One of the best rock albums of the past twenty-five years.

They admirably say as little as possible, yet somehow get the message across. It’s an amazing gift in this day and age, when every wanna-be reality star climaxes at the sound of their own voice, to be concise and minimalist, and I have to say I love them for it.

At its worst, Go-Go Boots comes off sounding like Lynyrd Skynyrd. At its best, it stands as a testament to the unparalleled songwriting of Cooley and Hood and as a reminder of just how special this band can be.

While the concept of exploring new horizons seems like a perpetually Megafaun thing to do, it's a case of too much too soon and of a band reaching for places they have no business going toward.

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.

The finale isn’t particularly grand, but Holding Hands With Jamie does much to harness the passion of "left of the dial" indie rock while paying attention to now, eschewing accessibility and melody for the sake of finding something aurally distinct.

Neither hot nor shit; it's one of those albums you might buy on impulse and be neither disappointed nor overwhelmed by.

Many numbers, such as the unbearably meandering No Christmas While I’m Talking, present themselves as merely background music - pleasant enough, sure, but doing little to draw the listener’s attention.

He propels the masses into an apocalyptic party with simple and inviting gestures, even if behind the songs lays an exhaustive perfectionist who’s fully dedicated to his craft. That exhaustion does catch up with Maus as the quality of the songwriting loses its luster, especially during its second half, but his sharply quizzical thoughts do cohere into an involving whole.

From the moment it starts to its very last note, Final Summer comes rich with gargantuan hooks that make you feel alive. His more hopeful outlook might have inspired this creative renaissance, but Baldi unintentionally emphasizes the simple pleasures of a rock song with an earnestness that shadows his complex songcraft.

As with most any debut, Marry Me is imperfect and not without clear misfires, but with Clark’s unwavering confidence, the whole record seems clearly aware of this, and these failures still serve a purpose.

Boy King lends further weight to the view that Wild Beasts are one of the best bands operating in Britain today, and it’s not shy in doing so.

They may be pared down to 5 members now, but they still generate a big band noise. Whether this is down to overdubbing or clever use of atmospherics is anyone's guess, but the results are convincing.

Suicide Songs juggles anguish and optimism in equal measure, somehow mournful and triumphant in search for some kind of personal salvation.

Because they write interesting but still enjoyable songs, as they do consistently on Change Becomes Us, they make their music worth coming back to again and again.

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.

From beginning to end, Houck's voice crackles with soul, and his down-home arrangements are soothing and familiar without seeming cliché. That being said, there is nothing particularly innovative about the album.

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

World's Most Stressed Out Gardener went through several iterations:—a flute record, an electronic record, “a pile of garbage,” the album’s Bandcamp page says. Yet from these fractured origins came an intriguing album that comes together in unexpected ways. VanGaalen, like everyone else, is making the most of today’s mess.

The highlights are somewhat front-loaded; Autre Ne Veut’s schtick begins to wear by the end.

It’s the most countrified record he’s released and, as such, lacks some of the more distinctive and heart-breaking qualities shared by his best work.

It is never fun, but is always compelling.

Even with its perceived flaws, it offers some real moments of beauty to get swept away in if you're looking for an escape from the world around you.

Placing aside what amounts to unfortunate filler (the friends portions aren't as evocative), Family & Friends portrays the inevitability of growing up and keeping up with outside expectations with a deft touch.

Humor Risk rhythmically shakes off the lingering sad sick and triggers back the talky, rambunctious oddments of wisdom we've come to know from him.

Less a statement on White Lung’s potential than its ability to rush through an album, through its attempts at relentlessness, Deep Fantasy underwhelms.

By removing much of their signature distant-sounding vocal filters, grand historical speeches, spacey drones, and tightly knit arrangements, Titus Andronicus has successfully eliminated any sonic barriers that once stood in between the band and their listeners.

The overall effect is of an album written and recorded on prozac that never achieves the emotional highs or the lows needed to make this kind of country soul great.