MGMT always excel when they don't try too hard, and on Little Dark Age, they admirably leverage irony with lighthearted merriment.

She’s made an album for embracing yourself, your past and whatever lies ahead, and having fun while doing so. Her music doesn’t sound like the future. Even better, it sounds like the present.

Three tracks and two genre-shifts in, it’s a wonder how well the pieces fit together. Vu’s voice is a connecting thread, a honeyed contralto as distorted and disconnected as her affect, doubled onto itself and pulsing with uncertainty.

Easter Lily, released on Good Friday, offers the visceral, emotional experience that U2 fans have been yearning for the longest time.

By utilizing a synth-based soundtrack just as organic, emotional, and unadulterated as Welsh’s voice and lyrics, Impersonator successfully matches man with machine and gives each an equally powerful, equally human voice.

Bromst is an excellent followup to a slightly more-excellent debut, and proof that Deacon isn't going anywhere.

Kehlani replaces any hint of controlled pop presence with a lowkey, gloomy vibe that doesn’t suit her strengths at all. Her raspy voice is now placed upon liquid synth bass and irritating trap production, leaving her songwriting to be the record’s only strength.

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.

Each track sounds as fresh and as punchy as the last, and it is instantly infectious.

The weaknesses are outweighed by the strengths considerably, and so shouldn’t detract from another impressive collection; how a band can keep producing music of relative significance in such a conveyor belt fashion is truly mystifying.

There are hints of Shame’s continuous evolution as songwriters. Take the muted, jagged menace lurking behind the austere “Packshot,” which builds into a powerful, guitar-driven crescendo. But for the most part, Cutthroat struggles at balancing that very fine line between accessibility and experimentation.

Everything Ever Written even ends with a pleasant curveball, the gorgeous Utopia, an illuminating reverie that poignantly illustrates the measures people take to adapt to their surroundings in spite of the final outcome.

It’s a summer record if ever there was one--with even the opening track being named Sun’s Out. It’s a great introduction to the record, where a punchy snare, an uncomplicated bassline and a heat-warped guitar lick combine so easily that it takes a few of Drew Auschermann’s lyrics to be delivered before you even realize they’re there.

What It Means To Be Left-Handed is amply adorned with Pierce's distinctive improvisatory drum stylings, with each rim hit and snare taking on a melodic spirit of its own, whilst never intruding. His kit-work is a baffling contradiction of smooth and jagged, providing a solid backdrop whilst playfully interacting with dense acoustic guitar textures or washy post-rock atmospheres.

BBNG have always been fluent and sonically articulate, but enlisting the talents of suitable vocalists to thicken their smokescreen strengthens their suit.

This album is a great one, and proof that the band are able and willing to develop and grow their music.

An unfair degree of skepticism can surround a band like The Hives for firing in all cylinders well into their forties, but there's no denying their commitment and passion to staying in character on and off the stage.

They've never let us down before, and they don't here, as frustrating as it is to hear the band fall just short of crafting something incredible. All the songs stand up, but the album loses steam and focus and begins to drag by the end of its 65 minute running time.

Despite the moments where you feel like you're having a bad trip, there's a deranged brilliance on Castlemania that's difficult to ignore.

The problem is that Ishibashi isn't idiosyncratic enough to make this a memorable record... That said, he gets it so right on Manchester it's unbelievable.

The welsh trio have taken their time to reach this point, but with The Big Roar they have taken their opportunity with great style, producing what I think is a mature, clever and exceptionally listenable record from start to finish--and that's a mighty thing.

After 35 minutes filled with one kinetic power-chord to the next with the littlest variation, Typhoons spreads itself too thin.

Most of Ambulance tends to cast a shadow on their most riotous tendencies, but there are still surprises to be found; the more sanguine Blair Dagger almost sounds out of place with its salacious tremolo strains, though it also highlights the band at their most playfully engaged.

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.

Fullbrook mottles sonic accouterments throughout with graceful finesse, though sometimes at the expense of songs that dissolve into a foggy blur.

The material is strong but rarely achieves greatness.

Its searing synths and chopped vocals can feel unjustified as a whole, but the songcraft is strong and the style supports some of its best moments.

More so than Wounded Rhymes or Youth Novels, I Never Learn is a record for a radio-loving crowd who wouldn’t have a problem with the lack of variety in content matter or the relative sameness in sound and composition.

Object 47 is proof that Wire’s edge remains as sharp as ever.

It’s an arc that she manages to complete with her conceptual solo trilogy, and though the pop chart-minded songs devalue the album’s more adventurous pursuits, Richard is still devoted to push her art in new, unexplored directions.

Not only does Undercard not disappoint--there are more than a couple earworms here and there--but it's brilliant and fresh from two musicians who aren't exactly freshmen to the scene.

Pt.1 was such an exciting deviation for Foals that it would be disappoitning if it proved just a mere detour on their way to producing empty, arena-sized rock. Here, they not only return to their formula, but ramp it up to dangerous levels. It’s brash, loud, and, ultimately, tiresome.

El Pintor isn’t a rekindling of old fires, more so a chilled, mutual acceptance from a band that is letting things roll as smoothly as can be.

Molly Rankin’s vocals throughout the record compliment the soundscapes perfectly, fanning disappointment with hope whilst exercising a great deal of control--and an admirable lack of bias--over her ponderings.

When things work, Moolchan sounds confident taking on new influences and playing around with them until they fit within her playful vision. Mostly, though, Highway Hypnosis is frustrating in that it feels more like a collection of potentially good but unfinished ideas that lack the focus and imagination needed to make them work.

With Jinx, we get to see a promising band push their sound outward and gracefully mature, even if it doesn’t always floor you as immediately as some of Sports’ loudest moment do.

What starts out as inviting, quickly becomes a bit irritating and ends up overwhelmingly draining and drab if tackled all at once.

The way they attempt to reinvent the idea of the rock band is admirable but quixotic; they;'re intriguing but way overhyped. The album is buried in just a bit too much sonic obscurity--their arrangements are at first elating, but eventually frustrating.

Thought it doesn't make an impression at first glance, The Chaos crosses The Futureheads' entire discography into a wholly satisfying package.

While still featuring the repetition and reverb that embodies much of Lennox's work, Tomboy is more divisible, and more accessible for a downloaded generation, or listeners looking to simply dabble their toes.

While it starts strong, the weaker second half makes Serpentine Prison a mixed bag. It doesn’t feel like a definitive statement album, more like an opportunity for Berninger to stretch his legs. There’s a good amount of work to enjoy here, but it’ll mainly make you want to listen to The National instead.

Perfect Pussy constantly find new ways to stimulate that teenage bit of your brain that wants to scream and punch things and has a lot of things to say but doesn’t know how to say them.

Where The Volunteers falls down, surprisingly, is in the excessively slick production. Despite the ethos and lyrics, musically this is not the handmade, indie effort you might expect.

To really get the most from Margerine Eclipse, consume it in its entirety in one sitting: songs that appear to be fairly average when dipped into randomly take on new elements when they take their place in the overall sequence.

Woods should take the cue from Bill Callahan and what he accomplished with Smog: if you are going to delve into the restricting realm of lo-fi, there has to be emotional and appealing substance and quality in the songs themselves. Lowering the production quality does not, as in a double helix, imply that the songwriting quality will improve.

The band is categorically known for their disciplined uniformity, an approach that gives the band more room to inject more personality into their straightforward rhythm section; seeing as the indie rock landscape has also considerably changed, it’s actually a welcome throwback that’s aged well.

Asleep on the Floodplain is more than an acoustic showcase.

Weirdon is a melodic and enjoyable rock album.

Payola picks off right where their last one left off while completely ignoring that the past decade even happened, which sounds like a harder feat then it might appear.

Rave Tapes is a cohesive piece of work, its perspective blended despite variance in approach.

Her voice single-handedly eliminates all accusations of the sameness that could be shot at the songs, evens the pace of the album, and although it may not make up for the album's flaws entirely, it certainly helps hide them and is reason enough on its own to find enjoyment on this album.

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.

Memoirs at the End of the World, as ambitious as it seems, never seems to overstate it’s welcome.

1,000 Years is an uplifting album, despite some of the painful imagery. Sometimes wallowing in the past isn't such a bad thing, especially when, like it did for Corin Tucker, it moves you forward.

Although there's nothing spectacular or innovative here, it has to be difficult to simultaneously have a foot in a variety of styles while constructing something that's this easy to listen to.

While Lekman certainly knows how to use a sample, it is his songwriting talent, his storytelling ability, and above all his remarkable emotional honesty that make I Know What Love Isn't the finest achievement of his career.

When this album hits, it hits hard, but for the first time in their career, the barrage is intermittent instead of constant.

Most of Beyond the Fleeting Gales hits with a uncompromising positivity that often contradicts the sorrowful gentleness in her words.

Ruins is an affecting, comforting listen, but not one that will imprint itself too vividly in the memory.

It's great when artists learn to produce work that has more than one dimension to it. Robyn's has two. I'd just like to see her develop one or two more.

The songwriting is versatile but cohesive; every song clearly has its own place on Shrines, and each one has a strong hook, at least one beat or lyric you'll find yourself thinking over for a little bit.

No gripes here as IDLES deliver their most consistent album to date with a handful of their most rough-cut diamonds sparkling through.

Time Skiffs isn’t terrible; it’s inoffensive, nice, surprisingly easy-going.

It's a solid album throughout, with satisfying builds and a cacophony of beautifully symphonic music.

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.

On A Mission is the sound of the dancefloor being brought to the pop charts.

It’s very ambitious but also very flawed, but moreover it’s great to hear him take all these risks.

It's difficult to say that there are some great songs on this album, but it's true; unfortunately Lewis fails to take advantage of this fact by lagging behind the innovation and originality of the preceding 80's revivalist movement.

Conor Oberst's latest project has demonstrated his unmistakable ability to maintain continuity across an album while managing to quell any potential boredom before it begins to detract from the listening experience.

I’m gonna go way out on a limb and say that this is their best album yet.

The Heat doesn’t offer a dramatic change from its predecessor stylistically.... What it does have is more energy, better material and more focus.

Many of the songs here are too over-burdened by the minutiae of lives half lived to be transcendent, perpetually on the verge of something greater, yet too often falling just short of it. However, as with life, there are enough small moments of insight and beauty to make it worthwhile.

Firing on all cylinders and exhibiting the canny combination of eminently danceable rhythms with big hooks and gorgeous synth melodies.

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.

His newfound knack for experimentation does take Deafman Stare into some uncharted territory, but as the classic shuffle of 22 Days attests, his tangential compositions wouldn't resonate as proficiently if they also didn't capture the majesty of his nimble performances.

It takes the music of Hauschka perhaps into more populist directions, but the experiment and joy still survive.

Cheatahs doesn’t make any great claims of originality, and it certainly doesn’t break any new ground. It just succeeds because it is what it is.

He has found his musical voice on Watch Me Fall, and while it may not be the best album of 2009, but it’s certainly one of the most enjoyable.

There’s just not enough that grabs you by the throat and pulls you back to listen over and over again.

This is their most assured, confident release to date and though it may not take the place of fan-favourite, it certainly deserves to be considered as the best introduction to Autechre’s oeuvre.

It's like a Jason Statham film, leave your brain at the door, don't think, enjoy it for what it is.

Drenge’s debut is excellent, and it will no doubt have you appropriately ‘drenged’.

The unpredictability factor will cause some to turn to something easier on the ear, but if you were to persevere with 1000 Days, it’s very likely that you would appreciate it.

Totems functions as a decent well for drawing singles but, as an album, lacks the connective tissue to make it stand out within Clark’s impressive catalog.

Lee’s music comes from a place that’s pure, completely at odds with his current urban environment, handled with loving precision; nevertheless, it also fails to resonate when he’s too wrapped up in his own insularity.

Matmos successfully craft an environment both musical and tactile, some of the elements stretched to such extremes and arranged so well that they sound convincingly like instruments.

Reflections may have required a more rigorous process to complete than any other project he’s ever done, but it is also his most compact to date, which rejects the common belief that bigger always means better.

Our children’s children may not remember baseball umpires and humans that sang their own songs, but Bodega’s Shiny New Model makes for the perfect soundtrack to worry yourself silly about such things.

The overall sound may be modest, but in context, will most likely relate with those fortunate enough to live an affluent, fanciful lifestyle.

Lennon and Saunier interact with kindred sensibility.

There’s a whole lot of beauty in As Seen Through Windows, but it isn’t attainable beauty. When the music stops, so does it disappear, leaving you feeling as though you’ve lost something in the process.

Kairos is an intimate account on how stripping things down to a minimum whilst keeping a clear focus on limitations can actually lay emphasis on more unique songwriting.

Unsound is, in many ways, their best work since Vs.

Long Slow Dance might be a strong garage pop album with some incredibly catchy songs, but it could definitely be grounded from its chick flick sensibilities.

These light and dark contrasts make for a thoroughly compelling listen that, certainly, makes up for Andrew's shortcomings as a lyricist.

It’s a record that takes a little patience and a little effort but when given the proper attention it will become like that one album from when you were young that just won’t leave your iPod.

It’s an extremely listenable record and definitely fit to stand aside their finest work.

Despite the weak ending, Imploding the Mirage is a powerful album from a hungrier and more passionate Killers that have once again embraced bombast with fearlessness, aspiration, and confidence. You can hear the band prevailing over struggles and finding the joy in making music and being alive.