If Hymn to the Immortal Wind does anything, it establishes Mono’s place among post rock’s top dogs, and for this reviewer, easily gives them the title. Everyone else is just generic or something.

The result is a sometimes great, sometimes merely serviceable album which can stand among Death Grips’ ample discography, despite occasionally sacrificing melody for amplified pandemonium.

For its faults, Gallipoli is nice. It’s pleasant. But it’s the type of nice that makes you wonder if there was any substance there at all.

Bandit is a smart album made for smart people, and something that garnered them critical acclaim in the past is lost. So yes, One-Armed Bandit is a good record. But Jaga Jazzist can do better.

It's not going to impress those that irrationally expect every release to be a mind-blowing exercise in progression and experimentation. On the other hand, it should impress long-time fans and satiate their desire for no-frills, in your face music.

Even though 52-minute long Enter! feels very much like one multifaceted composition, it has been awkwardly divided into two parts. The first one is way more engrossing, showcasing the big band's knack for blending numerous potentially dissimilar styles to dazzling effect.

It feels like eighteen years of history, story and fanbase community are coming together like, uh, some sort of keywork.

Blending the light touch of her backing band with selectively applied electronic elements, Marina gives a more refined take on songs that in her past might have been layered in obtrusive electropop production or overwhelming string arrangements.

In short, Long.Live.A$AP takes what made his debut new or exciting and more finely hones it.

The record makes no indelible mark on your day--I imagine this skirting the periphery of most year-end lists, the perennial shut-out waiting flustered at the gates (“I’m sorry, you’re not on the list”)--but it’s detailed enough to add dimensions to the scene Burch sets.

End is better than passable - I’ve heard far worse even in its genre. But, as things are, this record feels redundant. Explosions in the Sky, at this stage of their careers, need to give us a whole lot more in order to really deliver. Maybe that’s not fair, but let me tell ya somethin’, kid: life ain’t always fair.

Immolate Yourself is a finely produced record, and still features a good chunk of material worth listening to, even if it doesn't exactly stack up with the duo's previous efforts.

When I’m in the perfect mindset this album feels like one of the finest albums I’ve heard all year, while if listened to when the mood isn’t quite right, the sleepiness of most of the album overwhelms its virtues. At the very least, Nothing Special is worth a spin for fans of Okkervil River, folk, or good lyrics, if for no other reason than to decide whether the album title is appropriate or not.

Black Kids are trying too hard, plain and simple.

An album which simply allows itself to be washed over, and take it all in. To simply be. In a time when even being must hurt like hell, that's one hell of a gift to give to the world.

As an EP for the band to dip their toes back into the creative process of being a band again, it’s a thrilling piece of work, a preface to their national run of live shows and, well, whatever comes after that. Because while EP4 makes for a mighty fine mixtape, one certainly hopes they won’t stop there.

If this is what we're going to be getting from Boeckner and company, perhaps Wolf Parade can stand to take a break for as many years as it needs to.

Justin is foremost an entertainer, and as is clear after about three tracks, The 20/20 Experience is hardly a vanity project; the songs are simply good enough that their length becomes an afterthought.

It’s occasionally a little oblique (“Turquoise Hyperfuzz”’s rhythmic breakdowns feel purpose-built to add a little edge to what’s otherwise the IDM version of straight candyfloss), but packs little of the clutter so often associated with µ-Ziq's quintessential-but-not-quite-essential style.

A Wasteland Companion at first seems unsure of what it wants to be or where it wants to go, vacillating between various genre exercises rooted in a common retro theme, but by the end it reaffirms what those who've loved Ward's old work have always known.

They might not be fracking new rocks with their sound, but for those in the know with ears to blow, it's manna from an alternate heaven.

Present Tense is a comfort album on the pleasant side of catchy; it’s the perfect collection of songs to augment your mood when the weather climbs to twenty-something centigrade.

It’s a very digestible and fun debut LP.

It is absolutely an evolution from his opening trio of releases, and a strong step towards becoming an integral voice in the indie rock scene.

It’s the LP’s sense of cohesion, achieved despite its sonic variety, which makes Hour Of Green Evening a triumph. A measured triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.

It's an important album for Scuba, as a means of transition, of mastering his new craft. It's just not a terribly important album for the rest of us.

All in all, not the death knell that it could have been but not the triumphant return it so could have been at the same time, Descension is another addition to the Coheed saga.

For what it is, When Machines is a reasonably entertaining collection of spare beats, courtesy of a long-hibernating maestro that’s just trying to get back in the game.

Without any quality control or stylistic cohesion, Usher stumbles into his best record since Confessions. If only this was better planned.

With Annual, Modern Nature prove that consistent, understated excellence comes naturally to them.

Whatever they ought to be doing is lost in mess of lame ideas buoyed by big hooks and pop flourishes.

Smile! :D is a weird album. It’s equal parts disappointing and enjoyable: it’s a good time if you don’t pay too much attention and zone out every once in a while. Most of all, it’s a failed experiment.

That’s their secret sauce: there’s no bells, whistles, or trappings that can replace songwriting with an important core message. Once again, Silberman and co. deliver that incredible depth and meaning, with an earnestness like only they can muster.

The compositions and the lyrics are strong, while the guys feel like they had a lot of fun recording.

A masterpiece of edgy, pop-infused rock composed with intelligence.

For the most part Hats Off To The Buskers is second-tier British post-punk.

Matilda expands on the palette considerably, shooting off on several tangents without muddying the overall aesthetic at all. It's harder to get into than Stateless, but once this sinks in properly, it's even better.

While it still sounds fresh it's still wearing the same threads, still talking in the same voice and moving in exactly the same way.

As crushing as some of these songs are, Heartthrob never lets you feel the weight, but prefers to revel in emotions good or bad, most often while sweating everything out under a crystalline disco ball.

This is one of Moby’s most cohesive efforts, so if you don’t dig this side of his musical output or look for a wild diversity, you’d be a bit disappointed. Other than this, the record flows surprisingly nice, unveiling a lot of strong material.

All in all, Henry St. marks a triumphant return for The Tallest Man On Earth, as he once more emerges from the Swedish countryside to take the folk world by storm. This time, though, he’s got companions, leading to a fuller and richer sonic journey than ever before.

Arrangements shift almost entirely between verses, and a dense, psychedelic mix feat. hyperkinetic panning makes you turn up that Mario Caldato Jr. goodness and just lose yourself in the noise only to find yourself being pummelled by Love Heart Cheat Code's final brace of tracks.

Ultimately though, these are minor gripes for what is an otherwise solid debut from a band which looks poised to make waves in the independent music scene for years to come.

One gets the feeling that they will have to make such a decision prior to album number two. Until then, what we have here with Lucid Dreaming is an enjoyable--but flawed - debut LP that hints at something special, but whose sum of its parts are ultimately greater than the whole.

Ringer may not be as varied as some of Hebden’s prior releases yet it is certainly a unique stab into the vast world of electronica.

“Chasing Birds” and “Love Dies Young” are very forgettable, sure, “Cloudspotter” (with the exception of the guitar effect in the verse, which reminds me of Torche’s “Admission”) and “Waiting on a War” are a little flat and uninspired, but overall, this is a decent return for the band and it should quench any Foo Fighters fan's thirst.

It is an album that builds on everything she had done previously, but with a much more personal and mature touch than I ever expected from her.

Not the Actual Events is one of the greatest Nine Inch Nails releases ever.

Almost every song is terribly alike--each featuring the same hallmarks Nadja’s become known for, besides their most important aspect, being their relentless creativity--and this bland similarity becomes taxing.

There's little that goes out of its way for your attention but the elegance and restraint is exactly what gives most of the songs, like "It's Hard To Get Around The Wind" with the preceding "Even if you know which way it's gonna blow" line, their colour.

While Dark Adrenaline doesn't break down any barriers and won't win any points for originality, it is still a very solid release and probably the best thing Lacuna Coil have done in almost a decade.

The massive hooks and catchy choruses that the band has forever been associated with also return, providing Lowborn with some of the group’s most memorable tracks.

The Future Bites traverses a strange course ripe with rewarding avenues and detours of failed attempts alike. It’s nothing if not fascinating, and will perhaps be more rewarding to those with a high tolerance for unorthodox marriage of various elements influenced by Prince, 1980s pop, modern electronic music, and alternative rock.

Common's latest shows him with his head in the clouds and addressing the same tired crowd with the same speech he's been writing for years.

This feels like a halfway point between a true Flaming Lips full-length and one of their many novelty side-ventures. This is undoubtedly a worthwhile pursuit for fans of the band that also marks a welcome return to accessibility; maybe with a bit of a stronger backbone, it could have been more.

Wonky is a work full of many flaws and too few shining moments, but as ammunition for the obvious tours to follow, there's enough here to be effective enough in a large enough setting.

Occasionally, it becomes exhausting, making it hard to finish listening V in one go. Nevertheless, when it clicks, it definitely sparks joy.

Burials is secure in its intentions. It's not looking to push borders or dabble in a misremembered nostalgia. Burials' only goal is catharsis and that is why it succeeds.

For all its technical skill, though, this focus inward makes for a circular listening experience, at least for long time listeners of the band. It’s difficult to feel like this is ground that hasn’t been traversed before, and just as well.

Harper sounds hardly inspired even in a city like Paris, and his homage to past artists sounds like cheap imitation more than anything.

Despite being the shortest record in Natasha’s discography, it is also the most angular. Diversity is secondary to her vision and concept this time. It worked for the most part, yet as a whole, The Dream of Delphi could have easily been a more comprehensive affair.

Even when certain songs weren’t quite working, I still found myself able to nod along and get lost in their rhythms. Even when another guest verse cropped up and it threatened to kill the album’s momentum, I found myself rewarded by another dynamite verse from Denzel thanks to the album’s breakneck pace.

Thankfully, Vol. 3 takes full advantage of its longer runtime, stretching into more places than the fairly self-contained first two volumes could

The Cosmic Selector Vol. 1 proves that they have the chops to pull it off, although they don’t commit to it here.

Heretic Pride is a stunning, well-rounded piece of music that only The Mountain Goats could pull off.

Ultimately settling into a safe, at times boring sonic bubble.

Polaris is well-produced (even if the bass is dialed in several clicks too high), decently written, and properly executed for what it is. Critically speaking, however, it takes few musical risks and fails to launch any sort of vocal or instrumental melody, relegating it to a position as the sort of album you could take or leave in an artist's discography.

As Williamson comes into her own on her fourth full-length, it’s clear that she has not only reached an enlightened moment of clarity in her life, but that she’s also crafted the best album of her young career. This record is intensely personal yet wide-reaching, and even if Jess admits that she’s “no sorceress”, she certainly has a way of captivating her audience.

The main problem it faces is trying to successfully combine her new, slower palate with the tense, rapid-fire elements she's known for. To anyone who has been listening to her discography for long, this is clearly something that will be difficult for anyone to pull off. And to her credit, she tries.

Mondo Cane is a summer-time staple and a faithful reminder that Mike Patton can sing but sadly little else.

Confident and complex, it's a standout debut from one of the most promising artists of the last few years.

In the realm of Sigur Rós, it's akin to breathing plain fresh air: in some contexts, refreshing, but in others, just... there.

In many ways it's more of the same, but it does seem to improve upon the formula ever-so-slightly.

More lyrical than Lil' Wayne and catchier than Young Jeezy, T.I. has once again proved the fact that he represents an excellent blend of lyrical talent and pop sensibility.

The high points of Pop Negro are where Diaz-Reixa is at his most celebratory and unrestrained and moments like the vocal hooks in "Ghetto Facil" and the stop-start pounding of "FM Tan Sexy" prove it. Unfortunately, the exuberance that bursts out of the clutter of his best songs is a characteristic seen too rarely here.

It is an incredibly unique performance that builds upon the collective legacy of its members not by pushing them to their extremes, but by uniting them back to a rooted sonic aesthetic that all too often gets buried when they are apart.

While it contains next to no filler, includes a sufficient amount of enjoyable anthems, and is musically accomplished (Ben Jolliffe's drums are especially impressive, the dual guitar attack is competent and the sparingly used keys are wise), Bones is predominantly a consolidatory release.

Alter Bridge’s The Last Hero provides us with a great--if at times flawed – record whose meaning is even bigger than the music that comprises it.

As entertaining as this album may be, a lot of these songs, needless to say, feel rather parched of vitality.

These aren’t the kind of riffs and melodies that will imprint onto my brain the way almost every song from Undoing Ruin or Deliver Us did, but Darkest Hour get a gold star for effort for delivering a strong metalcore record, and more importantly, for pulling off an immensely difficult comeback.

The pacing of the album is a little more sluggish than normal. It’s clear it was a conscious effort to savour this intergalactic soundscape and add more detail, but it’s aftereffects certainly carry over excess baggage. It’s not a bad album by any means and if you like his work, this will deliver in all the ways you’d expect, but in that regard that’s half the problem.

For a debut, it’s confident and consistent, moving fluidly through a range of styles and executing it all convincingly, while also conveying a sense of emotion. The biggest gripe is that while the album taken together flows nicely and remains engaging, there also aren’t any tunes which make for proper stunners in their own right. That’s ok for now, though.

Experience may be a cruel messenger, but Daughter’s success comes not from pulling away, but from embracing that. In doing so, Not to Disappear comes out the other side, not beaten and lost but vibrant and alive.

While decidedly uneven and lacking in the sheer number of hooks a regular dose of Newman provides, Shut Down the Streets does have two of the best songs of his long career.

It's easy to enjoy on a superficial level, because the music is well written and enjoyable, and lyrically it's more than I could have expected.

There is a sweet strand of diversity, subtle or otherwise, permeating the record and points towards the coming together of comfort and talent.

He deliberately avoided all piano and strings simply to prove to himself that he could write a full album without any of it. What resulted, however, was his most engaging and enjoyable album to date.

Overall, the album achieves its goal, unfolding a soulful listen with just about enough songs with vocals to keep you attentive throughout as well. It is also a nice change of pace for those who follow Moby’s more recent releases, but worth checking for anyone who is into ambient music too.

It is easily one the band’s best album and possibly the best album of the year.

In many ways, this is Delta Machine taken into a more organic direction, offering glimpses of past efforts in the process. The decision to let the songs breathe through airy layers was wise, because you can easily focus on them this way.

It's a shame that the sequencing and the overall flow isn't quite right, because in all other regards, this is a beautiful album to stick on and just drift away to--this is music of impressive texture and depth.

McMahon shows that he still has as firm of a grasp as ever on his unique brand of piano pop-rock, or whatever you’d want to classify it as. This album--while straightforward from a songwriting perspective--is just a collection of powerhouse pop tunes, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that when it’s executed to perfection like it is here.

Reachy Prints is yet another tedious exercise in modern IDM attempting to stay relevant, and failing to do a very good job of convincing us listeners that it is.

Every journey back to Meridian offers one more dazzling gem, shimmering in the music’s translucent waters just waiting to be discovered. Immerse yourself and become beautifully adrift.

Greenwood has pretty much stacked the chips up against himself by deciding to get involved in this album in the first place. There's no need for him to be seen as a competitor to any canonical composer at this point in his career, but by putting his works side-by-side with Penderecki's, he inadvertently puts himself in that light, and it leaves us with an album that tells us very little about his work that isn't obvious to anybody who knows how long he's been composing (young composer still learning his trade--gasp!), and nothing about Penderecki that we haven't already known for over forty years.

Her hit rate is a tad more consistent here than it was on Perfect Shapes. It won’t be the most memorable outing you hear this year, but if you’re reading this in anything approaching a wistful funk, there’s a decent chance Sucker’s Lunch might be exactly what your mood calls for.

Freed from the weight of being some kind of statement on a legacy impossible to define, and sans the walking-on-eggshells of the first CZARFACE/DOOM collab, Super What? looks more and more like three excellent rappers just chipping away in the studio, no expectations or external pressures.

There’s something here for every fan of his works, and it’s all executed concisely. More importantly, The Great Satan just brings that fun factor again, and frankly, that’s all you can ask for.