It’s eclectic, eccentric and yes, essential.

Even when they get quiet and contemplative, there’s a raw urgency that keeps the energy visceral.

Unlike the many psychedelic loop-crazy Panda Bears popping up these days, Twin Shadow skilfully crafts structured songs that stand out and are full of soul and mournfulness.

You could boil Freedom’s Goblin down to “rock,” but the 19 songs offer 19 flavours of the genre--a testament to how many delicious recipes you can still make out of vocals, guitar, bass and drums (and, in this case, a dollop of horns).

The lineup addition of [singer Dawn] McCarthy proves to be a genius move; her vocals blend beautifully with Oldham's, and her soaring solo flights make a great recording exceptional.

Despite the limited instrumentation, arrangements are thoughtful, and the 10 songs build slowly and hypnotically through repetition. Just when a sameness begins to set in, a handful of tunes near the end ... tip us off to the fact that we've glimpsed just a fraction of Mares of Thrace's capabilities.

He has a slightly Bob Dylanesque nasal whine on some songs, but at other times he slips into a soft Harry Nilsson croon, and fills his lyrics with vivid imagery and storytelling.

All of the more modern accents are refreshingly unobtrusive. The minimalist arrangements give each instrument room to breath so the richness of the tones and the relaxed confidence of the playing stand out in sharp relief.

Whitehorse's sophomore effort signals that this is one musical marriage that's only getting better with time.

The band’s sophomore effort is solid throughout, offering a heady mix of shimmering guitars, arty lyrics and creative rhythms that build on the work of romantic NYC indie bands like the National, the Walkmen and French Kicks.

Each song spills over with a breathless, unhinged vigour that impresses... But taken all together, the band's refusal ever to let up on volume, bombast, group-shouted vocals, fast-strummed chords or smashing drums makes Celebration Rock an exhausting sonic assault in need of variety.

The spacey, meandering jams flow effortlessly, bringing to mind sunny afternoons with an old lover and a big bag of weed. No, it’s not the kind of album that’ll change the world, but it might just be the perfect summer soundtrack of the year.

Y Dydd Olaf’s beautifully layered sounds and rhythms convey a tightly conceived sonic world full of endless ideas, even if you can’t understand the lyrics.

If David Browne's Sonic Youth bio was to be believed, Swans, who emerged from the same noise-filled no wave scene in New York's early 80s as Thurston Moore, had a rotating cast of nasty-tempered psychotic rockers, with multi-instrumentalist Michael Gira at its centre. Listening to Swans' new album, the first in 14 years, you get the sense that some of that malevolence remains.

I have seen Esco­vedo’s future, and its sound is rock ’n’ roll.

Prima Donna bristles with paranoia, anxiety, depression and anger about racism, violence, the music industry and his own psychological state. Loco distills all that. Staples's vicious, suicidal fever dream sees him alluding to Van Gogh's mental illness and dropping references to The Great Gatsby and James Joyce.

Throughout, his rhymes hit the mark, whether he’s painting a bleak picture of the Detroit streets, battling his own demons (loneliness, molly, more molly) or rapping at length about drug-dealing without glorifying it Rick Ross-style.

There’s no better way to describe the music than impeccably Superchunky.

Hospice isn’t uplifting or hopeful; it explores themes of dejection through delicate, beautiful sounds.

If anything, the grooves have gotten tougher and funkier on Game Theory.

These are slow, sad ballads brilliantly executed.

This is one of his best albums in many years, although that's not exactly a ringing endorsement.

Thankfully, there are just enough flashes of brilliance to save it, even if much of the album comes across as a really expensive demo.

Love may not be a full-on revolutionary take on the Beatles catalogue, but it does bring back some of the most awesome material ever to come out of a recording studio.

On this trippier, more scattered collection, it emerges in the looming calm, the open moments that peek through pneumatic melodies, beatific, druggy vocals and that throbbing, omnipresent kick.

It's indie rock that actually rocks. From Brooklyn no less.

All the trademarks are here, filtered through frontman's Dylan Baldi's snappy power pop talents.

Each woman's distinct singing and songwriting style is front and centre, but their voices blend beautifully.

At worst the album gets a bit too cutesy (lead single Frankie Sinatra), but its unrelentingly cheery harmonies and melodies are so effervescent that it practically makes the air sparkle.

It's that classic Beastie Boys sound, and a reminder why they've set the gold standard for posse rap.

Young Fathers' alarm at being boxed in has led them to make an uncompromising, and, yes, prize-worthy pop statement.

Lots of bands pillage from the pop music canon; few do it with the aplomb of the Horrors.

If neither the lyrics nor bass lines break your heart, you might not have one.

Williams gives her songs more room to breathe than ever before, opening up vast, cinematic visions of the highway and land that inspired them.

Wine Dark Sea is a brilliantly track-listed album, stronger as a whole than broken into parts.

Lyrically, Beyondless is occupied with notions of excess, from the endless cycle of war, to switching one dependency for another, to indulgence and appetite. It works because the band fundamentally thrives in extremes.

These are explosive epics that don't get tired, tied together in an album that's both instantly accessible and grows on you over time.

Cave drops brilliantly funny lines throughout, and his enthusiasm for this project is palpable.

Working with a forward-looking crew of producers, musicians and writers, including Madlib, the Roots, Sa-Ra Creative Partners and Karriem Riggins, was a wise move; they do a decent job on the funky New Amerykah, a throwback to the black power sound and consciousness-raising themes of the 70s.

Here we are not even two years later and the band has taken a huge leap forward. Or, more accurately, sideways. Nothing in the angular post-punk of 08's Beat Pyramid suggested the band was capable of something this novel.

Gunn excels at unrushed, meditative songwriting, but this album also finds him giving stronger form to his dreamy creations.

While the minimal production and closely miked vocals on her debut emphasized the pop hooks and her fragile voice, Li and producer Bjorn Yttling (Peter, Bjorn & John) give listeners a more all-encompassing, if familiar, sound on Wounded Rhymes, nestling her vocals amidst girl-group harmonies, psych organ and shambolic percussion.

Tillman's voice sounds sublime delivering lyrics about sexy graveyard encounters, ex-girlfriends and the dark side of California living.

Her evocations to dance, be present and claim space are the most potent and political moments.

Mike Cooley steps up with some much-needed light contrast to Patterson Hood’s darker lyrical impulses, which are well represented here, sometimes with touching poignancy and others with blunt force trauma.

While their last four records loosely represented the four classical elements of water, earth, fire and air, The Hunter has no obvious thematic through line, and yet its 13 tracks make for a plenty cohesive listen.

New wave influences are also apparent, specifically when the vocals channel Lene Lovich or Ric Ocasek. These vocal quirks don't always work, and a couple of songs don't hold up to the album's best, but this is a fun introduction nevertheless.

Not surprising, then, that his newest leap into club-inspired techno and house feels just as substantial and weighty as his previous forays into experimental pop.

Slippin' And Slidin' on Harlem River Blues, probably the 28-year-old's strongest album yet, hints at that tendency. Slippin' And Slidin' on Harlem River Blues, probably the 28-year-old's strongest album yet, hints at that tendency.

Once our boy Nick begins his bellicose bellowing, there's no mistaking Grinderman's amped-up scorch for anything but another of Cave's darkly humorous creations of magnificent malevolence. Long may he howl and snort.

In contrast to the neoclassical leanings of Antony and the Johnsons, Hoplelessness is about this particular moment and sounds very of the moment, thanks to beatmakers Hudson Mohawke and Oneohtrix Point Never. Combined with Anohni's trembling and vulnerable vibrato, its grandiose sounds crescendo into a sprawling political epic that could inspire spontaneous bursts of interpretive dance.

The 30 songs follow the scene’s progression: the first half is classically minded R&B and soul that evolves on disc 2 into danceable funk, with Alexander O’Neal’s new wavey Do You Dare and Ronny Robbins’s electro-rap track Contagious.

It falls short of the band’s more certified classics like Death Is This Communion and Blessed Black Wings, but Electric Messiah feels basically satisfying--like a meal ordered from your favourite restaurant. A heavy, greasy, gut-ballasting meal.

Sometimes abruptly but always skilfully, these rhythms drag and push the record to its limit on the existential moaning of the album’s closer, God?

It could easily stand on its own without Scott-Heron's raspy vocals, but it's the interplay between his world-weary lyrics and Smith's youthful enthusiasm that makes this an essential companion piece to the original.

The result is often delightfully overwhelming in its heaviness, with the calm moments in between making the ear-splitting loud parts disturbingly jarring. These extreme peaks and valleys elevate the record into the realm of difficult but deeply satisfying art.

Her pipes stand out most on Wait For A Minute: interestingly enough, it’s when she sounds softest (surrounded by cool R&B-inspired synth lines) that she’s most commanding.

Like nothing you'll ever hear on country radio.

A beautifully crafted debut full-length that delivers on the early hype.

More about lyrical swagger than emotional substance, LiveLoveA$AP is a solid intro to someone who could be an enduring figure in the years ahead.

Here True Widow dispel some of the pot-smoky fog, putting across a crisper, tighter, discernibly quicker sound.

It’s also the best Wilco album in a minute, and that’s largely due to its leanness (the run time is just over 30 minutes) and masterfully arranged pop tunes.

The record has a strong holiday flavour, so if you’re the type who gets nauseated by reindeer talk in March, maybe wait till December to play this.

Ya boy is back with another dark soul-saturated album in the vein of "The Blueprint."

They can still rage, summoning plenty of singalong anger on Donny Of The Decks and Things To Say To Friendly Policemen. But their targets feel more academic.

23 is fundamentally a more interesting album than 04's Misery Is A Butterfly, neither as cartoonishly bleak nor as sonically pristine.

Instrumentally, Primrose Green is an engaging listen, but Walker the singer only comes through a few times.

Yes, there are some jazz and soul influences here and a few earnest lyrics, but this is way more dark, futuristic and cutting-edge than you'd guess.

In getting their own group back together, the Internet have delivered their most fully realized project to date.

Andorra feels downhearted, often recalling Elliott Smith; even on 'She's The One,' a collabo with Junior Boys's Jeremy Greenspan, it sounds like she's a real drag.

Some take a little while to hit their sweet spot, like the middling That’s Life, Tho (Almost Hate To Say). But when Vile hits those hazy, beautiful peaks, he reminds us that the untamed wilderness of modern Americana is still his backyard.

Wilco's ace eighth album, the first released on their own label, dBpm, is a real kick in the pants.

Starter Home is country music for intellectuals, but he still hits those classic country tropes: longing in Waiting and alcohol as a cure for regret in Drinking With A Friend. His voice is velvety and smooth with texture, vital for a mature sound.

The result is akin to bottling one of their energetic live shows, and it makes for a thrilling, if not altogether bump-free ride.

Free of misguided anger but with healthy amounts of trademark anxiety and angular riffs, Grace’s expression is powerful.

By tightening things up, another sprightly highlight emerges from this pleasant haze.

There's an underlying complexity here, but ultimately these are bare, potent rhythms created to, in global parlance, make you "werq."

Nine Types Of Light is mostly mellow, slow jams and funky, upbeat love songs.

Their riff-heavy songs are brashly delivered – favouring attitude over technique – but it's Turner's keenly observed vignettes of bored text-messaging teens that really connect.

As with his last couple of releases in the American series, his voice no longer commands attention with booming authority, but there's something about that gasping frailty that makes this proud final bow even more endearing.

It's heavy at times, but always thoughtful and interesting.

The most poignant moments involve simple memories.

Touch doesn't live up to the wild standards of the local group's ballistic live shows, but its focus on connection elevates it to more than just riff-blasting fun (although that's in good supply, too).

Not every song sees atmosphere, theme and emotional power meld seamlessly--a collab with composer Sarah Hopkins called Features Creatures feels like a b-side--but when those elements coalesce the result is all-encompassing.

The songs are still simple, but they're delivered with a sophistication only hinted at on her debut.

The overwhelming headiness, relentless heaviness, behemoth riffing, technical proficiency and epic scope of Crack (at least three listens are needed before it all sinks in) should be enough to prove that these guys are the Rush of extreme metal.

Whatever is driving her interest in self-identity is obscured by overwrought conceptualism and confused by a push to sound more slickly commercial.

Recorded in her cabin in the woods of New Hampshire, the album has a strong connection to nature and draws on themes of survival, healing and spirituality. ... Not all tracks sound like club hits, however. Deep Connections has a soft, ethereal quality created by synthy arpeggios and My Body Is Powerful samples soothing nature sounds – birdcall and distant howls – over a pentatonic scale.

On first listen, the album as a whole seems repetitious--there aren't any 12-minute odysseys like on breakout album Person Pitch--but its diversity reveals itself with multiple listens.

You can't deny how interesting some of these dynamic post-rock explorations are.

Song for song, however, this is the best QOTSA album in a decade, delivering all the swagger and skew of their greatest work without rehashing it.

Songs, though distinct, spill into each other, with heady euphoria tying it all together.

He remains a confident and commanding rapper, full of agile double-time flows and verses that skip from biographical vignettes and life lessons to boasting. But, given he rarely has more than one verse per song, Diaspora gives us a fragmented window into his thoughts.

Pallett’s inventive textures lend emotional weight to some of the deliberately mundane lyrical details, so the album is at once beautifully ethereal and painfully real.

The hallmarks of Blood Orange’s sound are all here--breathy male/female vocal interplay, rare groove rhythms, jazzy sax, gliding slap bass, honeyed falsetto melodies and flirty spoken word--but channelled into a reassuring, comfortable space that brings together pop’s supposed polarities of accessibility and specificity. Somewhere in there, Freetown Sound finds its own beautiful sweet spot.

Beneath catchy pop hooks, there’s deep-rooted pain in these love songs.

You’d think this might get messy, but the arrangements are so thoughtful that the result is sweeping and astonishing.

The musical motifs get a bit redundant, but its stylish minimalism brims with drama.