The instrumental and production prowess on display is fairly stunning.

It's a fascinating mosaic in which every tiny detail lends colour and depth to a work of real, high-minded seriousness.

It's a powerful formula, and Dall and Ander have basically perfected it here.

A solid diversion from two artists who we know can do better.

Imperfect as it is, International is proof that the group's future is limited only by the force of its wanderlust.

The whole album sounds like it was mastered from a chewed-up old C90--it's post-chillwave music, busy and glitchy, but as relaxing as a soak in a warm bath.

These songs still aim to elicit an emotion from you, and they're still not particularly subtle. The difference is you don't feel like it's being shoved down your throat.

If The Phoenix is that feature film we were waiting for, it could stand an edit or two.

My Love Is A Bulldozer is a deeply ostentatious album, though knowingly so.

There's something so inherently off-kilter about Scruff's kaleidoscopic production that it just doesn't jell with the sound of a human voice being all serious.

The first new Plastikman material in over ten years was always going to carry some high expectations, and as solid as it is, this one doesn't quite match up.

[Amphis (Reprise) is] a quiet, almost reverent close to an album that further refines the disorienting beauty we've come to expect from Luke Abbott.

A collection of big, bouncy and immaculately produced club tunes, it brings together some fine productions. But it's also a tough record to love.

Krell's still part of a pop vanguard, but his music is more than ever a welcoming gesture.

The striking concept alone is enough to make this album worth a listen. That it turned out to be so inspiring is a happy byproduct of the whole experiment.

It's equal parts dark and light, these two elements intermingling to create an ambivalent set of emotions, from gnawing fear to brief tranquillity, as unnerving and uncertain as you imagine life in a war zone might be.

This is their most focused mix yet, and even though they're ostensibly working with a finite number of resources, the well of obscure disco cuts seems far from dried up.

Da Mind Of Traxman Vol. 2 might not be Traxman's most innovative album, but that's fine. It's still one of the genre's most singular records so far.

Early Riser recalls '70s LPs by the likes of Herbie Hancock--with whom McFerrin Sr. collaborated--and actually evokes the process of remembering, insomuch as it's full of teasing hints and hazy feelings that ebb and flow throughout.

It shows him settling into a state of deep contentment, evoking the same warm and fuzzy feeling you get from throwing on a record that you know inside and out.

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

Hendra is an always beautiful, sometimes stunning album, if one that bears no trace of its creator's knack for house music.

Like his last album, Leaning Over Backwards, A Series of Shocks is rich and spatially ambitious.

On Turn Blue you can tell the duo remain integral and solidly at the core, new influences or not.

Where 2009's By The Throat was ruthless but exacting, this one feels genuinely unhinged--and that unpredictability makes it far more thrilling than any engineered suspense could have been.

Butler's troupe have always been unique--a dance floor-friendly manifestation of the dissenting, politicised queer underground--but now they're making transcendent music again, too.

That's Harakiri isn't trying to be a dance floor album--it's trying to unsettle the listener. And it's succeeding.

Chromeo still aren't the most serious guys in the world, but White Women is a smart pop album rendered in vivid, 3-D detail.