As previous albums did, Myth Takes sees !!! aiming high in terms of grandiosity and intensity but falling short of its ambitions.

Symphony may have more of a cinematic steadiness and flow, but the absence of songs as hauntingly memorable as "Cherry Blossom Girl" or "Surfing on a Rocket" does not make for a better work.

Some Funeral devotees may be disappointed by the more straightforward approach on Neon Bible, but their numbers will likely be easily replaced.

An album that is warm and inviting without being overpowering and rich and varied enough to warrant repeated listening.

With experimentation comes error.

The album has plenty of stirring moments, but it falls short of being truly engulfing with its sound.

Ultimately Dalek's fragmented drone makes [rapper] dalek's tired wordplay obsolete, thereby redeeming Abandoned Languages.

Ultimately, We All Belong hints at the band's innocuousness. Nothing here offends, but there's nothing anywhere near compelling, either.

The type of searing instrumental rock Explosions in the Sky has helped put on the map is the modern-day heir of the aural expressionism of Debussy and Wagner.

Atlantis is a shining example of pop music in the 21st century should be.

Nobody is putting out music like Pop Levi's right now.

If they want to match the intensity of the singer's emotional performance, the band needs to loosen things up a bit.

Everything finally does come to a rewarding payoff with the ringing lone guitar work at the end of "Triangular Pyramid," but the long drive to get there is rather boring.

I admire Cunniff's attempt to create positive, breezy music. I just wish it were better.

While Grandaddy may be no longer, Aqueduct appears confidently able to assume is place as a purveyor of lo-fi writ large.

Eluvium has crafted an album that is at once immediate and accessible while deceptively complex.

In Advance of the Broken Arm is at least two songs too long. Yet Stern's manner of weaving together fiercely subjective, lyrical daydreaming with Olympus-level fret-searing finally means that the album justifies the majority of its many decisions.

Hirway intends for much grander experience, but his shortcomings, be it insecurity or fear, do not allow him to achieve that. Instead, we're left confused over just who Hirway is, and the real loss is the lack of intimacy between the artist and his audience.

The tracks that don't work misfire spectacularly.

Sitting through an album of catchy but ultimately vapid pop songs isn't made any more satisfying when there's a staggering track near the end.

A Weekend in the City borders on emo in its wordy self-obsession, so even though the record is actually more sonically adventurous than its predecessor, it seems like a massive step backward.

On its own merits, Phantom Punch is an assured, absurdly tuneful record, and one of the best of the year thus far.

Svanangen has a wholly human presence on Loney, Noir, easy to invest in and equally easy to reap rewards from.

Yes, I'm a Witch may be less than the sum of its parts, but [some] notable tracks... make it worthwhile.

In the end, Writer's Block isn't a life-changing musical statement, but it is a superb collection of finely crafted pop songs.

The music deliberately sits somewhere between glossy and unobtrusive. It shimmers enough to mask Allen's tepid singing voice but remains far enough away to allow her largest asset -- her snappy personality -- to take charge.

Ounsworth's impassioned delivery is gone throughout most of Some Loud Thunder, replaced by what can only be described as vague indifference.

Roadkill Overcoat is a thorny album, one that doesn't give itself over easy, and definitely not on first listen.