Twelve Reasons is generous comfort food for Ghost's fanbase, a group slowly being whittled away by time and creeping indifference.

Unfortunately, at least in the narrative that Top of the Pops spins, everything that followed Bang Bang Rock & Roll did so with increasingly unbecoming shades of bitterness. They'd have been better off reissuing Bang Bang for a second time than opting to tell this glum take on events.

Excavation gains power from gathering a little dust for a while, becoming a dark treat to occasionally sink into.

Call of the Void are no exception, and they're proving that Denver is a hotbed of serious vitrol and passion.

If it doesn’t quite show the knack for experimentation and variety hinted at via Inspiration, Wings is a quietly amazing document of Otis’ doggged determination over the quarter century between leaving the business and the first Inspiration reissue.

Desperate Ground is a record that really wants to convey having something to say and Harris has run out of ways to say that something.

A no-brainer, easy-to-enjoy production slate gets knocked around by its flaws just enough that even the minor, acquired-taste touches seem like just another bad decision.

The trio unlearns everything that distinguished them as instrumentalists on snakes, ending up with something that’s more entertaining when seen as a potential document of alternate history.

At times the duo are guilty of excessive portentousness, but there are just as many moments where their grandiose ambitions are convincingly realised.

Although Floating Coffin does quite well with its searing powerhouses, the quieter moments add a much-needed sonic diversity.

Much of Birthmarks is catchy enough to get stuck in your head, if not necessarily memorable enough to stay there.

A few too many other tracks, such as "Away", compensate for thin material with sheer bluster, and they can feel unwarrantedly grueling. But there's a conviction here, and that's nothing to feel sorry for.

Mosquito is not without highlights, but it requires some patience to unearth them, because when this record is bad, it's loudly, brazenly bad.

Way to Blue is too rigid in its approach and too timid in its interpretations to challenge or enlarge our perception of Drake.

On Totale Nite, they manage to use small-scale elements--jangling guitars, cheapo drum machines, toy keyboards--to project the urgency of bands with louder screams and bigger amps.

FM Sushi, then, is a stepping stone for a group suddenly poised to do great things, things their debut never even suggested.

The North Borders is not a bad album--for the most, it’s as inoffensive as those decade-old chill-out compilations--yet a frustration persists because Bonobo is better than this.

Coming on the heels of 2011's stellar Cervantine, Other World feels like it might've been stronger had Trost and Barnes held a few more things back.

Recurring Dream's a slinkier-sounding record than its predecessor: the songs are more spacious, less prone to snarling, and they've lowered the volume on Black Earth's stuck-between-stations fizz.

Being from her country means contending with the legacies of some of West Africa’s most internationally successful artists; at this point, I’d say Traoré fits comfortably alongside her forbears.

English Electric, the British new wave band's second full length since the reformation of the classic 1980s lineup in 2006, neither escapes from the quartet's past nor fully aims to.

Araab's willingness to stretch keeps For Professional Use Only engaging throughout, which is no easy task; it's 67 minutes long, about 15 minutes longer than a typical festival set and probably 15 minutes more AraabMuzik than anyone needs in one sitting.

These songs don't ever feel overstuffed. Everything is faithful to White Fence's well-established aesthetic, but simplified.

Wakin on a Pretty Daze breezes past like a Klonopin dream, and radiates an easy confidence that is as rewarding to return to as a melody.

For Now I am Winter is competent, reasonably varied, and efficiently rousing.

Overgrown is not as wall-to-wall great as his debut, but fans of the first LP will still find much to admire.

Monkey Minds’ sharp, late-act turn into politicized proselytizing may seem jarring at first, but then it’s an accurate reflection of how politics can suddenly intrude upon our lives and upend our worldview.

Ministry of Love does come off like something of a fashion victim, sounding expensive but uncomfortable, looking good but doing little to stand out.