It’s a collection of unsightly surveillances expressed in a magnificent manner, and the work of a man more than capable of out-creating himself.

It's heady, bleak stuff, certainly, but the sheer ambition and, bizarrely, hint of liberation with which it's performed make it one of the year's most perplexingly life-affirming releases.

Invigorated and with more purpose, Oldham feels the wholeness of family and unity. Whereas past projects lived in a state of flux, Oldham now feels settled and at ease. It does sound like he's found the "lightness," after all.

It is impassioned and political, but most of the album is more life-affirming than alienating. These are songs about solidarity and overcoming adversity, either through specifically female friendship or finding that strength introspectively.

It's not just the hooks of the songs that make this EP so bewitching, it's also a prophecy for post-dubstep.

Seemingly straight out of 1970, The Making of You is a lovely album to which to reminisce about pre-pandemic times.

So, Living Human Treasure is hard to love, but it’s not unlovable. There’s a smart, inventive band at work here, with the potential to rise to the very top of the current class of post-punk acts.

Sohn masterfully handles a crush of guitar and synths while a small batch of guests provide string embellishments, with Stella Mozgawa (Warpaint) playing drums on a few tracks. Primarily recorded at home, the lack of hiss or other background noise shows Sohn’s proficiency with her approach as well as the technical advances that machines have brought to music.

He’s is nothing short of a chameleon when it comes to garage rock, and this is one of his most impressive outputs yet.

Europe often finds itself lacking in ideas and sticking to de rigueur jangle and well-trodden indiepop tropes.

TWIABP demands a lot of your attention through these challenging, often dreary meditations, but they do reveal themselves gradually through close observation. On the flip side, there is no shortage of positivity either. It's a tricky equilibrium that the band embraces as they emotionally erupt over a fiery concoction of shredding guitars.

If there’s something that holds back the album from even greater heights, it is its overly familiar ambiance, which at times resembles the sweeping film scores typically associated with indie country-western dramas. But that doesn’t in any way diminish Horn’s songwriting, filtered through a warm and pensive haze, which becomes more distinct as her career progresses.

A compelling failure.

Minus openly captures the messy beauty of growth in real time in DÍA. And while she sometimes structures these songs a tad oblique, having rewritten some for three years straight, Minus understands that it's better to ease, rather than scrutinize, every aspect of the songwriting process. But never, ever should it be an afterthought.

Since The Seldom Seen Kid's release it seems everyone and everyone's mum are now fans of the band. Though Build A Rocket Boys! is a strong album, it never quite matches the rampant grace of that record and in many ways caters to their more tested demographic.

There's a lot in here that brims with life but, somehow, it never quite unfolds.

The chances Young Jesus take here in a songwriting sense are commendable, and with technical chops to boot. But overall, it's not quite the powerfully compelling, or approachable, experience that Rositter will have you believe it is.

While she's developed her voice in the process, Designer being a shining example of how she showed her many talents with oft-kilter confidence, Warm Chris blends spontaneity and rigidity all at once.

Unconventional harmonies and slurred vocals are an acquired taste, and some of the more out-there lyrical moments might bemuse you first time round, but give it a chance.

Jennings appears on the album’s penultimate track, the fine Hurts So Bad, where his harmonies pop out of an average song. It’s one of the few moments on Wyatt’s album where her usually honest writing feels more cliche than distinct. Jennings’ harmonies are fine, but it feels like the tune easily could've been cut. Still, this album’s got plenty of superb moments.

Most of all, I'd like to list Angels Of Darkness, Demons Of Light: 1 amongst the ever-expanding and illustrious list of rock n' roll's most important albums.

The band brings a vigorous energy to their quirky sentiments as they walk through their surroundings, instilling a comical bent at any opportunity. Even if they know that the farther they go, the better it is to stop for a second and just be in the moment.

America takes you on a long journey across busy city streets and somber countryside and while this expedition may be absolutely overwhelming at times, it's ultimately much worth the trip.

There’s a lot of bluster and enthusiasm here but I’m struggling to identify much in the way of true substance.

You can’t necessarily call this new music, but it works because it doesn’t sound vintage, nor does it completely owe itself to any bygone era of “remember when?”.

The themes still surround the passing of his wife Geneviève Elverum, but he allows some room to contemplate on what it means to begin to move forward. As opposed to the stiflingly spare Crow, Now Only is fairly more detailed, where he seeks for some equilibrium by revisiting the sullen drones of his past work.

Perhaps the best way to approach Theatre Is Evil is not even as an album, but rather a collection of songs--all fairly similar but often good, sometimes very much so.

Salad Days is a testament to love at its most selfless and pure as much as it is the fear of holding on to it.

A very good album and only a very good album. Don’t expect it to linger like Jay Som’s last, but do expect it to keep you company as these waning days of summer transform into fall.

Titus Andronicus have created an album that will grip the listener, carry them along on a tide of spit and blood and youthful aggression, and leave them dazed and exhausted at the end, with no other option but to start the record all over again.

Ultimately, From The Pyre is the archetypal mixed bag, with glorious highs offset by some slightly concerning lows.

There’s a disagreement about whether this should be classed as their fourth, fifth or sixth album, but there’s little doubt that Wide Awake! is up there with their very best.

Very few dance albums are, and in the end, that’s what Phoenix created--a dance album, possibly the most enjoyable one since "Oracular Spectacular."

With such a huge repertoire crammed into a record not much longer than 30 minutes, it’s all the more impressive that the tracks mesh together so seamlessly, never losing the cosy, affectionate motif that hangs over its entire runtime.

Heartleap is a treasure to withhold, and though it's proclaimed as a departure, it feels both complete and satisfyingly open-ended.

The artistry on Shadows In The Night is as sharp as ever, which is a welcome reminder of how Dylan’s songwriting is only half the story. The emotional electricity of his albums stems from his composed and ardent delivery and the sonic poetry of the arrangements surrounding this delivery.

For All We Know is an extremely accomplished debut from a supremely talented artist.

The soft-loud-soft dynamics she shuffles throughout provide a welcome songwriting variety, even if the softer side she tries to reason with doesn't convey as much excitement.

This is another huge step forward for a band not afraid to take them.

This Is It And I Am It And You Are It And So Is That And He Is It And She Is It And It Is It And That Is That, down to its mouthful of a title, is a fearless album, brought to fruition by a desire to push boundaries and explore sound.

When it gets it right, it gets it absolutely spot on, but a little more variation wouldn't go amiss. However, the album's highlights – and there are many – are just so fantastic that you can forgive it an awful lot.

Fade is a sign of perseverance for the group, as the album perfectly details just what is so essential and appealing about the group, and why there will always be a place for these guys in the world of indie rock.

Citizen of Glass is like entering a misty realm of wonder where each unpredictable turn holds a new set of unknowns.

Tourist in This Town finds Crutchfield learning that travel or exorcism aren't solutions. Instead, she finds the solace in her craft. The words may be heavy, but she's found a path forward.

Stunningly good.

House of Balloons is still his finest hour to date, but Echoes of Silence comes damn close to it.

I can’t recommend this album strongly enough.

It's a record that's quite open to cynicism--Exmilitary is easy to dismiss as excessive and carelessly noisy. It's going to polarise listeners, but it's useless to criticise it for being so angry and unlistenable because that's Death Grips' prerogative.

It’s the sound of a band transforming into something subtle but beautiful—the same way trees do when their foliage fades from green to orange.

The result is an album of uncompromising vulnerability and rawness.

Vampire Weekend is indie rock with its edges sanded off, polished to a clean, sparkling sheen.

On In a Bind, she reaches for a more spiritual musical expression—taking a page from the mesmeric rhythms of Ali Farka Touré. She finds herself at ease, picking out an arpeggiated pattern flutter over a meditative choral showpiece. Less impressive, though, is how Tamko derails into the dreamy, meandering synth jams she seemed to be at odds with from the start. ... These mood shifts show Tamko at her more inquisitive, proving how far she can expand her reach while using her own resources. And it'll be intriguing to see where her ever-changing nature takes her next.

This album is a brave, bold-faced exorcism. While the wounds may still be fresh, the healing has finally begun.

One thing the album does not suffer from is a lack of ideas. In fact, it sounds like the band has crammed each song with sounds, licks, rhythm shifts, basically anything they could come up with, hoping to manufacture inspiration from creativity.

Cox sounds comfortable and confident, and has made the best solo album of his prolific career.

Throughout its running time, Pale Green Ghosts sees Grant ably balance a sense of humour with quietly devastating content.

What a pleasure that Familiars is familiar primarily for its quality rather than its qualities.

It’s conservative enough to satiate longtime fans, yet lovingly crafted to such a degree that it confuses you into thinking that its reached its full potential when it could've been so much more.

Honeys may be just another rash, blustering effort, but for the first time there’s a faint hint of accessibility seeping through the cracks.

It's filled with memorable moments, digital pieces that are essential towards captivating very human moments without battering with the greater scope of things. It all makes this all-encompassing memory trip worth remembering.

There's something seductive and illuminating about Stott's new music, something that transcends the terror being emitted.

There’s a meditative cadence to Rotations that gains potency as it progresses, given that we witness an unraveling of thought.

The trio seems more determined and passionate in how they concoct their witches' brew of ideas, knowingly aware of how the plot unfolds while convincing us that anything kept a secret doesn't matter. As oblique as their music has become, it uniquely makes sense to them.

Cut for cut, this is a triumph of melody and intelligence, with hooks that aren't cute and noise that doesn't dampen introspection, cosmic and prosaic at the same time. Parquet Courts have conquered rock 'n' roll's biggest hurdle: to move forward while staying true to themselves

King Of Jeans burns with enough vitriol and frustration that the music escalates the album’s importance. And, at times, they do grant second-party attention.

Through the years, the band has sculpted their sound into full-fledged metal, and as the burly, serpentine tracks Arteries of Blacktop and Full Moon, Black Water attest, they incorporate palm-muted riffs and Sabbathy doom with much aplomb—even if the latter closes the album with delicate, melancholic guitars, saying goodbye to their departed loved ones with gentle compassion.

My Days Of 58 is an unassuming delight and a further feather in the cap of one of most enduring songwriters of his generation.

Aside from a few tracks that feel tossed off, too self-aware in their own weirdness, Hawkline does manage to justify his odd behavior with heaps of whimsical charm.

Vile may get all the end-of-year glory, but his comrade's first full-length effort is just as laudable and commendable.

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.

Mvula has written a hypnotic record that provides a congenial embrace, but it also isn’t afraid to take bold action. A new star is most definitely born.

It’s beautifully conflicted and human, and does provide a unique and unforgettable experience that will continue to charm with its paradoxical qualities for years to come.

Shame could've settled when, instead, they've outsmarted their post-punk contemporaries with their apolitical, yet powerfully-charged message about sticking it to the doldrums.

Sensitive enough to charm you, yet with songs hard enough and strong enough to keep you from getting bored, Silent Alarm is already a strong contender for debut album of the year.

It’s an album focused on a very limited range of moods, and inhabits that tone very well, but ultimately does little to justify sticking around.

That’s not to say Girl With Fish is an exclusively positive, agreeable record, though: “Steamroller, you fuck like you’re eating” is how Slocum opens the record’s best song, cutting through a maze of noise with a lackadaisical demeanor. It’s this balance that cues Feeble Little Horse up to be one of the biggest bands working in indie rock right now, especially if they keep making records as good as this one.

A notable cast of musicians, ranging from James Blake and King Krule to Micachu, impart their own idiosyncrasies, coming together to adopt a more avant-garde variant. But never does it hide the duo’s own merits, as they embrace a more vibrant form of beat-driven electronica that also functions in a rock context with collaboration at its heart.

Adore Life, in particular, isn’t so much a maturation but a continuation for Savages.

This is perhaps his most beautiful work to date; its vulgarity is restrained but a sense of humour remains, and Wells and Moffat reach new emotional heights.

At 41 minutes, this album covers every type of song Isbell does best; from tight rockers to disappointed country tunes, Reunions hits the spot.

Father of the Bride does succeed in a musical sense-it could've done without the sparse synth ballad 2012 or the bastardized bossa nova of Spring Snow, to give a few examples, but most of these instrumental curios reaffirm Koening's reflective, and possibly solitary, approach to get back into the flow of writing music.

Coming across as a familiar yet fresh sound, like a reconciliation of a past lover, Ventura’s soulful presence was crafted by time. Memorable and intimate from the start, Ventura completes Oxnard, as Malibu did to Venice; tying up all loose ends and graciously ready for the next chapter.

Many of Sauna’s strongest moments result from Elverum sticking to what he knows best, as well as being the most closely akin to his last two albums.

It’s a beautiful, at times tragic album, a versatile hodge-podge of creativity and ambition whose influences are nearly undetectable (this critic hears Bjork and D’Angelo most apparently) and with nary a false note.

Silence Yourself is more than just this year’s best debut record so far and even more than one of the best records of any kind this year. It could be the closest post-punk has come to full-bodied artistry since Interpol took their own post-punk influences and gave us Turn On The Bright Lights all those years ago.

City Of Refuge is an album which manages to be raw yet transcendental and simple yet layered. Inquisitive ears should find plenty of interest here.

Wolf sometimes succeeds in emulating Kate Bush’s knack for combining the utterly bizarre with godlike musicianship, but sometimes he falls short.

Despite the often dull music, the album is an overall cohesive success. It all ties together well, and it owes its quality to the unwavering confidence of her delivery, both musically and lyrically.

Where You Go To I Go Too is one of the finest pieces of music I have heard in years.

Tonal changes aside, those worried if Deerhunter have stepped away from their feverish art rock needn't worry. Futurism is one of their most sparkling tracks to date, as it enjoys one of those chromatic guitar riffs (accomplished with the assistance of White Fence's Tim Presley) they've been writing since their Microcastle days.

Searing. ... Just when you think Viagra Boys have exhausted their ideas, outside of the surprisingly confessional ADD, Murphy and his cohorts crank up the energy one last time on Return of the Monke.

A dark and beautiful album with true emotional resonance and weight.

Just this performance of Jubilee Street is worth the price of this EP. While on record, the song simmers to a boil, live, it explodes. Cave sings like a man possessed as the band rips through the tune behind him. Both From Her to Eternity and The Mercy Seat hit as forcefully as they did when first released.

Sure, the duo's musical palette is a little limited, and Phoebe Lunny’s nasal snarl starts to become a little grating after a while, but the furious lyrics and frenetic guitars certainly make for a fun listen.

We Are Together Again aims to repeat the trick [2025's The Purple Bird], with its earnest country twang and cast of familiar collaborators, but ultimately it lives and dies by the quality of its songs—and they just aren’t consistently good enough.

While it is by no means required listening, Couple Tracks is certainly worth it for newcomers and short-time fans of an up and coming experimental punk band. And while it never achieves an album feel, it's got enough short blast of quality to make it worth the money.

Wakin’ On A Pretty Daze strikes with a gust of pent up emotions, a trailblazing record that openly affirms a personal accountability for self without slipping into heavy-handedness.

It serves as the nuanced companion to the disquieting narrative of Rooms of the House.