It works because you can tell how much Pharaohs love house music, how much they seem to wish they’d been there back when it was taking off in the mid-80s.

MCII sounds much more concise and meticulously assembled than any of Segall's efforts.

Bottom line, this is a fun, solid output from !!!; a highly enjoyable trip with full cohesion, no true blunders, and at least three standouts on an album with only nine tracks.

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.

As an initial barrage of sound, Weird Work can seem overpowering; but as we begin to divulge pockets of sense in the chaos.

Taken as a whole, Monomania is arguably their most imposing, and by far their most courageous, proving that Deerhunter have a frontman who’s willing to open up his soul to fit the demands of the stage.

What emerges is a fascinating, infinitely bleak break-up album, but one without the scope of Disintegration or the raw, intellectual power of Blood on the Tracks.

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.

Blissfully addictive and dangerously catchy, Heza is most certainly one for the more bright and breezy of us this summer.

This is a pop record, and a great one at that. Hints of Elastica, Veruca, Republica, even Neko Case (isten to the country-inspired refrain on That Ain't Right) pepper this satisfying debut.

Good but not as good as you might think it is on a song-to-song basis, enjoyable but somewhat less memorable.

Twelve Reasons to Die doesn't quite carry the hefty weight of earlier works, but when those rank among the pinnacle of the genre, it’s not to be expected.

Conveniently, he’s premeditated every song in #willpower with a bevy of wishy-washy, quotable clichés that are meant to fit the space of 140 characters. Sadly, that's as deep as it gets.

The Thermals promised that their next album would be “loud, fast, incredibly scary and undeniably catchy.” The album we received, Desperate Ground, succeeds in most of these characteristics, but only at the bare minimum level.

Maybe it’s a struggle to really get your teeth into Mosquito because of the track listing; the three song dry patch after Mosquito is a huge problem considering the ease these days of being able to find something more interesting to listen to.

The truth is that No Joy is unadulterated, all-surrounding sound.

X’ed Out is unmarred by any narcissistic disposition, or pretentious or elitist demeanor, but it makes no creative sacrifice. Bravo.

Despite many good songs on this album, you will definitely get a sense that Depeche Mode is in a holding pattern.

Birthmarks' charm lies in its comforting familiarity.

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.

There’s just not enough that grabs you by the throat and pulls you back to listen over and over again.

You can’t necessarily call this new music, but it works because it doesn’t sound vintage, nor does it completely owe itself to any bygone era of “remember when?”.

Minor quibbles aside (Set Me Free is a little over-wrought and clichéd), True Romance is a simply stunning record.

This may be no grand revelation, but it has its moments, and overall it’s a thoroughly satisfying sit.

Whilst the majority of Stygian Stride is an abstract pulsing mass, beneath there is a narrative that draws the listener through an intense display without losing purpose.

Cruise Your Illusion doesn't disappoint; what the Washington four-piece have accomplished is as authentic as the influences that ooze from its fuzz, and warmer than an Arabian armpit.

It’s a beautiful, at times tragic album, a versatile hodge-podge of creativity and ambition whose influences are nearly undetectable (this critic hears Bjork and D’Angelo most apparently) and with nary a false note.

If nothing else can be said about The Terror, it at least represents the culmination of all of The Flaming Lips’ oddball experiments and elongated, anti-sonorous jams into a single, abrasively beautiful cacophony.