This is the most esoteric, thinking-person’s cloud rap album I’ve heard since Shabazz Palaces’ Black Up, and I mean that in the most endearing, complimentary way possible.

Despite clear flaws though, enthusiastically raving about the album, even when taking into account that a third of it (including those aforementioned ten minutes of Fracking… ) is borderline irritating, feels entirely justified, rather than an exercise in willful perversion, thanks to the quality of everything else on offer.

It's in Spoon's ability to remain so forthright while keeping their intentions a little bit hazy where their songwriting presents itself in the best light. We've never asked them to spell it out for us, especially when they're at their most direct, and that's why they continue to keep us guessing after all these years.

It might not be new and it might not follow the current trends, but this is a rare document of heartbreak and hope with the power to move you to tears and make you smile, sometimes at the same time. It deserves any accolades it will receive and many, many more.

One could say that her impeccable use of space is what reveals a special intensity to her work, a musical style artists don't often explore as they near the end of their third decade release music. Orton hinted at it through all this time, even if you weren't paying close attention.

It's the work of a mature and serious artist, who has made a unique and lasting contribution to pop, and this album will continue her reputation.

This is the best album of the year so far.

This ambiguity is precisely what makes New Brigade so exciting--there's no dogged political agenda, nor a desire to sound wiser than their 17 to 19-age range. And even if it sounds like a slush of trebly clatter, Iceage manage to pack a wallop of melodic transitions in each measure.

By the end of closer Thirsty Tulips, it should be no wonder that Mattimore is signed to Ghostly International, a traditionally electronic music label. She makes ambient music better than the music that most ambient musicians are putting out these days.

Ratboys have always sounded like an indie rock band comfortably integrating country elements alongside their core sound. On Singin’ To An Empty Chair they sound a little too comfortable at times.

Weighed down by its own concept and bloated with references, there’s just no room left for emotional reckoning. In the end, we’re better off seeing Daddy's Home as purely an homage to the rich ‘70s funk and psychedelic music scene from somebody who only experienced it secondhand. It’s simply unable to withstand the added complexity of the personal narrative that we were promised.

With a steadfast attention to his orchestration, it helps to illuminate his musical exploration of the West.

With a sound that maintains relevancy in the modern age as the band keeps true to a form that’s existed thirty-plus years, Protomartyr’s Detroit Rock interpretation of post-punk seems to gain something with every album they produce, a sensibility that’s somehow detectible but difficult to define or pinpoint.

This is the band’s most mature and consistent record yet.

Outside of some slight bloat that nears The Lumineers' territory, the bulk of the album is far too open and compassionate to ignore.

There's something hypnotic about The Stars that Leave the Stage, one of the most inscrutable and forward-thinking cuts here, on which he establishes a calamitous tension over a spooky piano motif reminiscent of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds' From Her to Eternity. The band sounds largely more muscular and self-assured, with a terrific rhythm section to boot.

Even if the songwriting didn’t completely explore the full scope of Cobain’s capabilities, Bleach also represents that point in time when money was an object and the music was all that mattered, a precursor to a cultural shift that made Sub Pop a national brand.

They sound as involved as they’ve ever been, the fruits of considering a more improvisational and segmented approach to writing music.

There's a playfulness to their genre-hopping tact, with Moffat fitting his often-loose prose to warped club beats (Bliss), folk twang (Molehills), and 80s-inspired soft-rock (You're Not There). Album opener Allatonceness is their best case yet for repping their label Rock Action, owned by post-rock pioneers Mogwai, bearing a beefed-up muscular riff that expands their sound with emotional force.

Swimming under the four-on-the-floors and blaring horns, the haunting vulnerability that defined The xx’s beginnings is as potent as ever on I See You. This time, it’s effortless.

At times, the band's genre-bending excursions sometimes result in slightly deformed arrangements that are impressive in scope but not in efficiency. But that shouldn't deter one from Deafheaven's wondrous and impressionistic creation. It is, like most of their polarizing body of work, equal parts off-putting and fiercely inclusive.

It may be his own manifesto, but when the music is this striking, it makes you appreciate life more.

Aromanticism is downright beautiful but is also too enamored with its sensual aura, which sometimes exposes his uneven vocal acrobatics.

In short, it's no Mass Romantic, but it will do quite nicely.

Kozelek’s sixth project under the Sun Kil Moon moniker, Benji, is his most intimate work yet, thoroughly documenting definitive moments that marked his past and continue to haunt his present.

There have definitely been many bold and exciting extreme metal releases as of recent, but As The Stars is not just daring--it’s incredibly listenable, too.

Although it runs a bit too long and some songs blend together, Bird Songs of a Killjoy is a heartwarming and enchanting listen. It’s as far from a killjoy as you can get.

While Marling's lyrics come across as powerful and worldly, it's the conversational tone that makes Semper Femina work so well.