shelf that never got reissued, it contains deep, thick grooves that always sound fresh regardless of its dwindling shelf life.

This new one is definitely worth checking out, or maybe even seeking out, if you dig the whole African guitar Indie rock thing. If you don’t, you may still be pleasantly surprised.

It's a familiar, though still firm, return.

With varying strains of droning guitar sound carrying the album to a close, Boris’ sonic recognition of their roots pulses and shrieks, sounds that seem merely revisited and not completely inspired.

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.

Our Love to Admire’s lesser tracks seem to have placed a greater emphasis on texture than melody or even rhythm, which is arguably the band’s most potent weapon. As a whole, though, Sam Fogarino will be satisfied.

Though evocative as they may be, those who are familiar with his discography can occasionally feel an unexplainable sense of deja vu.

The band fills U.F.O.F. with a rich tapestry of textural tones, almost to the point of oversaturation. It's so embedded in their songs that they somehow get lost in their creation, filled with awe and wonder (and some healthy pretension).

he annoying melodrama that made his rap material so exhausting is what gives his new music some real power. For the first time ever, the instrumentation suits Baker’s natural whine.

No amount of musical pedigree can save her commonplace lyrical sentiments, though, which are too noticeable to ignore. Which, to a degree, slightly misstep a personal journey where she takes account of a bevy of life experiences with genuine autonomy.

Not Even Happiness isn’t just an extension of the spare, if sometimes unremarkable, compositional elegance of her debut, Room With Walls and Windows. The production is slightly enhanced, and she’s also raised the stakes by featuring a wider array of instruments.

The album isn't faultless by any means, but Trailer Trash Tracys have made one of the most interesting albums of recent months.

Overall, Silver Landings finds Moore regaining her footing.

Most of the artists have slipped into their most generic, polite, Obama-supporting personas. However this is not to say the album isn’t enjoyable and featuring so many high caliber artists, almost all the songs are good and some really hit the mark.

At times, the irregular rhythmic contours they employ get woefully tiresome, especially in its rigidly monochromatic second half. But Autolux’s dogged pursuit in doing things their way, and without an hourglass by their side, is worthy of admiration.

If Thirstier was a declaration of love from the rooftops, What an Enormous Room is the relief of a serene evening in her partner’s arms.

Some of it doesn’t work, a weakness that stems from bringing too many inspired minds together. But it’s also a welcome curse, and the experience they’ve gained has given them the excuse to just ride along with it without worry.

In an indie-rock landscape where so many bands climb to eminence on the shoulders of pseudo-academic attention-seeking, a shrug and a good pulse can go a long way.

Her exploration of the self in Pain Will Polish Me sometimes feels lacking, which makes the project seem somewhat drab. But it’s the small touches she adds, such as the instrumentals named after her child, Hera, that are unexpectedly poignant.

Caught in the Trees might have scored even more highly if it didn't trail off a bit, with Jurado seeming to run out of inspiration towards the end.

In a way, we’re witnessing the rest of the evolution that began on "Son," as Molina experimented with the ways the human voice could be manipulated electronically, as an instrument.

While it may not attain the dizzy heights of I'm New Here, Smith's deftness ensures that We're New Here is far more than just a vanity project

Despite the uncontrollable urge Hundred Waters have to cram in too much of their creative energy, they surely have the prowess to write an ornate pop record that puzzles out through well-crafted scrutiny.

Not Waving But Drowning showcases why Carner is heralded as one of British hip-hop’s biggest talents, but this isn’t quite the revelation his debut was. That being said, any album that includes an interlude dedicated to England winning a World Cup penalty shootout will always go down well.

There's no denying the adroit songwriting that’s on display here (they are veterans, after all), as they continue to chug along with low-stakes, yet engaging releases that cement their place as living rock royalty who’ve never gotten their due.

Given the long list of contributors, the singularity and cohesion achieved in Goodnight City is something to be applauded. It is also solid evidence that Wainwright’s creative well has not run dry, but rather thrives upon the influence of others.

[The album is] really nothing but fun, and it sounds for the most part like it was put together that way, if we can allow that Lynne's idea of fun is carving out a perfect piece of pop production for each delectable morsel he offers up.