If albums could have Nutrition Facts, Quarantine would lack the vitamins and minerals we normally associate with Laurel Halo's production, but it's hard to dislike the album entirely because, after all, she's still quite skillful at making her Metal Gear Solid-esque ambiences seize and enrapture us with their swirling, bubbling drones.

Brilliant Sanity is occasionally brilliant, but it could greatly benefit if it let go some of its sanity.

Despite the fact that Offend Maggie is, in some ways, a “nothing new” addition to Deerhoof’s canon, it’s also one of their best.

The Ascension bobs along in a meandering sea of drum machine and synth pads, waiting for something to latch on to. It never takes long; Stevens has the ideas and they hit relentlessly, moving on and doubling over before you’ve had half a chance to process them.

Tei Shi has honed a dynamic spectrum of poppy R&B full of dexterity and revelations, and produced a solid debut LP in the process.

Icky Thump is an anti-climatic, vaguely appealing record that unfortunately feels like a retreat from the ballsy piano-based pop eccentricity of Get Behind Me Satan. And that's a shame because going back to basics — at least in this case — feels like surrender.

Already Forth Wanderers ooze the confidence and candidness to make themselves major players in their indie-pop sphere.

The Crying Light shows us that there is one medium of output that will undoubtedly remain his most naturally beautiful, his most perfect fit.

There’s no use putting The Twilight Sad out of their misery if they continue to deliver such a delightfully morose tapestry of color and vitality.

Bloodsports is fine, pleasant even.

The Louder I Call... is another step forward for Wye Oak, a duo who still carry plenty of vision to inject some life into a form of indie rock that you don't hear that often anymore.

It's only after several listens that the album's wholeness clarifies. Because the tracks tend to be downtempo, reflective, and downright sleepy, it takes time and patience to realize Bejar is working like a good storyteller.

That’s not to say it’s not a very promising album taken as a whole, and its clear that the two work well together. A little more consistency in their focus and less pointlessly meandering distraction could really see them do justice to their own talents and produce something truly classic.

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.

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

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.

Much of April is quite lovely. Sure, it sounds like one long song to me, but it’s a nice song, with subtle variations.

Modestly anthemic and quietly anthemic, ƒIN is worth the time of any music fan that considers themselves in the slightest bit interested in electronic music.

The Loves of Your Life was designed with each song intentionally being about a specific person, which makes even the worst songs interesting tales.

Owen makes it look easy with her articulate songwriting—and though taking many cues from The National's Aaron Dessner (who produced the album) in sonic terms, she deftly controls her somber arrangements with a depth that is wise beyond her years.

As much as High On Fire pride themselves on their recorded brand of relentless brawn, How Dark We Pray, down to its fine solos and overall execution, is the album's best moment.

OK, it’s a depressing mess, needlessly turning the existential dread-ometer up to 11. But hey, it’s got a nice tune and you can dance to it.

The storytelling on display is just as sharp and compelling—even if, from a musical sense, Edwards could've expanded on her radio-friendly arrangements a little bit more.

It's yet another labor of love from The Weeknd, and it does not disappoint.

An album whose imagination is fortified and enlivened by the limitlessness of punk rock and musical experimentation.

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.

It's a handsome work, but it really could have done with a bit of judicious editing.

The quiet/loud dynamics of Pleasure showcase an artist who’s satiating her capricious appetite, all while keeping her listeners guessing with a knowing wink.