Dirty Projectors ultimately leaves one too puzzled to empathize with apart from letting out a false, mouth-gaping awe.

Overall, the album’s sub-40-minute runtime leaves minimal room for filler.

The record manages to sound venturous and recklessly current. Iqbal’s use of chiming guitars, serendipitous synths and scurrying beats results in a record that is opulent in its warmth and sparklingly neat.

Their easy-to-digest, familiar sounds will inevitably go down well, but are unlikely to linger in the memory long enough to trouble the headliner. Remember Sports have learned their craft, but they are yet to truly master it.

The Age of the Understatement might have been conceived as a tribute to a beloved era in music but thanks to the industry, enthusiasm and talent of Alex Turner and Miles Kane it’s become something much more interesting than that: a great record in its own right.

Overall, I can honestly say that I enjoyed Little Scream and I'm interested to see what she'll do next.

Giddy and tuneful, the band feels more at ease as a tried-and-true guitar pop band, reminiscent of how a band like Los Campesinos! captured the hearts of many an indie rock fan.

The Unicorns’ Who Will Cut Our Hair When We’re Gone? defines indie-pop, laden with hooks boasting a charmingly lo-fi sound devoid of pretensions and true to whatever whimsy their muse has stricken them with.

An indie-release album that shines under lower stakes without sacrificing Monch's complexities or intelligence.

A beautiful and steady album about defying the roles others put you in and pondering what went wrong. It’s a heartbreaking project as well, peppered with upbeat but cutting songs. It may not be Loveless’s best album -- Real is impossible to beat -- but it ideally captures the indescribable greatness of her songwriting.

Yo La Tengo wants us to absorb their calm serenity, and that it's okay to sit down and distance ourselves from the negativity we encounter from time to time.

It's Real is a traditional rock record through and through. But like that secondhand vinyl sitting on your shelf that never got reissued, it contains deep, thick grooves that always sound fresh regardless of its dwindling shelf life.

What really makes this album the disappointment that it is is not the songs that wallow in the background. It's relistening to his earlier work that puts it into perspective.

Glaspy’s voice itself is eccentric and susceptible to emotional metamorphosis, and some of the album’s strongest moments are when her voice is abrasive in its frustration or contrition: for example the first words spat from the chorus of You and I, or the frantic bursts of urgency amongst the affable stream of the title track. Sometimes, the formula for good guitar music is a simple one.

The Waterfall lived up to its lofty ambitions, as the band navigated an enchanting patchwork of enchanting orchestral folk and winding prog rock. And that's just scratching the surface—by comparison, The Waterfall II is a little looser and rough around the edges. It's also a more overt attempt at sending a loving homage to their favorite pop songwriter.

Nothing ground-breaking, but an all-round good proposition.

It’s an unfettered display of eighties-evoking posing that suits them perfectly well, but it also sounds like a step back after they’d already figured out how to match their compositional smarts with a clear message.

While he denies us simple solutions, he uses this album to open sounds and atmospheres stranger and more daring than he’s used before. Rather than looking for answers, maybe the questions are what truly matter.

Once you press play on this wonderful record, Josh T. Pearson will take you with him. It might be painful, but you will savour every tear and be thankful for the bruises. Be greatful for this dark pariah.

The Fool rewards at almost every step of the way with its experimental touches.

This record’s strength is its directness. It may lean more towards the mainstream than usual, but that makes it another fresh move in a career full of them. No matter what styles he tries, Wilson excels. In that case, To The Bone is not so different at all.

This is a release of artfully constructed, seamlessly great indie-rock that could get easily passed by. Samia has the presence of someone effortlessly classy and commanding, which makes this project all the more appealing.

Sonic Nurse could be the best guitar rock album since, well, Murray St.

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.

While it can feel like juvenilia, it's in a very endearing way, a catalogue of the catharsis of a high-school misfit.

As it stands, Deerhoof seems to have lost its footing a bit with this one.

While a lack of editing and consistency may keep neo from being better than promising, the energized rush of holding the void and hyper-melodic the sickness deliver two of the album’s best moments, the latter being the most successful synthesis of So Pitted’s want of strange and aggro.

Many of the songs here are structured around pull and restraint, mostly drifting in a calm haze before surprising you with sudden bursts of energy. The quieter moments, like on “The Woodland Has Returned,” feel more impactful than their twitchy, spastic excursions.