Tei Shi has honed a dynamic spectrum of poppy R&B full of dexterity and revelations, and produced a solid debut LP in the process.

It's got a great tonality and texture to it that gives Adams' voice just enough room to rise above it. There are some songs that are right to be outtakes here, they toil that middle ground that Adams can on occasion slip into, and it's when he's at his 'nicest' sounding that often leads to the most uninteresting work.

Bambino is a record that is kaleidoscopically colourful, staying in charge of a viciously artistic wall chart of sounds and turning it into something impressively cohesive. In the groovefest that is Need a Little Spider and the deliciously sleek Double Dutch, there are some downright bangers on here for good measure.

While Wand’s leap forward didn’t live up to some of the expectations I’d had via 1000 Days, the light and engaging Charles De Gaulle and nicely-arranged harmonizing in Driving wouldn’t exist if not for the band’s efforts to do so with Plum.

Get Lost may not be the incredible experience that Living was, but it's still a very enjoyable listen.

Temples aren’t shy in applying a hazy, glitzy gloss to a lot of their work, but the strength of an ungarnished tune--Oh! The Saviour--shows that their rare disrobed moments can be stronger than their decorated ones.

Despite its slightly misfiring concept, Beyond The Pale remains an enjoyable hour spent inside the world of one of Britain’s most revered songwriters—even if you're never quite sure what your host was meant to be showing you.

Definitely mysterious, but the songs on this record are obvious when it comes to the Concretes’ influences.

Their lewd punk anthems are messy and sloppy, and even a little bit sticky, but A Giant Dog wouldn’t want it any other way.

If you're not a fan of gangster rap, BlackenedWhite is unlikely to change your attitude towards the genre. But for fans, this album is definitely worth checking out.

A large portion of Always Foreign focuses on building terse melodic post-rock suites (Faker), though their words are necessary and valued, and they emote them with a heartfelt directness that recalls their formative beginnings (Dillon and Her Son, Gram). This balancing act of moods can sometimes lend Always Foreign an air of indecision, though if the intent was to take it as majestic as it can be, then they remove any trace of subtlety on the album’s rousing power ballad as if applying the handkerchief-in-hand progressive elements of Queensryche (Infinite Steve).

Ra Ra Riot's focus on overall listenability may have produced an album lacking some of the excitement found on their first record. While The Orchard is certainly a pretty record, it's not always the most thrilling.

Roswell continues to grow as a versatile performer, channeling her pop impulses with gusto—whether she embraces Abba-esque harmonies with a country lilt (Safe from Heartbreak), brings bright, celestial touches to synthy mid-tempo ballads (How Can I Make it OK), or howls her way through speedy punk rock (Feeling Myself.) And though everything doesn't fall into place, she does inject her unique personality into whatever style she chooses.

Reviewed as a whole album though, it must concede that buying Be Brave would be like paying for two songs played at different speeds and in different keys fourteen times over, an unwise choice that would eventually leave many wondering just what the hell is so different between Friday in Paris and Da Da anyway? I've got to tell you, after these past couple days, I can barely even tell anymore.

While we sit here wishing for that next sublime Built To Spill album, There Is No Enemy serves as a good fix to hold us on over.

Best listened to sad and lonely in your bedroom, Pang is the perfect dance album for smart and sensitive boys and girls after their day’s journaling are done.

Momofuku has glorious fragments and plenty of passion.

Does Tonight satisfy what we were all hoping for after three years between albums, along with the lofty expectations that are by definition bound to accompany a concept album/rock opera? Probably not. But, is it better than "You Could Have It So Much Better?" Definitely, if not only for the points on the record where Kapranos and company get it oh so right.

All in all, this isn't a bad direction to go after fifteen studio albums and countless other releases (600 songs!) into a career, as Darnielle again proves that his excessive specificity as a storyteller doesn't mean he can't tell us something about our own lives.

Bonfires on the Heath is another shrewd effort for the London based band.

One of her most consistent and wonderful collections of unique, heartfelt, and depressing songs yet, even if it’s somewhat hampered by the need to make it “as cathartic and minimal as possible.” While Andrew Sarlo’s production is occasionally sedate, the writing is still exemplary.

TFCF is riddled with confusion and self-reflection, and it faithfully continues Liars’ unconventional stride, though this time it had to affect him intimately and personally to take him there.

Our children’s children may not remember baseball umpires and humans that sang their own songs, but Bodega’s Shiny New Model makes for the perfect soundtrack to worry yourself silly about such things.

Quit the Curse is consistently hooky and elegant, and though it slumps with a few lax, jangly rhythms, it’s nothing less than a pleasant stay to her sighing thoughts and apprehensions.

Weiss is a smart, heartfelt performer whose stories rarely veer into overwrought territory, though the lukewarm acoustic fluff that occasionally lingers throughout Standards bogs down an otherwise affecting and perceptive listen.

Collection is a strong erm… collection of cosy tracks that maintain the kind of candid inwardness that can sometimes be lost between the bedroom and the studio.

It has all the joyousness, all the Pet Sounds hallmarks, and yes, all the bloody echo chamber of the best of the genre.

Ultimately, New Material is another strong LP from a watertight band, and a great access point for a listener overwhelmed by the oppressive brutishness of their previous LPs.