It’s the kind of music that nobody, perhaps not even Moderat themselves, expected from this record.

This is a laid-back kind of record, inclined towards porch sitting or walks in the wods. There’s still plenty of exceptional musicianship on display, though, with the guitar work remaining immensely appealing. In addition, despite the mellowness of the material and the seemingly-throwaway album title, Yay! can be surprisingly emotionally potent upon occasion.

Sarah and Josh have created a very well-written balance between depth and melody that sets them apart from many pop acts that are around today.

While it may not have that instant classic feel of Caution, it more than lives up to its older brothers in every way possible.

It's a case of every sound in its right place, every idea developed in a way that is thoughtful and skillfully executed at best and pretty at worst, every track clearing that rather translucent bar that separates “that was boring” from “that was nice”.

The Men have given up on trying any sort of innovation here, and instead seem to have set out to simply jam some rockin’ tunes at high volume. Call me a simple man, but yeah, it’s pretty great.

While the ceiling is low and the majority of So Close To What is annoyingly undercooked, there is still a lot of promise to be found. Tate and her team clearly have an ear for sticky melodies and the lack of necessary lore is appreciated, but there still is a very pervasive sense of figuring things out here.

There's enough brewing under the sedated surface to make Hvarf-Heim (and especially Hvarf) a satisfying listen.

Trouble is a brave step forward for a band unafraid to test its limits and a frontwoman unable to see any.

The Spark as Shikari-lite, a poppy album which forsakes the sound and fury which made the boys so interesting in the first place. But making the same album twice is anathema here, and the sound of the band isolating the human element and expanding it into their most beautiful, focused work to date is a wonder to behold.

Regina has basically mastered everything else too; it's hard to see her making a wrong move anytime soon.

It's the very definition of a grower, and this record has something Born to Die never had: more reflection.

It's just a sludgy, grumpy record from a band who once knew pop music needed whimsy.

What Do We Do Now is a smörgåsbord of everything we have come to expect from a J Mascis project, and while a multitude of listeners may find themselves clamoring for fresher ideas or a deviation from his tried-and-true formula, it is borderline impossible to listen to the indie rock legend’s latest output and deny that they got what they came for.

Yes, they still have a few kinks that need to be worked out--for instance, they need to address the game of musical chairs at lead guitarist--but a whole, The Afghan Whigs look just as unstoppable as they did in their prime.

The Drop Beneath is the first record of their career that truly feels like the start of something special.

At just over thirty-five minutes, the length of the album works to its advantage too, not overstaying its welcome as well as solidifying the fact that there's nothing exceptionally challenging about In Evening Air.

The great thing about Red is that Dia had a hand in writing every song, and it's that personal stamp that allows the album to appeal to longtime fans despite its musical direction.

With False Priest, Barnes finally seems to be settling into his own skin, cherry picking from his long history and patching it all back together into something that Of Montreal could ride into the new decade. Just no more concept albums, please.

The robust rock songs fall flat, rarely achieving lift off from their rote, chugging origins, while even the band’s worst proggish impulses are neatly trimmed down into manageable four-minutes-and-under transitions and slapped with a typically Trail of Dead-ian name, a middle finger in disguise. Only closer “Sound Of The Silk” really marries the two histories of the band into the kind of complete performance that made Tao of the Dead such a thrilling ride.

Gutter Tactics flow and overall rhymes pale in comparison to those found in "Abandoned Language." It is as if Gutter Tactics thick, doom sound that defined Dälek’s approach has now turned back and smothered any attempt at a unique change.

Most of The Bird and the Bee is average, albeit highly danceable and fun, Pop music: worth the download, but hardly the purchase.

Mines is one of the better rock albums to come out this year, and yes, it's interesting.

Fantastic songs that have an uncanny ability to lodge their way firmly into your head.

With every compilation, tracks are bound to fall flat. However, the turnover rate is relatively low, making Dark Was The Night so refreshing and ultimately a worthy purchase.

It's safe to say that Darkest Hour are not as good as they used to be--sorry, fans, but The Eternal Return and The Human Romance are both indicators of that. But the band have certainly got their bearings back this year and have made the best album that they possibly could have without Kris Norris.

These moments of stepping outside of the indie pop comfort zone are what give Mountaintops a bit of zest, but it's also what makes the album less than a stellar affair.

There are certainly a few noticeable misses (such as the overwrought ‘Ready to Lose’), but the occasional home runs are more than enough to offset those moments.

This is a beautiful, cohesive album that stirs so many emotions and speaks for itself. It might not be as immediate or as catchy as ADD, but does the most important thing: paving new grounds.

Less eccentric and exciting than its predecessor, perhaps, but only by choice. Glass Animals are at their peak in 2016, and perfectly content to be slower and quieter, worming their way into your head by inches but settling in for the long haul once they're in there.

Nowhere Generation is merely a good album that offers us a worthwhile batch of late-career songs.

Widowspeak’s greatest accomplishment is maintaining that same sense of simmering, uncertain wonder over the course of one wonderfully blurry album.

This remains, however, a good album, and another triumph for Stuart Murdoch.

There’s no attempt to recapture their classic sound, no blatant radio single, and not even an attempt at performing more than what they’re comfortable with. If you’ve followed Metallica beyond the black album, you’ll find a very good, honest, release in Hardwired… To Self-Destruct.

Let's Start Here. is messy, ridiculous, admirable in its ambition and absolutely insane in its execution. If the albums you love are loved because you get tangled in the weeds with them, be absolutely baffled by them and come out wondering what the hell you liked about them, time to go in for another spin to find out? Then, hop up on the ride and keep those damn questions to yourself.

The number of songs and the length would be a bit more understandable if there weren’t also the feeling that some of these songs are woefully undercooked and underdeveloped, but it feels like a true russian roulette to engage with the totality of Music when you get a song that feels kinetic and lively and progresses, only to then be met with a bonafide voice memo that repeats one idea over and over.

There you have it; young lads just starting out make poor-to-average debut record. Not an unusual occurrence, and no doubt a thousand other albums released that day were no better or worse than 180.

Much like the Socialist commune they share a part of their name with, BJM retains the mysterious cult image that attracts a few but repels many.

On all counts, “Let’s Rock” succeeds in its mission. Hit the road, roll down the windows, and play it loud.

The Next Four Years isn't the best record of the year, but it is the most honest--and sometimes that means so much more.

It works from top to bottom, to take songs from, and it fits the Go! Team canon with assumed confidence.

Sleigh Bells have not sounded this rejuvenated or fun since they first appeared on the scene over a decade ago. Their core spirit and whatever magic it contained is back in full force, and it’s arguably more potent than ever.

The Art of Survival picks up where The Kingdom left off, but it doubles down on the sludgy, heavier, direction of its predecessor while dumping most the alt rock influences. What’s more, in this era where heavy music is the norm, Bush almost sounds fresh because there’s very few artists blending grungy heaviness with a more accessible songwriting formula.

Instead of rhythmic exploration Braxton is working with a variety of harmonic and melodic developments and in doing so has made a refreshing and similar counterpoint to 'Mirrored'. Central Market may not be as calculated, but it is more fun and in general more easy to digest.

This may well be the group’s most sonically diverse outing yet, for good and for ill; even on the many occasions it isn’t convincing, it often manages enough novelty to entertain nonetheless, and Nigel Godrich's impeccable production job certainly makes the whole affair easy on the ears.

J. Cole’s raps, but KOD sounds like someone who is either unfamiliar with drug abuse, or is completely unsympathetic to the dynamics of drug abuse in America.

Remember what I said about this band being capable of a classic? Well 'Simple Math' is their first. Just a shame about Simple Math.

It stands well alongside any classic Springsteen record you can mention.

The duology of Love Letter and Write Me Back has been his most soulful and inspired work since Chocolate Factory.

Days of Being Wild won’t ensnare your senses or make a concerted effort to win you over, which is okay. All you can do is just embrace it, listen to it, and hope that it grows on you.

It doesn’t aim to instantly satisfy unsuspecting listeners, dazzle newcomers, or alienate longtime fans; but what Unieqav does is craft a digital world sewn together by technology, biological information, science, and action. Engaged by the imprint of minimal techno beats and gliding melodies, the possibilities Unieqav promise are far from endless, but are indeed beautiful.

What makes the trio’s unique blend of noise and hip-hop so effective, however, isn’t any kind of obvious messaging, or an attempt at allegory. It’s that you don't have to read it in any particular way.

The result is a record that’s more cinematic, darker, louder, heavier and harder than anything we’ve heard from them before today, and frankly, I’m here for it.

A Wave That Will Never Break is a nearly flawless comeback for WU LYF. The variation between the tracks and the pure emotion shown throughout has me asking why it took them so damn long to make another album and why they split in the first place after their classic debut, but it also proves that the band still has plenty left in the tank.

It's a righting of the ship back to the quality control we've come to expect from the Raveonettes but nevertheless still an accomplished retread of a formula, nothing more.

And through the tragedy, what remains, this testament, is a spiraling exercise in gorgeous music, a record knee deep in that subtle legend, but ankle up a collection of tunes as haunting and surreal as the personas and events that surrounded it.

There's nothing wrong with writing four-minute protest songs that relish in the best of their psychedelic influences, but it'll be when Portugal. The Man really unshackle themselves and start writing what they do best that they will establish themselves as a band on par with their forebears.

Weather Systems should be considered another milestone for Anathema because it is most certainly an improvement on everything they've been working towards, but in all the commotion and attention to the minute details the band may have lost sight of the bigger picture, leaving everything just a bit too sterile and formulaic to truly be considered anything more than excellent.

Her best effort yet.

Despite the similarities, there’s actually a few brief moments in The Floodlight Collective where Pundt one-ups the band he derivates from, but there’s unfortunately as many that are boring enough to negate any previous triumph.

Overall, Still Sucks transfers over the energy and fun from its predecessor, but at just over thirty minutes in length, they were left with very little room for errors, and unfortunately here, there are some pretty glaring ones. ... But if nothing else, it’s a decent addition to their discography.

Evan and co have set out on, their latest foray into the thicket may well be their most patient and under-dramatic to date. Organic and breathable are its tunes, blooming in real time with warm swirling arpeggios (Iodine) and the spindly swaying of oak and pine (Habitat).

The Great American Bar Scene sees Bryan once again settle into something of a familiar groove. He tries throwing John Mayer and Bruce Springsteen features into the mix, but the results are ultimately the same: more slow-to-mid tempo country crooners with results-may-vary emotional resonance. The album is unsurprisingly at its best when Bryan injects fresh ideas and more energy into his formulaic approach.

When contrasted with the tide of other like-minded electronic albums released recently, Simian Mobile Disco’s effort feels fresh and vibrant and with an execution that consistently delivers on simple but fascinating ideas.

There’s a light to guide Ólafur Arnalds’ music now, and it's allowing him to escape the darkness in a way he'd never quite imagined.

Lo Moon isn’t afraid to step outside of its comfort zone, and it’s a big reason why the album feels like such a distinct triumph over the genre’s familiar tendencies and tropes.

This is not the first time the band has wiped the slate clean, but they’ve never sounded as focused or purposeful as they do right here and now. Tidal Wave may sound like a transition, but it feels like a resounding statement.

Riceboy Sleeps isn't quite awful; on the contrary, there is enough warmth and prettiness to give the record some value. But by the same token, it's certainly not fantastic either, and therein lies the great problem with the whole project.

Uptown Special’s greatest attribute, then, is that it could have been a hit in any decade, a slyly running commentary on the fluidity of modern pop music but one that never fails to forget what the people really want: to dance, dumb and delirious, and forget.

It’s still a well-produced record that plods along with a rustic charm and the occasional hook, but anyone who has followed Morby throughout his career knows he could be an icon in the modern indie-folk scene. Since 2017, however, it’s been a collage of pretty, forgettable albums. As it stands, Kevin Morby is as Kevin Morby does.

The Now Now feels shockingly complete.

Wave is texturally and aesthetically jaw-dropping, perfected by an artist who clearly took his time accentuating the beauty and sadness of every moment.

It’s encouraging to see Thrice so keen to play with different palettes at this point in their career, and they clearly have enough of their old touch left to make those critical moments count. However, if Horizons / East really represents a new dawn for the band, one can only hope that its rays penetrate a little further across its recently confirmed sequel.

There are a lot of great ideas, but those ideas don’t necessarily translate into greatness, largely because the album feels a bit drowned in its own creative progression. .... I can say, however, that tThere are a lot of individual moments on Radical Optimism that are lovely to listen to, and—despite my qualms—it’s definitely worth a spin.

In its very best moments, to me, Paracosm works as a stunning reminder as to why, perhaps, some of us find chillwave to be so uniquely addictive and therefore worth segregating from other forms of music: it’s a celebration of life, and a bitter reminder that our best days may have long passed us by.

With Resistance is Futile, they’ve finally caught up with their own reality and decided to produce the one album they never made; a serviceable rock album.

It doesn’t necessarily feel as tattered or heart-on-sleeve as the group’s earlier works, but it’s also far more entertaining. You Know I’m Not Going Anywhere is a breakthrough for The Disctricts, and it’s already one of the best albums to be released this year.

Frankly, Mercer’s unfiltered production makes Heartworms an exhausting listen.

All We Grow is still a remarkable debut, a perfect companion for these upcoming leafy fall months, and a huge indication of really good things to come.

Gemini, Her Majesty easily manifests as the album you expect and deserve from a group of consummate pros like the Rx Bandits.

Slightly more reserved (nothing on the record quite reaches the energy of "When I Write My Master's Thesis"), it is nevertheless capable of things a Weakerthans record might not always be.

It’s a credit to Cults that Static is such an enticing initial listen; no one now is pulling the retro Spector treatment with as much stylistic confidence as they are. Over time, though, Static becomes more of the same, that doomed relationship that your friend just won’t get over.

Meet the new Rush, same as the old Rush....and as it turns out after all these years that's a pretty good thing.

The result is far from flawless, but Clues sparkles in the rough.

All that needs to be said is that C I V I L W A R was well worth the wait.

By sheer strength of will the band has salvaged an album that could have just been a derivative mess and created something pretty damn good in the process, and for that brand new eyes should be praised while we await something even greater from these boys (and girl).

What we’re left with is a somewhat novel approach that’s bolstered by improved songwriting, but ruined by a sheer lack of direction--or anything interesting to say.

The Hazards of Love is shockingly good.

It’d be a disservice, though, to dismiss the album (or, even, embrace it) as nothing more than mindless fun. Save for penultimate ‘Stacking Chairs’—a satisfying synthesis of the band’s two modes—most of the singles are buried toward its beginning. Left open is a space for much tenderer moments.

Tissues is occasionally uninviting in its austerity, but it makes up for this by being so easy to follow; it’s intuitive enough that it doesn’t have to be ‘deep’, but at the same time, it’s too fleshed out to be shallow. If Daijing is still taking that ocean bath, she’s no longer treading water.

It's still a decent addition to Atmosphere's discography, but if you're expecting something on the level of GodLovesUgly or When Life Gives You Lemons..., you may want to look elsewhere first.

The album's production is without needless fanfare and benefits from it immensely. It allows the weighty three-piece to shine without trickery.

In the end, The Brian Jonestown Massacre isn’t among the band’s top 3, most accomplished efforts, however, it represents very well the gist of their sound. Moreover, it is one of their most consistent and cohesive LPs, offering something for most fans out there.

That’s the biggest problem with Station: it’s not a bad record, it just tries to be too “gargantuan” for its own good.

Kane may have been better served to load up on his under-rated guitar nous, which too fleetingly beguiles on this ultimately promising solo offering.

The album truly is beautiful within its down tempo setting, and as a soundtrack for the morning after, there’s nothing quite like keeping the lights off and the volume low and simply letting Devotion get you through the day.

Tapes is hampered by unimaginative mixing and a serious lull in proceedings at the halfway point.

Copycat Killer is an unexpectedly clumsy release and often fails to spotlight the subtitles that brought its tracklist close to excellence. Its clear attraction is that Bridgers’ gorgeous vocals are more prominent here than on the original version, but this is cancelled out by how awkwardly the string pairing tends to clash with her performance.