A Sunny Day in Glasgow have shown that no sea is big enough to slow unabashed creativity--in fact, the sea seems less absent and quite fruitful in their case.

It’s as though Dacus’s best parts have been filtered through a focus group--just imagine what it could have been with the patina scraped off.

Granted, the band's debased, arhythmic songwriting sounds a little obnoxious, if deliberately so, but they sure know how to translate their disarray into compelling expressionist noise.

The result is easily one of the more intriguing and overlooked releases of 2009, and an infinitely disturbing meld of visceral semblance and quiet complexity.

Even with today's technology, harvesting emotions as such is perplexing and strenuous. But Kirby does it with a special kind of grace.

THE FILM is a showcase of intensity: SUMAC ably matches that of Irreversible Entanglements via alternate delivery, while Ayewa’s passion and spoken outbursts meet Aaron Turner’s guttural howl. Looking at the essence of both entities and their respective creative signatures, it’s somehow both remarkable and obvious how natural each of them sound together on this LP.

It is precisely due to the band’s finesse that It’s Blitz! is so refreshing, despite being an old sound wrapped in glitter veneer.

His manipulations have gotten more patient, his sketches have become full tunes, and half-obscured melodies have received a lighting from the lamps.

Listening to it can be exhaustive, particularly during its clumsier second half, in which the narratives are duller (particularly Dossier), the musical progressions more stagnant (422). It’s undeniable, though, that this is a very original, fruitful record

What I find so satisfying with this album, is how Four Tet envisions the lushness of a song, and sonically creates a buoyant, lighthearted blend--a complete album for the lively and lighthearted.

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.

Brothers doesn’t break new ground for the band, but it continues to affirm the band’s soul, further demonstrating the unlimited power of blues music.

Stephan Babcock is a determined performer, and his bandmates are suitable harmonizers, but even at a tight 30-minutes the album’s lack of strong melodic direction quickly turns tiresome with its stilted, colorless sonic onslaught.

A stunning collection of songs, in the grand Brit-pop tradition.

Regardless of classification, Japandroids have created something pure, something without pretense and without any concern for how smart or cool they will sound.

Chelsea Wolfe captured the essence of the album title eloquently, succeeding in making an album that is frighteningly honest, poignant, and graceful.

The result, when it flows, is music that verges on the transcendent.

Ha Ha Sound is occasionally brilliant, often adequate and, on some tracks, so bizarrely irritating that the mind boggles at who Broadcast imagine would actually be interested in hearing them. So, in summation, an almost essential album of largely inessential tracks.

The Horrors instead set out to redefine the band and its purpose, their second album an exciting result.

What it lacks in polish it all but makes up for in immediacy—and lots and lots of raw power. She didn't just get out of a potentially sticky situation; she thrived and found a way to turn it into an advantage with great songwriting panache.

It’s a heavy, at times uncomfortable listen, but one that feels intensely relatable. It finds strength in the somber and the morose by paining it in bright colors and wonderful riff work. Once you’re drawn in, you won’t want to turn away, no matter how dark the journey becomes.

What makes Beware the Dogs such a fun and engaging listen is how Donnelly expresses her opinions with such imperfect candor. There's not a second where you doubt that she's not amusing herself, relishing the creative side in her intimate space with her tongue firmly in cheek.

Matching thoughtful lyricism with heightened arrangements, they're building on what they've learned, and all their efforts are clicking at the right time.

Love Remains has no established coherence, disrespects the meaning of creating a full length from scratch by (reworking?) rehashing material, and frankly, relies too much on Krell's scorching falsettos.

The overall effect is pristine and seamless, and the work of a supremely talented composer and producer.

The Next Day is the best Bowie album in 33 years, but it’s perfectly reasonable to not even call it a top 10 Bowie album.

[Banga] may be the songstress's most ambitious statement yet.

Holy Ghost just resonates because it’s so deeply felt and passionate--with hardly a wasted moment throughout its brisk 28 minutes--to such a degree that it’s easy to dismiss its songwriting flaws.

Tramp isn't as seizing as Epic, its songs aren't as dense and unalike, its textures don't diverge in the same methods, but it breathes more, it quivers more, it shakes, it overturns itself, it rusts.

Blank Face is occasionally too indulgent for his own good, as he also follows trap and net-soul trends in awkward fashion, but the amount of genuine, larger-than-life parables continue to expose an artist who still wrestles with his hard-knock past.

While there are subdued moments throughout, Remember The Humans more often than not offers a unique listening experience within each of these songs, supported ably by a wide variety of instrumentation and expansive production.

Hiss Spun is the first record from Chelsea Wolfe that commits entirely to the more catastrophic elements of her repertoire, and the results are equal parts stunning and terrifying.

While William Doyle’s career is undoubtedly on an upward trajectory and I am looking forward to his evolution as an artist, Total Strife Forever is hardly a landmark in electronic music.

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.

In many ways, Memory poignantly conveys how time has caught up with the Vivian Girls. It may look into the past, but the trio are not the same anymore both creatively and personally—and the time they took apart to explore other avenues works to their benefit. Armed with a deeper understanding of those trying times, and each other, the trio moves forward—and live in harmony with it.

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.

Already excellent work made better by careful rework and distinct (re)vision.

It can sound almost laborious in its structural directness mixed with its lyrical opacity.

Lovers of schizo-rock will have plenty to revel in.

After isn’t perfect, but it’s certainly an album that sounds as strong and mysterious the first time and 10th time you listen to it.

It's the sweet simplicity that makes Cut Worms work so well in the absence of the character-driven stories that colored Nobody Lives Here Anymore. Trading them out for good old-fashioned love songs and playing to his strengths, Clarke has created another enjoyable Cut Worms album and one that is worth repeated listens.

At times delightful, yet not without its flaws, this is an encouraging debut.

Through her fictitious accounts, the band follows with a harmonious balance of dissonant transitions. Other times, their song structures are more conventional, even if they take on a few grinding solos and lush string accompaniments. It makes for a sometimes confounding if indecisive listen, but Quinlan's passionate eye for detail hasn't withered in the slightest.

This is perfection from a band at the absolute top of their game, but this by no means implies that they’ve peaked.

Vampire Weekend's willingness to write an album of exciting new material, rearranging the very core of the sound they've come to be known for, will be maddening on first listen for those who loved their debut--but those who stick it out will discover that there's a more mature, innovative band in its place.

The White Stripes continue to surprise and entertain simultaneously.

Ultimately, Justice is another example of rearranging and reshuffling the devices of the past, but with complete understanding of their effectiveness to a point that sounds fresh.

As the pieces continue to invert themselves halfway through their running time, the album begins to resemble a child’s ambitious science experiment gone haywire. For this, Signal Morning shines.

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.

In both songwriting craft and execution of recording, The Coldest Winter For A Hundred Years is exceptional.

Any band that can turn over vocal duties as often as they hold onto them and somehow make all the music sound like their own is a band worth watching, and despite its inconsistency and even its lack of imagination, there are a lot of thrills to be had in this hour.

Manipulator stands as Segall’s most intricately woven and patiently developed work.

Wolf Alice have come up with the goods again with their second LP, and in Ellie Rowsell they have a frontwoman who hypnotises and enthralls at will.

With Open Here, Field Music sound like they’re not only investing in their stability but in their future as well.

The shrill production manned by Ben Hillier over-amplifies the percussion and bass textures, making the entire project muddy in a way that can’t be intentional. While the joy occasionally breaks through (the glitchy From the Mouth is a blast), Melt Yourself Down kneecap themselves repeatedly on 100% Yes.

Fans of cult art punks The Embarrassment, rejoice! They mostly revel in the more cutting side of post-punk, but there's a sweetness that balances the sharper notes.

The wondrous sonic beauty of Morning Phase sheds light into Hansen’s otherwise absence of presence, so when the swelling, cinematic strings of Cycle open the record, it’s as if we’re surrounded by an omnipotent being coming down from the heavens.

Some the hooks are among the best the band has ever written... [Yet] the 10 songs never feel like an Album so much as it does a collection of songs, more like productive jams from a group of middle-aged friends unwinding or celebrating than actually adding any kind of blues to their songwriting chops.

More ambitious in execution, but just as considered, she’s just beginning to dig from past experiences instead of writing a collection of short stories. That way of thinking goes in tangent with the rest of Big Thief, who are also emboldening their compositions with a wider palette.

An album of incredible songs.

Their best full length yet.

The album hones a clear message about how society is marred with malicious leeches and false prophets, but it’s just one side of many--most of all, this is Spoon mostly letting loose their perennial white funk, kinda square but almost always rhythmically enticing.

At its weakest, the album is merely boring with the lamely typical Can't You See, an album opener of distorted rumbling and vocals so low you'd strain to make them out. Arguably worse than a bland track is that the album actually offers some hope for a reasonably enjoyable experience.

At times it can be strikingly absurdist, the benefit of a frontman who knows how to insert humor naturally into the dourest of settings. But Higgs also loses sight of his own lyrical virtuosity when keeping with the band’s regurgitated precision-playing. Everything Everything continue to convey their bottomless ideas effortlessly, chained to the rhythm, even if their dizzying dance is beginning to show signs of fatigue.

Holiday Destination is Shah’s third LP, and is her most accomplished effort to date--superbly executed with an ability to make an austere backdrop insatiably compelling.

Down in the Weeds is at odds with itself—where the band balances music that is ambitious in scope with some of Obert's most nakedly personal work. But just like his complicated and sometimes narcissistic persona, there's a good argument to make about how his over-the-top approach perfectly suits him. That aside, Oberst and his cohorts' generous offering does take them on new, unexplored territory while remaining true to his wry prose.

Be it through incremental shifts and changes or grinding genres together to hear what comes out, Wye Oak know their influences in and out and work skillfully to blend them or highlight their differences as the song calls for it.

As cumbersome as this album can be, its unapologetic excesses baked into its track length and Haino’s sometimes grating vocal, the zero-constraint approach at the core of this mutually beneficial creative merger is compelling.

Fear Inoculum already feels like an event—It's the kind of grand statement that will equally delight and confound, where Tool allows themselves to highlight their technical prowess with uncompromising integrity. Though the lengthy tracks convey great character and complexity, it's best to experience its ambient soundscapes and strapping guitars with a full, uninterrupted listen.

Burst Apart is a passable follow-up to an incredible record, but that's all it is. Passable.

Stapleton’s writing is solid, but his vocals, arrangements, and instrumentation imbue most of these songs with something remarkable.

Even if this record isn't perfect, it's clear that she will become an influential figure in high-brow electronic music.

X’ed Out is unmarred by any narcissistic disposition, or pretentious or elitist demeanor, but it makes no creative sacrifice. Bravo.

Admittedly, R Plus Seven is a challenging album, one that doesn’t quite unravel itself on an immediate listen. Yet for all its complexity (of which I’m still trying to comprehend myself), it never comes off as ham-fisted or impossibly inaccessible.

We know better than to call Push The Sky Away Nick Cave’s best album, but if you want a portrait of the artist, as an artist, the album qualifies as “essential” even by the strictest definition.

They may have been marking time slightly of late, but let your fears they'd never rise again be dispersed; this is the best Fall album of the century bar none.

Bambino is a record that is kaleidoscopically colourful, staying in charge of a viciously artistic wall chart of sounds and turning it into something impressively cohesive. In the groovefest that is Need a Little Spider and the deliciously sleek Double Dutch, there are some downright bangers on here for good measure.

The album’s title suggests something close to perfection, and 99.9% isn’t too far from being the ideal electronic record.

The Man Who Died avoids the stigma of outtakes releases because it’s an ideal entry point into one of the most distinctive, fascinating musicians of our time.

New Leaves may tackle some subtle rites of passage - small in scope but difficult for most men to deal with--but they’re approached with such delicate grace, it’s hard to question that this may be Kinsella’s finest hour yet.

These delicate people really know how to solidify a pretty picture, especially when they offset their lovin' spoonful of virtue with some muffled resonance. This time around, the Kings are downright cheating instead of tirelessly studying to make the grade.

On the surface, Haiku Hands is a party record, but dig deeper and it becomes a powerful testament to female friendship and the power you feel when you’re supported.

The entirety of Redemption sounds as morose as his parched rhymes, with an effective backdrop of bleak bass drones and minimal synth lines, but not as much when he attempts to slow down his delivery. Stick for his soul-bearing lessons, even if he treads on familiar and worn-down musical paths.

These are songs that mostly get to the heart of the matter with open-hearted directness, and in balancing the coarse with the refined there’s a clearer sense of what Scott wants to find even if she struggles to understand the conditions that affect her most deeply.

Taken as a whole, Monomania is arguably their most imposing, and by far their most courageous, proving that Deerhunter have a frontman who’s willing to open up his soul to fit the demands of the stage.

His songwriting style remains largely unaltered: eloquent, abstract, stream-of-consciousness rambles, tiny bits of which manage to lodge themselves in your brain. But his talent is most apparent as a composer.

Most of Short Movie lingers over energetic yet contemplative sounds, which Marling then pairs with her voice, an instrument as soothing as it is commanding, and every lyric is delivered with a kind of conversational cadence that hints at a slight curl in the corners of Marling’s lips.

On a song-by-song basis, this is a consistently solid album.

In honesty, a whole album of perfectly-executed retro soul can be a little wearing, but the craftsmanship carries it through, and the sheer joy of hearing a band go against the grain in the way that this band do, makes I Learned the Hard Way fully deserving of your time.

The record’s lack of organization and resistance to stasis work against its accessibility. Those willing to mine such a dense work will be rewarded in a visceral sense, but may be left groping in the darkness for a specific, externally-fabricated meaning. Either way, the abstractness and wandering abandon of Mutant define not only the album, but Alejandro Ghersi’s approach to music.

It's all powerful stuff and it can only be GY!BE.

Key Markets doesn't disappoint. Their commitment to their aesthetic and their ability to use it to say new things is unflagging.

The album is strong but is a marked change in direction, nonetheless.

My high expectations for Boca Negra, misguided as they were, have been consoled, if not met, by the realization that if any act can legitimize avant-jazz beyond its narrow niche (never mind my aforementioned doubts), Chicago Underground Duo have the verve and creativity to enable it.

Despite minor quibbles what you have here is one hell of a late-night record, with plenty of wistful longing and just enough sunshine to keep you off the suicide hotline.

James Blake is an absolute treat for the ears.

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.

It may be Power’s most fatalistic declaration, but also his most engagingly diverse, and his marked exasperations do reflect a not-so-distant dystopia that suitably aligns with today’s societal disconnect.