European Heartbreak is charming, clever and quietly confident. If the world really is about to fall apart, then Amber Arcades has produced something that is more than a worthwhile distraction.

Ultimately Conatus makes for a very sensuous, luxurious forty minutes, but it's minor flaws like these that prevent it from hitting quite as hard as it could have done, and from being the unqualified success that Stridulum II was.

Her sound is a junksale of clutter and certified gems. I can feel you… is her most sonically sharp weapon to date, and full of plenty to get excited about if you rifle through it.

Wild Belle’s debut is a respectable exercise of ethereal pop.

While Ghost B.C. could certainly use a little added variety, both musically and lyrically (maybe Satan could sit out as lyricist for like five songs on their next record), there’s plenty here to admire.

In•ter a•li•a is a blistering return for the band; a record of thrilling paranoia, agitated by brutal, scissoring guitar riffs and slashing vocals.

It’s all a learning curve, which is never a bad thing for a sophomore album. Thankfully, AlunaGeorge have offered us plenty of examples of what they do best in I Remember and, perhaps most importantly, left us wanting even more.

Haines dwells in some synth-driven soul-searching that should’ve been cast aside for a different project. Still, the slick, forceful Art of Doubt accurately identifies where their true strengths lie.

The big thrills come so fast it almost feels like a blur, only equaled to the ravished excitement of making a score on a big night. It’ll knock you senseless, possibly bankrupt, until the urge comes back in full force.

It's no exaggeration that doing two concept records in a row could have been disastrous. But after four years and a whole lot of life, MCR proves with Danger Days that the days of their self-involved, namby-pampy crybaby act are a thing (mostly) of the past. And to think, all it took was the end of days

Dance is best enjoyed when you accept its familiar pleasures--it bursts with pure deliverance, coming from a band that refuses to hang in life support.

It’s almost as if Pinhas isn’t quite committed to offering this much of himself to anyone, as if, in spite of this written and performed maelstrom of odds and ends, he’s proceeding with caution.

The music is rich with personality, and strives to establish uniqueness and incomparability.

It’s a summer record if ever there was one--with even the opening track being named Sun’s Out. It’s a great introduction to the record, where a punchy snare, an uncomplicated bassline and a heat-warped guitar lick combine so easily that it takes a few of Drew Auschermann’s lyrics to be delivered before you even realize they’re there.

These are essentially songs of innocence and experience tinctured by world-weariness simultaneously infused with an earnest lack of guile. A brief criticism would be: a little more sound and a little less fury, please Will.

Some of that punchy vitality has been lost, but never does it obscure Powell’s ability to add bold expressions to her fine-grained accounts.

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.

It is never fun, but is always compelling.

It's easy to criticise Talk That Talk but it's actually a fun and enjoyable record.

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.

It’s a pleasant listen with some great moments herein.

Oak Island, just out on Secretly Canadian, is a logical extension of that debut's theme and style, but is better crafted--or perhaps just better served--and stands as a good example of how subtlety can sneak up on a person and pack a desolate punch.

Untethered Moon is truly the work of a veteran musician who continues to tweak the same kind of song with the adventurousness of a curious young man.

Take Care isn't without one or two missteps: the rapid-fire drums and nondescript chanting that open Trembling Hands come off a little too much like a cheap Arcade Fire pastiche, while the overlong closing track Let Me Back In is something of an anti-climax.

The album as a whole has that feel; it's perfect late night or Sunday morning music, though this might damage its broader appeal.

Just when Devotion looks like it could be losing its way, the most incongruous track of the eleven pulls it out of the bag.

The album mostly screams avant-garde in its minimalism, sometimes to its detriment, but there's no denying they have the talent to justify the mystery they've built.

It’s an occasionally uplifting, but mainly standard, declaration that suggests they’re currently experiencing a transitional phase as songwriters.