Its visionary ambition recalls the fertile sprawl of Villalobos’ 2003 debut Alcachofa; baroque techno blessed with the carefree spirit of lounge music and Quiet Storm, dressed up in tie-dye, the music on Amygdala glows with an easy confidence.

Orange Juice's debut You Can’t Hide Your Love Forever is beautiful because of its innocence, whereas Understated is bruised by the many experiences that came afterward. It's no lesser record for it, just one that feels like a part in the purging process rather than a place where Collins feels fully at ease.

While there are no outright duds, the less memorable material can't quite measure up, lending the album a certain almost-there feel.

For now, Heterotic stands as a yet another promising venture from one of the most consistently surprising minds in electronic music.

Afraid of Heights is the first Wavves album longer than 40-minutes and sometimes it drags.... Still, Afraid of Heights provides plenty of bummed-out pleasures and Williams' obvious talent is easy to take for granted.

Lynch seems comfortable here, scattering out another set of question marks, his unassuming approach etched in just a little harder with every passing release.

They're still honing the edge that's going to set them apart. But for the time being, the hooks are enough to convert plenty of true believers.

This foggy unease and blankness communicates itself everywhere on Sleeper, a frustratingly imperfect record that nonetheless holds onto the essential mystery that sparked my curiosity.

Bartos is one of the few people allowed to get away with such blatant mirroring of the past, but it's hard to escape the thought that he's done it all before, and better, and with a little more elegance and wit.

Miami shows Brandt Brauer Frick to have reached new heights of imagination and technical accomplishment, but it’s undeniably a challenging listen. Break through its forbidding surface, though, and the rewards can be considerable.

The deeply uncool Comedown Machine smacks of effort.... Still, the limitations of Comedown Machine's protracted diversity all come back to Casablancas, a man with wide range as a listener and extremely narrow range as a musician.

As ever, Zedek specializes in thorny songs that unflinchingly address adult topics and full-grown problems, with the malleable backing of her guitar and band providing either momentary refuge or sympathetic cries of exasperation.

Lady's is a well-trodden field and, at times, their lyrical tropes are overfamiliar to the point of feeling vague, if not downright lazy. So Wray and Walker distinguish themselves by amping up the charm and cheeriness to the max.

Throughout Bloodsports, Suede consistently strikes the balance between decadence and elegance that marked their signature work.

Impossible Truth is Tyler's second richly satisfying and absorbing record of solo guitar in three years.

This debut itself is compelling but because, at last, it represents a clear synthesis of so many of O’Malley’s activities.

The best songs here are all nearly seven minutes long, but their erratic structures make compelling stages to watch dueling tirades of emotion swarm around one another.

For now, Cully's another voice in the crowd in that regard, but his promising talent displayed elsewhere on The New Life suggests that he's one to keep your ears perked up for nonetheless.

The Stand-In is a gorgeous-sounding chronicle of such archetypal props, characters, and sounds, though the conceit does occasionally smother their narrator’s natural, vital wit.

The murk and sloppiness of the early records has been mostly swept away.

180 is structured like a gig, with the attention-grabbing hit followed by fun but less memorable tracks that build gradually in excitement.

Every sound is lovingly recorded and given a cradle of space.

Through Mitchell and Hamer, these characters, made flat by design and even more by time, spring into full dimension, ache and grieve and flirt, live and die and get born again.

Marnia isn't the single touch that shatters, it's the long, steady stare that gives way to embrace.

Taken as a whole, it’s a pretty, enveloping record that executes its modern influences with panache, though the intangible, purely aesthetic nature of Woolhouse’s vaguely downhearted emotional state makes it hard to appreciate Defo as anything other than luxurious ambient icing.

Nothing on these songs sounds the least bit rote or comfortable, and that’s remarkable for a band so far into an unlikely career.

Entrench is the work of veterans who earned the rare second chance to make a first impression. They do not waste the opportunity.

20/20 is akin to another recent album that successfully teased-out excitement from satisfaction, Beyoncé's 4.