What a Time to Be Alive is not the best album of 2015, but it is the album that best defines 2015 so far.

[It] should have been the new Fall album. [Jun 2007, p.96]

Thing is, dubstep's slithering textures actually suit Davis' demented croon, particularly in the cuts produced by Skrillex.

It's the band's most diverse album yet—and, diversity being their strength, it's also their most accomplished.

While we're used to Common in the role of poetic prophet or self-righteous rhyme slayer, Universal Mind Control is primarily a rhythmic celebration, paying tribute to Afrika Bambaataa and Jonzun Crew jams.

No matter the new producer (Steve Albini), new label, or new percussionist (Emil Amos replacing Chris Hakius), Om's droning bass/drum take on heavy metal still resounds.

Reprising the underground all-star lineup from Chesnutt’s 2007 opus "North Star Deserter" (Fugazi’s Guy Picciotto, members of Godspeed You! Black Emperor and Silver Mt. Zion) yields similar results.

Hull's greatest skill is making his emotions sound as extravagant as they feel, especially when he screams.

By any math, though, Candidate Waltz is a solid entry point, showcasing the band's mid-tempo stomps (reliably 4/4, despite the title) and Johnson's Zevon-cribbing rasp and wit.

St. Catherine is just as pleasant than its predecessors, but, ironically, its dusted-off, straightened-out recording and more substantial lyrics point out the music as, well, a little less so.

Turner's keen lyrical skills have outpaced the band's musical development, and the ultimate role of guitars (which aren't crucial here) has yet to be determined. But if you want expertly creeping unease, dive in.

Chapter 2 doesn't merely document; it selects tracks that hold together as an album. [Nov 2006, p.104]

You don't have to know Cody ChesnuTT's back story to appreciate all this--the journey is right there in the lyrics.

Every sweetly conflicted track sounds almost exactly the same, but his perverse playfulness makes that limitation almost feel like liberation.

Getting away from his brother really does seem to make Liam happy.

Despite the fact that Carnell appears on the cover of his own record drained of both pigment and life, this record’s full of both--moments of calm that justify the storm, peaceful lapping waves that follow the tempest.

Black Dice are the perpetually esoteric older Crumb brother Charles: inscrutable, agoraphobic, undeniably brilliant but just as undeniably demented. All descriptions apply to their fifth album, with each track bursting at the seams with warped sounds.

Rarely has dispiritedness sounded so uplifting. [Mar 2007, p.88]

Sometimes the results are stunning ("Hearts of Love"); elsewhere, the barrage of studio effects leaves you wondering if they're merely covering up crap songs. Either way, Sleep Forever never bores.

Open Mike Eagle’s momentum has raised anticipation for his fifth collaborative full-length (and ninth album altogether), Hella Personal Film Festival, this time made with British producer and vocalist Paul White. But he doesn’t quite scale up his political and personal concerns. Instead, he gives us more modest delights.

Ultimately, the most appealing thing about American Wrestlers is its lack of obvious guile or pretension.

She's made a fine, loud career out of channeling childlike abandon, and the rumbling acoustic guitars and schoolyard choruses (featuring the Yeah Yeah Yeahs guys, Deerhunter's Bradford Cox, and the Bird and the Bee's Greg Kurstin, among others) are both joyful and foreboding.

In the hands of dapper producer Mark Ronson, the glibly sloppy, lo-fi brats are almost sculpted into garage-punk sophistication, adding extended psychedelic guitar lines, fleshed-out percussion, even retro-soul sax.

Bassist Ariana Murray steps up to provide sonic stability. [Sep 2007, p.129]

The Melodic Blue has little else in common with The Massacre, but the former’s fascination with the latter may help to map out the sprawl of his debut studio album. ... Throughout the project, Keem’s production is often as bold as his lyrics.

Alternating meticulous power pop ("Measure") and anxious aloofness ("Let's Write a Book") with relaxed twang ("Clear Water") and pliant balladry ("Curves of the Needle"), the Brewises seek a certain balance on Measure. But over this geekily ambitious 20-song double album, that effort proves entertainingly futile.

The album's first half is suffused with a longing that flits between hopeful and resigned, unsure which is the worse fate. At other times, she sounds a little exasperated--mournful even--but throughout, her elegant arrangements remain taut and full of energy.

Aside from a new perspective on Myrkur’s music, Mausoleum provides a welcome diversion from the general praxis of live albums as we know them.