Aside from dubstep-resembling "I Don’t Love You Anymore”, a breakup song that doesn’t really mesh within the political context of Hopelessness, there’s hardly any fault to find in Hegarty’s incredibly imaginative portrait of a world that’s in dire need of some reformation.

It's certainly heavier, but it's tuneful and heavy at the same time.

Overall, Arrow is the quintessential Heartless Bastards album to date.

The result is an album that humanizes the machine and peels back a layer from Albarn's life while adding more to the music.

Although Kiss and Tell doesn’t quite match the dizzy heights of its major influences, it is without a doubt Sahara Hotnights’ finest album to date.

Dupuis has engineered a candied vehicle to convey a highly relevant paradigm, and although its lo-fi sound means that the messages aren’t as bullish as they could be, it is sonically deft, and an excellent record.

Our Ill Wills surpasses the band’s 2005 debut "Howl Howl Gaff Gaff" because it takes modest chances and expands on the band’s strengths, doing so cordially all the while.

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.

These tracks resonate through lovely pop music, the core that ties together these songs, but there’s plenty of stylistic range—disco, jangle, chamber pop, Brill Building—to both chew on and delight in.

The result is the sun-drenched sister of an opiate-subverted Sonic Nurse, the musical equivalent of Coleridge in the afterglow of an acid trip.

There’s enough raucous obnoxiousness, not to mention effortless expert musicianship, in these eight tracks and thirty-five minutes to mark Melt Yourself Down out be the front-runner for not just that token Mercury nod, but the ironic moustache twiddling party album of the year.

With the satisfyingly realized and solid Mirror Traffic, Malkmus is at the top of his game, both as a consistent songwriter and guitarist, continuing the upwardly mobile trajectory of an enduring and golden indie-rock solo career in it's second decade, playing and singing better than ever.

He’s on a full-on conversationalist binge on Sky, though it’ll demand your extra attention since the album’s turbulent production tends to obscure most of his learned reflections. In spite of this, it wouldn’t be a true Mould record if it didn’t hit you with that pummeling, noisy sheen.

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.

Their jokes and concepts and imitations have sunk into their bones and become tools for them to make some of the best music of the year thus far.

Embryonic is a true 21st century freak-out and it's only appropriate to end this decade with such an ambitious, intrepid undertaking.

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

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

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 a surprise to see him employ such an economy of language, but Bejar can still command your attention with his sharp, romantic one-liners. He’s setting the scene by making a visceral impression with characters that feel alive, engulfed in their indecisiveness, driven with a theatrical imagination that’s as restless as it’s ever been.

The music shines brighter than most of his pop contemporaries. In fact, the album is so successful on this level that I could choose any given song and laud it as one of the best tracks on the album.

This album is a grower.

Given A Short History of Decay’s variety, intensity, and sense of daring, allied to its strong songwriting, I suspect it will become a valuable reference for students of modern shoegaze long after its current wave has passed.

Yo La Tengo wants us to absorb their calm serenity, and that it's okay to sit down and distance ourselves from the negativity we encounter from time to time.

Even though it falls apart towards the end and could stand to cut a few songs, Welcome oblivion is a powerful record, both musically and thematically.

Asleep on the Floodplain is more than an acoustic showcase.

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

It abounds with fertile musical ideas, which is something that's been missing in our depleted cultural diet. In a world that's gone mad, this mesmerizing confection is like a balm, bewitching the listener with soothing reveries. For now, it stands as The Clientele's best.