Sounding grandiose and understated simultaneously is not an easy feat, but it's one that Cat's Eyes manages to do almost relentlessly.

It's not a love-hate relationship I have with his stuff, it's more like a so what attitude. So what if he gets Laurie Anderson to recite drab poetry on his record, so what if he can play tens of thousands of notes in one breath.

Though not as conceptually absorbing as Bestial Burden, Contact is a no less challenging effort that seeks to find some kind of understanding from its listeners.

It never quite overstays its welcome during its brisk 30 minutes, though once it approaches its more redundant second half, it’s hard to make out whether they’re paying homage to their heroes or if they’re gearing up for a nostalgic tribute tour.

It unveils itself as quick as a flash, but when taken in individual portions, Witness has an unforeseen succinctness that provides some stability to his otherwise nervous excitement.

Shauf and his troupe handle their debut project with an exceptional level of attention and care that points to its potential longevity.

The band still has the muscle to match its mileage.

The more you listen to this record, the more it impresses you, even if their name is downright awful.

While Aghori Mhori Mei doesn't reach the same highs as some of their defining albums, it does show the original trio of Corgan, Iha, and Chamberlain forging a newfound musical identity in lockstep.

Curiously, Omni could welcome some balance into their arrangements; they’ve already figured out a way to structure their lopsided ideas, which is a crucial element that most aspiring experimental bands with a pop slant struggle with in the first place. And that’s something that cannot be taught.

With Bunker Funk, if you were expecting Silver Apples, you’re getting Can instead. And, it’s a good thing.

Craft's vocals feel like they were sent through a french fryer, cooked to a crisp. The result is, like the music that backs him, a voice that is merely functional, an approximation that falls well short of its influences. Craft's first album had swagger— hopefully, he gets it back.

Centered around their view of how we all connect, there's a familiarity in how the trio naturally links themes of nature and spirituality around the human condition—but it's the first time in quite some time where it feels like they're genuinely reaching beyond their loyal fanbase.

Hard to call this a debut in the hands of such accomplished musicians, but the sublime far outweighs the average here and gives hope for further chapters

I find myself increasingly drawn to both instrumental works and music that rewards patience and active listening. Sidings is a bleak delight.

This time around, his musings are openly candid and scarcely metaphorical, a necessary breather from all the stuffy, bookish references spread across his last two efforts.

Their willingness to embrace worldly influences--and infuse their own urbanity--into their arrangements is crucial with regards to enabling the spirited reveries to accommodate the twins’ extrasensory wordplay, bringing a stability to the arbitrary grooves.

Graham Van Pelt has provided us with us with the blissful whimsy needed to enjoy the dandelion tufts of summer with carefree trust.

Either way you bend it, his confessional accounts on how men view the female gender is all too relatable under any context.

Oxymoron is definitely not the game changer many thought it might be, but it's yet another very good addition to the combined Black Hippy legacy.

It's the type of song the Foo Fighters wrote knowing their nineties fans would relish. Still, this is as far removed from the Alternative Nation as you can get.

A lean 5 songs that complement each other over the course of a transcendent 40 minute journey. But he still works with a varying palette of moods, from expansive stoner rock (Exalted) to agitated post-punk (Cusp), all while retaining a sonic richness that feels more like an artfully conceived sonic installation than a traditional album.

Iit’s hard to deny that the blistering riffs of A Stare Bound in Stone, Daggers of Black Haze and it’s ass-kicking title track demonstrate a pitch-perfect excellence in death metal you only get from seasoned pros in the genre.

With a tidy nine tracks, At Mount Zoomer seems like it would be trimmed of any unnecessary filler, but somewhere in the second half things begin to wilt with only shades of interesting ideas.

While Satanic Panic in the Attic is unlikely to make significant waves outside of Elephant 6 and indie-pop circles, those lucky enough to hear it (and persist with it) will find very little to complain about.

What's astonishing about Breakup Song is how it maintains an intuitive notion of coherence, even with its handling of contradictions. All the while making it look easy.

The Haunted Man is so effortlessly emotive that it seems to demand that we demand even more from it. Or at least, it would, if it weren't so easy to get lost in the many layers of these melodies and start thinking about the ghosts that Bat For Lashes is trying to chase away.

If In The Morse Code Of Brake Lights isn’t remembered as the peak of The New Pornographers' work, its heart is squarely where it needs to be—and is still head and shoulders above most of the choices we are presented with these days. Electoral or otherwise.