Their album together is a beautiful take on doom and gloom, but be warned: there's no promise of a happy ending.

For the most part, Vibert's approach to drum & bass still sounds unique, although there are some signs that this was produced in the '90s if you're looking for them.

For all the dub diehards, Late Night Endless is a must-have. For the rest, it's a leisurely detour in the catalogues of two great artists who proved themselves a long time ago.

It might be dismissed as dinner party music by those with a hunger for more experimental fare, but The North Borders is charming, fascinating and a touch mysterious.

MHYSA gets most expressive with her vocal processing, sometimes rapping in hot bursts, sometimes creating soft and surreal textures, other times using abrasive distortion and noise. When beats do appear, they're patient and sparse, highlighting the artist's contentment with silence.

The mood of each piece sticks to a narrow range between quietly brooding and vaguely anthemic. But it's not only business as usual for Rival Consoles. In small pockets and slight gestures, distinctive traits emerge from West's symphonic electronics.

In composing a piece so well-defined yet so adaptable, Eno adds yet another page to ambient music canon.

What's remarkable about the LP is that most of its 11 artists--whether newcomers, collaborators or longtime fans--all make tracks that sound like natural extensions of the originals.

The truly ambient moments of Living With Ghosts are easily its most arresting, providing brief periods of respite amid the album's unrelenting greyscale grasp.

Both introspective and marking the importance of community and friendship, I AM JORDAN is energising music that can only instill joy and catharsis.

Ambiguities can make Olympic Mess's charms difficult to excavate, but it's well worth making the effort to do so.

Glass isn't a concept album, though, nor does it need to be. Music this impressive is a statement in and of itself.

This new LP is understated by comparison, with fewer jarring moments and more shifting grooves.

The Centre Cannot Hold is about flux, about the flow of change through cycles of destruction and serenity. It's a more hopeful record than you might think.

Trim definitely isn't stuck on stupid, but a bit more self-awareness wouldn't go amiss.

Lafawndah's stripped-down approach invites us to sit in these new environments, culminating in an album that feels as thoroughly absorbing as a good novel.

There isn't a track on the record that isn't somehow scuffed, bruised or degraded. The recording fidelity is uniformly scruffy but not at the expense of dance floor efficacy—you'll have punchier music in your collection, but these tracks should still cut through.

There are no new tricks at hand here, no experimental forays into the goonier psych-prog ends of the space disco genre. And you know what? Thank f*** for that.

Its tackiness has transformed over time into a thing of beauty. A perfect reflection of the flora in your life, Mother Earth's Plantasia is garish, green and hopelessly sincere. It never fails to put a smile on your face or pull the sunshine into every room.

For a while, "Techno De Favelado" locks into a satisfying techno kick, before hollowing out and ultimately collapsing into a familiar funk pattern. At times, the record's use of popular dance music tropes fails. .... But really, Radio Libertada ! is mostly spice, and rarely sugar.

Brimming with standalones ... but it sometimes feel[s] more like a collection of songs than a singularly-minded and cohesive album.

Atonal but definitely not without its charms, it's the producer's most distinctive statement yet.

A graceful continuation of her catalogue, Air Lows has an alluringly frosty charm.

There's a dreamlike logic to much of Care: it's atmospheric, but it doesn't make sense.

Gamble successfully deploys his robotic collaborators as tools in his sonic worldbuilding rather than as ends in themselves.

The Killer seems to reveal a pattern on Pawlowitz's part, yet it somehow remains every bit as viscerally captivating as his best material, a formula still as cryptic as it ever was.

The end result sounds like a shameful karaoke. Nonetheless, fans of Miss Kittin should still give Calling From The Stars a go, as it remains her most accomplished solo release to date.

Beneath its stylish veneer, Unspell lacks substance.

After working together on and off for years, this trio obviously have a special connection, but it's only apparent in fits and spurts.

For all of its differences, Utility only sounds unnatural in the Kowton discography when it undermines the strengths of the music before it.

Seven Steps Behind is too unfocused to be a slam dunk, but there's potential for something truly new here. In an era where club classics in the concert hall have lost their novelty, it's thrilling to hear orchestral instruments twisted like this.

Feel It Break feels a bit front-loaded: its second half sags a bit with more ballad-oriented material, but closes on a strong note with "The Beast."

Endgame excels when its structures are more orthodox.

Tropics' debut album stands its ground as a promising start for an artist still figuring out exactly what he wants to say.

Pop Ambient 2014 is the fluffiest, most cushioned set of zone-outs in the series' recent history.

Most tracks have so much going on that it begins to feel like tectonic plates pulling in opposite directions, heaving two ways at once and leaving the listener dizzy and disoriented. It's Ryat's crystal clear, wriggling voice that's the glue just barely holding everything together.

Do you love sick beat drops? Then you'll probably love Skrillex's new album. .... The diversity here is astonishing, if at times schizophrenic.

The album has a swampy, overheated feel, which takes some of the impact away from its sharper moments but enhances its more languid stretches.

The record hews especially close to a strain of plush acid, albeit with Aphex Twin's inimitable charm. But a short change of pace arrives from the dissonant "CHEETA1b ms800" and "CHEETA2 ms800," which seem to be brief tests of rich, textured patches from the Cheetah. These tracks complete a record that finds inspiration and style from obstacles and restrictions.

Mouse On Mars now occasionally sounds like a hybrid of other artists rather than a unique entity.

Ultimately, Rustie's purism exposes the limitations of his style.

This is not Jaar's best album, nor is it his strangest, but it's a wonderful listen that tempts you to get lost in its many layers. It is beautiful but confounding, an artwork whose "solid form" still passes through like water trickling down between your fingers.

At almost 70 minutes, Where All Is Fled may take a few unnecessary detours across its 14 tracks, but it's ultimately Hauschildt's most cohesive work. Here, he's matched his well-established talents as a composer of cosmic ambient with a new depth of artistic direction.

What she's lost in subtlety she's gained in star power, off the back of two years of touring and a slow-burning hit album.

There isn't a bad track on Black Boulder and it is certainly an accessible crossover release that's suited to the long-player format. But it's not very original either.

The result is an ingeniously crafted album that, under the right conditions, heightens the senses and inspires heartfelt reflection.

Ikonika has delivered one of 2013's definitive summer albums. It's time to get happy.

Patten is clearly willing to toy with his numerous ideas in lieu of easy hooks, and he concedes remarkably little here.

Product is simply forward-thinking, flawlessly-produced electronic music that wants no more than to slap a grin on the dance floor.

Shackled to the piano, the album's range can feel a bit limited. It's worth sticking it out, though, if only for the moments when Gold's grand vision finally comes together.

Ancestor Boy's world is one of filial love, of kinship through blood or spirit, of otherness and self-reliance.

Without knowing it was made by a young Paul Woolfword, it might come off simply as passionate and touching hardware sketches with classic techno components. Nevertheless, these tapes show signs of promise in Woolford's ability to work within his limitations to create something powerful and personal.

Lyrically, 7 Days Of Funk offers little to muse on. Snoop's mainly concerned with discussing how funky he is and what a good time he's having. It's largely free of the misogyny and gangsterisms that have defined his past work.

Many of the tracks on Hangin' At The Beach, much like Pink's low-key classic "Life In LA," grapple with the paradox of feeling lonely and alienated in paradise. Perlman's able to evoke these ideas without lyrics, using a casual, collagist approach to create his most profound work to date.

The result is a set of tracks that, compared to the prickly, experimental music of Shaking The Habitual, are purposeful, propulsive and emotionally direct.

The result is a thrilling meditation on the weirdness of now.

Factory Floor's aesthetic is rarely comforting, and yet their new music settles into itself as it revisits old habits.

Much like its musical parent, Without You effortlessly inhales and exhales strands of musical influence past, present and future.

The Shakes is worth hearing for the sonic detail alone. The best tracks have an inclusive, sweeping abandon that rivals the high points of Scale.

Ultimately, Reachy Prints is a bravura performance that lacks bite.

Culled and then cultivated from her live set, these tracks have the dance floor in their sights, but with a skewed focus.

There's still plenty of juice left in the ideas Four Tet favours. ... This club/non-club ratio is similar to that of New Energy, the last Four Tet album, but Sixteen Oceans surpasses that LP through the strength of its ambient and electronica.

An irresistibly fun listen, even at its simplest. DOOM's role is honestly more like a supporting cast member here, but when he shows up, his husky ramblings still have the same gravity they always did. The production plays to his strengths.

For something as weighty as a debut album from a hotly-tipped artist, Parallel Memories feels a little too light for its own good.

In recent years, Stott has alternately spurned and embraced the nasty side of his sound, but on Never The Right Time, he nails a difficult balance between bass weight and pop vulnerability.

His third album is easily the tightest record yet. Jumping from sound to sound, Ital Tek has covered a startling amount of ground in a short time.

Some of Orbiting still sounds a little sketchy, like a bunch of good ideas that have yet to coagulate into fully-rounded, purposeful bangers, but clearly Jeremy Guindo is a real maverick talent.

Where Moderat sounded at times tentative and disjointed, II is in every regard a better and more well-rounded record. If there were no third Moderat album, this would stand as a definitive statement.

This foray beyond the confines of UK rap doesn't leave the album feeling muddled or stylistically confused—her out-there synth rap sound remains consistent throughout, for a polished, elegant debut album that stands tall inside (and outside) the UK's rap scene.

The band's mix of disco, funk, new wave, dancehall and West African music would in most hands sound muddled or derivative. What happens instead is music filled with life and imagination of the kind described by Stuart Evans, the cofounder of the Green Door Studio, who once likened Golden Teacher to seeing "a robot dancing with a leopard."

Vynehall's entry into the long-running series doesn't have quite the same crowd-pleasing quality, but like the Moodymann mix it's brilliantly executed.

It always felt like the UK dance community was collectively cheering for Katy B's success, and Little Red shows how much she deserves it.

Key to the Kuffs certainly finds one of underground music's true antiheros in irresistibly infectious form.

Whether you like Long Trax 2 depends in part on how much you hear this message. ... Long Trax 2 runs the risk of monotony instead. But that seems to be Long's message: we're stuck, sorrow repeating without end.

Without much more than endless stretches of sound to hang onto, The Four Worlds occasionally drifts into tedium. The record's pair of vocal cuts stand out as a result, regardless of how effective they are.

The covers are the stickiest aspect of 7G. Most of them are one-note, more of an "influences" playlist than a collection of worthy interpretations. They weigh down the already heavy album with dead weight, but the hit rate of 7G is remarkably high anyways, a testament to Cook's vision.

It takes a lot of talent to make crate-digging sound so seamless, and even if the cracks show every once in a while, Planet High School is some of the best patchwork around.

On Powerhouse, we learn many things about Rostron. Few artists can express their politics and personal life so directly.

Aptly-titled, Fever Dream's gentle and imaginative hip-hop beats waft by leisurely, attractive on the surface but substantive and personal on the inside.

Together, Dom Maker and Kai Campos are something truly special. Apart, they still sound pretty damn talented, which makes this diversion a welcome one as the group work towards their next grand statement.

Caracal has the effect of a magician performing a trick twice in a row, rendering once clandestine, miraculous movements suddenly obvious, over-rehearsed and unnatural.

It's more about repetition than surprise, meditation than hyperactivity. Many tracks start slowly and quietly, and some hold entirely to that restraint.

It's an album of contrasts that can prove difficult and overlong one listen and breathtaking and fascinatingly complex the next, not a masterpiece by any means but a unique kind of impressive nonetheless.

Motzfeldt and Stoltenberg's subtle R&B harmonies are understated and arresting, exposing the inner sanctum of a complex emotional relationship. Believer is an album about raw friendship, personal image and collective awareness.

You're drawn in by a minimalist master at work.

They might be skeletal and drained of colour, but their tracks have an unpredictable, wandering spirit that makes them far more than listless jamming.

This is imaginative and complex dance music, with a level of detail that in the hands of a different artist could become overwhelming. Luckily, as brainy as it gets at points, Second Language is always exhilarating.

What really marks Machinedrum's growth are the moments that subtly push Stewart's sound into small stylistic corners only hinted at before.

Where Mala In Cuba boiled, Mirrors barely gets to a simmer.

This series has always been Kompakt’s annual attempt to try to shape mainstream house and techno in its own idiosyncratic vision. Once again, it has done so in style.

These might not be Martin's most envelope-pushing beats, but it's hard to think about that when the walls are violently shaking.

His architectures still have an unreal sheen, but they're convincing enough to get lost in.

Tejada being Tejada, the machines aren't done away with entirely. Amid the orchestral strings and irregular drums you'll hear the rich melodic layers and electronic processing that have long been Tejada hallmarks. His stamp is all over this typically classy if unsurprising album.

The album channels Alva Noto's trademark sounds into jittery, funky music that loses none of the complexity of his more challenging work.

Her robotic sing-song is more unsettling than affecting, and the synth backing is never quite immersive. Spontaneity is often this pair's strength, but with more ambitious ideas it limits them.

The problem is the tone, which, from the album's first whimper to the comically bad poetry reading that closes it, is hackneyed and overwrought all the way through. These ten tracks are defined by somber pianos, bittersweet strings and quivering pads--like Sigur Rós, but drained of all mystery. Worst of all, though, is the singing, a half-coherent moan that falls somewhere between Thom Yorke and '90s radio balladeers like David Gray or Five For Fighting.

Honey also lack the narrative depth that invited us in so close on Suddenly. If you look beyond the sweet, sticky surface, you'll likely be left craving more substance—until you're distracted by melodies that spin you into infatuation once again. For newer Caribou or Daphni fans who aren't as concerned about the polarising split between Snaith's two projects, Honey still services that dance floor giddiness—with a subtle drip of bittersweetness.

Making good on Quattlebaum's professed interest in radical queer politics, the music on C-ORE feels suitably radical, queer and non-conformist.