A must for anyone still heavily rotating Moon Safari.

A streamlined slab of silky, soul-soaked rock music, Seeing Sounds succeeds in capturing the best experiments on their first two albums while injecting new-school sequences into the mix.

If you thought no one made albums like this any more, they don’t so enjoy The Hard Way.

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.

She creates layers of dark, self-indulgent, eye-popping music that holds up against her previous hits and is, in some cases, even more satisfying.

The departure of founding member guitarist/bassist Gwil Sainsbury hasn’t left them uninspired.

It’s weighty, sure, but give yourself over to this album, see it through, and you’ll be rewarded generously.

Virgins is not a particularly pleasant listening experience, but it is undeniably emotionally powerful, and a worthy addition to his impressively unique catalogue.

The various producers behind this all pull their weight, but as usual the star is Blige’s husky voice and that charming mix of vulnerability and over-the-top diva confidence.

I Blame You is mean, raw and instrumentally tight, with splashes of surf and punk. Froberg and Habibion’s twangy guitars effectively interweave in highlights 'Fake Kinkade' and 'Pine On.'

An infusion of their earlier hazy laid-backness would've add more variety, but Tiger Talk is still an enthusiastic, confident follow-up from a band well on its way.

Monds-Watson is startlingly accomplished for her age, showing a deft hand at songcraft.

Overall, it could use more joyous highs to balance out the lows. But still, his classical piano chops mean there’s never a dull moment--even with eight-and 10-minute tracks.

Kiss Land is proof for the unconvinced: the Weeknd is a star whether he wants to be or not.

While this album might not be their most mind-bending, its hooks and idiosyncrasies prove that after more than two decades, TMBG still know how to have fun.

Near the album’s close, the psychedelic insanity of Ka Re Ha Te Ta Sa Ki is a whirlwind of pounding drums, circular chanting, spasmodic guitar noise and violent soloing that perfectly exemplifies Smile’s fusion of panicky, heavy abrasiveness and lush, melodic and dreamy sprawls.

The moody synthesizer soundscapes of Tomorrow’s Harvest reveal their rewardingly intricate layers and details with repeated listens.

The goofier bits and sloppy sunshine pop moments are really what make this an interesting and complete album.

At times the Crosby, Stills & Nash-­inspired harmony bits come off slightly overbaked, but if Oldham is angling for a summery feel-good sound that will go down well with Americana fans without alienating his sad sack indie rock fans, I’d say he knocked it out of the park.

Assists aside, Land of Talk continue to showcase Powell’s singular musical vision, sounding a hopeful, tuneful note in her long-awaited return.

There's still nothing particularly radio-friendly here and plenty of weirdness to go around, but more than ever the free jazz influences and pulsating drones seem designed to serve the song and not just enhance the listener's physical sensations.

A natural progression from the delicately beautiful and strangely funky shoegazer dance pop of his last album, Swim.

Singer/lyricist George Mitchell sings clean and fairly melodically, but with convincing disaffection.

Reg has matured a lot, and Jet Black is easily the most dynamic and upbeat record of his career.

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

Its intriguing combination of 70s Bowie glam, James Brown soul and Outkast weirdness can't really be taken in after one spin. True rewards come from repeat listens. Finally, something worthy of the hype.

They have returned to (non-mariachi) form and then some.

It's difficult not to fall head over heels for Saadiq's hard-working showman ethic, especially when he threatens to take the party past the three-minute pop format (which he rarely does, unfortunately).