The "perfect sounds for the summer" tag might cause a battle with The Thrills, but I do believe The Tyde have a fighting chance.

From Old Skin to Harmonia’s Dream, I Don’t Live Here Anymore has plenty of new War on Drugs classics that will sit comfortably next to Red Eyes and Strangest Thing on a setlist.

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.

Smokey is lengthy, as are all of Banhart’s albums, but make it to the last track and the reward is reminiscent of Banhart’s infallible 2004 album, "Rejoicing in the Hands."

Human Ceremony is an instinctive record, with the band more than happy to act on an impulse. The enthusiasm of the band is infectious, always remaining grounded but delightfully exploring their own infinite limitations.

Outstanding comparisons aside, California X are certainly capable of standing on their own.

Although Sometimes I Sit and Think is musically straightforward, Barnett doesn’t need anything more to tell great stories.

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.

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.

You absolutely, positively cannot go wrong buying this one.

The end result is a very ambitious piece of psychedelia-tinged indie rock that rewards patience with some truly inspired tweaks on the typical slow-jam formula.

From the saucy R’n’B of Tide and Chandelier, the frenetic Choking on Your Spit to the gorgeous, laid-bare swoon of Keep Me, Get Gone is an expertly accomplished piece of work from a band still fledgling in their career.

Campbell’s resplendent tone delights with the plaintive cry of classic torch singers; instead or feeling pity or sympathy, we’re now in the presence of a commanding performer who doesn’t have to sacrifice an inch of naiveté to make an impression.

This album then is in no way spectacular or ostentatious, but partly because of this there are almost no moments at which it falls flat; and if anything marks out an LP as being not just good, but very good, as well as stepping it away from being a mere collection of songs, it's an excellently crafted and cohesive consistency.

The most striking aspect of Ode to Joy is how weary Tweedy sounds. From upfront political themes (Citizens, which wavers and rumbles with minor harmonies, lines about white lies, and distorted guitars) to thoughts of personal tragedy (White Wooden Cross), there's one clear conclusion: Tweedy is beaten down. But Tweedy is at his best when he's processing that exhaustion.

Their enthusiasm truly does show. And with tracks as catchy as these, it's pretty clear that the brothers have done their homework through the years and then some.

Beautifully ethereal yet firmly rooted in careful dynamics, these distinct, late highlights should serve as a wake-up call suggesting that by blindly embracing pop structures, Foals are weighing appeal against integrity. The difference? Integrity lasts much longer.

Their amalgamation of indie and electronica is by no means revolutionary in itself, but their form of guitar infused music is an important one.

While listening to Disaster Trick, there is a sense that Giannopoulos intentionally distances himself, lingering in his thoughts. Given the traces of emotion he lays out throughout, they curiously let us in in mysterious ways. Credit also goes to the less measured and more textural production, which, unintentionally, allows the songs to become more alluring and inviting.

It feels like they've been doing this for years, and while they quite literally all have, the way they have formed and moulded that sum of past experience into one new entity is nothing but impressive.

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

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.

While flawed, this is still a very worthy record; a majestic realization of the promise shown by Chapel Club over the past two years and one equally suggestive of the what may be to come.

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.

For existing fans of the group, it should come as a rewarding and affirming release; for those of us new to the group, it should act as a little reminder that there are plenty of ways to tell a story through music.

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.

Dr. Dog's best effort yet.

It's the full-on pop record that Monáe had been hinting at for years, and though some of her stylistic choices may not age well--especially when she veers into trap territory - she approaches them with a kind of flighty confidence.