Time will tell if "Cosmogramma" is the most definitive moment of his career, but at this point it seems the realm of electronic music is open for Flying Lotus to be the next big visionary of his genre.

Koi No Yokan is a passable alt-rock/metal album by a band that is capable of much more.

Little Wide Open certainly isn’t grandiose or over the top, but it does feel like most of his best material settled into one place here. It possesses all the marks of a year-defining folk/Americana release – and while I’ll stop short of calling it an instant classic, I do think time will be kind to this album.

It's the construction of it all that's so perfect: that the music can follow, this time, but still be what Grizzly Bear are all about.

The sum total of their 2022 opus is a straight upgrade to SOUL GLO’s already brilliant back catalog, bursting with scorching new takes on old ideas and enough spirit and passion to set the entire scene ablaze.

Together is a finely-crafted work which should hold up to listening under widely varied circumstances, likely to feel as much at home amid the windswept, skeletal trees of late autumn as on the porch on a humid summer evening. All told, there’s plenty to rejoice about, the sad boys are back in town.

By listening to What Does It All Mean?, you're giving yourself a vital history lesson, a blast of fun, and above all, some 130 minutes of fantastic music.

The result is a record that's immediately familiar yet inventive, funky, fun, and always impressive.

A delicately-crafted work fusing experimentalism and sheer sonic beauty, A Light For Attracting Attention stands proudly on its own merits as a top-tier piece of art rock, connections to a certain critically and publicly acclaimed band aside.

It's a scarily mature album for a bunch of 21 year olds to have recorded, and the pairing of its ambitious lyrical concepts and motivated songwriting is something to be admired.

It's hard to slate Harps and Angels too much, because the music is actually quite good in places and it's nowhere near bad enough to be a chore to listen to.

There's a density to these tracks that belie the airy, simple nature they seem to suggest and it's this quality that gives them such life beyond the initial listens. Through his channeling of other artists imaginings, Sam Amidon is earning himself a place in the folk world that's genuinely his own.

A work of sheer hip-hop utility and performance.

Realistically, Ta13oo is extremely satisfying from a consumption standpoint. It’s everything I’d want from a rap album this year.

Following the explosive opening, there are a fair few standout tracks and moments in the likes of "Chasing the Drum" and "Tioga Pass", but the stylings and influences begin to blur together into something of an easy-listening haze, the sequencing becomes a bit stop-start, and momentum flags.

If Alligator was The National's first masterpiece then Boxer is surely their second, a 12-song journey that thoroughly exemplifies everything that a modern rock band should be capable of.

Every loop [of "Nowhere2go"] reveals another layer to the undulating beat, but for the first time thus far it's Earl taking the spotlight, rising above the track with a tired yet hopeful rap that's so melodic he's nearly singing. And in case you were worried the boy wouldn't spit, it's followed quickly by "December 24", a song dating back years under the name "Bad Acid" which provides the strongest link to the more aggressive and conventional early 2010s Earl.

It would have been easy to expect the music to sound heavy, even morose, following such tragedy. But some of the deepest wellsprings of renewal come from places of profound loss, and The Mountain proves it. This is a rejuvenating record. A healing record. One that finds light without pretending the dark isn’t there.

Fortunately that art is unbelievably fucking dope, and that's mostly because of the significant drawcard of this production: the production. ... There is a level of hip-hop reflexivity here that I haven't heard since RTJ4.

It’s an album whose memory is firmly planted in this world forever, and one that will haunt you long after it’s done.

Each of Hecker's layers are shards, something incomplete, but with just enough shards, a fragmented, disturbed image is formed, and that is the result of Ravedeath, 1972.

Because it's not composed of hundreds to thousands of samples like the others, each piece has to stand out on its own. The elements are no less meaningful, just larger. It takes a skilled hand to make any mosaic, whether you're working with large tiles or tiny pieces of paper.

There are minor exceptions here – the wondrous flourishes of opener "COLORATURA", the lilting inflections Aoba rides on "Luciférine", the aching nostalgia of the centrepiece "FLAG" (for my money, the one true Aoba classic here in every sense of the word) – but you'll be hard-pressed to find a record so full of subtle details that puts so little emphasis on the spectacle of individual moments, that drifts so freely within itself.

There’s all the verve and naked empathy of the best of his classic rock forebears, with none of the bombast or contrivances. Lost in the Dream is a long record, to be sure, yet it never overstays its welcome.

Although this is just his first album, I’m starting to think that in a few years nobody will need to drop a bevy of famous names in order to incite fervour for his music.

The results are daring, but she’s succeeded in making the best pop album of 2021, thus far.

If Ummon felt like floating adrift in space while cosmic rays fried your soul, Ilion is the transition to a plane of existence beyond the cosmos. Ilion doesn’t exist in this universe anymore, and neither do you.

The first album in a series of three (all with the same title, differing only in capitalizations) BLACKsummers'night isn't just the soul album of the year, but also a top-tier addition to the canon of a once-fizzling scene.

The record isn’t immediately absurd, but rather keeps its composure and subtly turns convention on its head with a smile.

What she’s crafted here is a breezy, personal portrait of her life through finely orchestrated folk tunes--and it's nothing short of a stunning debut.

While Meiburg's voice, charisma, and songwriting dominate this album, his backing band does a fantastic job of growing and falling, creating the dramatic effects he envisioned.

This split is a nice mix of an old band showing they can still play with the best of them and a band that's still trying to figure out just who they want to be.

One certainly shouldn’t turn to Weather Alive when looking to jam out hard, but for a cohesive batch of wistful mood pieces, look no further.

This record is definitely a step in the right direction and has some of their most refined and exciting tunes to date. It doesn’t dethrone shutdown.exe, but its ambitions and consistency make it an excellent entry, with fans sure to lap it up.

Simon’s thirteenth studio album is as fresh and relevant as anything currently being mass-consumed by the market, and the things it forces you to think about are far more important than most of the topics that are being fed to us by the industry.

There’s not much else to say that you shouldn’t already know: thick, melodic and endearing, Life...The Best Game in Town is essential listening.

Morbid Stuff is a worthy follow up to The Dream Is Over in all the right ways--giving fans everything they asked for with some amusing curveballs. It’s a complete thrill from front to back that manages to retain the band’s whacky nature while making some inspiring progressions forward. You can't get much closer to a modern punk classic than this.

Once again, Kate's found a new sound world to operate in and made an effortlessly great album that works both as a conceptually cohesive whole and as a set of standlone songs as warm and comforting as a roaring fire.

Ultimately, it feels massive in scope and is consistently engrossing, with enough new tricks to forecast a bright future for the experimental metal legends.

Patience is the key to the evolution of Glass, using tonal shifts and ghostly textures to compliment the improvisational mastery we are bearing witness to, whether or not it becomes something much more ghastly than beautiful.

Whether they burn out sooner or stick around long enough to become cult heroes, 45 Pounds is the kind of record that will leave a mark—on your eardrums, on your nerves, on your ability to process sound in a rational manner.

The listening experience is defined by languorous stretches between big moments, and becomes more of an exercise in patience than an engaging and enlivening journey. If it were more cohesive, more palpably moving in a musical sense, had less fat to trim, I could see myself fawning over Mr. Morale & The Big Steppers in fanboyish frenzy. As it stands, I think that in another five years I'll be wading back through this flawed masterpiece.

Brilliant.

As a piece of esoteric yet engrossing art, I Inside The Old Year Dying marks one of Harvey’s finest creations yet.

True to both character and the album’s palette it may be, but it’s far from her strongest statement and fails to carry a set of songs that all too often need a push in the right direction.

Brockhampton's simplest album, a choose-your-own-adventure funhouse where the experience is as hilarious or as touching as the mindset you go in with.

Drive to Goldenhammer is a smashing success because it never lets these inspirations get in the way of actually feeling inspired. With a lot of bands, a debut can often feel like watching a weathervane settle in a direction; but with Divorce, it feels like they could go anywhere they want to go.

There are plenty of immediately-engrossing moments, like the dramatic vocal narration of “The Stars Will Leave Their Stage” or the rousing solo in “A Thousand Lives”, but mostly what I return for is the sense of development within songs and from one track to another. This is an album which manages to cover a lot of territory in under fifty minutes, even if the brief intro and outro tracks don’t feel fully fleshed out (my largest criticism).

Any which way I look at it, I see in its 45 minutes all the signs of a true classic, an album whose daring attitude and commitment to odd sonic luxuries future emissaries of the great tradition of experimental hip-hop music should only hope to emulate.

Sleep Well Beast sees The National flourish with candid lyrics and diverse song craft, embodying the band’s continuing evolution and life’s constant change.

While not without its songwriting inconsistencies, The Enduring Spirit has the supreme merit of forging ahead and exploring new prog(ish) territory, unafraid to take risks or sow distrust and confusion among the more conservative fanbase.

By the time of the album’s last lines are delivered, I never feel like I’m left unscathed. The Fool is a record filled with a sense of intensity, an almost unnerving feeling that its creator had a lot to say that simply had to get out. Whether it’s any good is for you to decide, but love it or hate it, I think you’ll feel something.

I See You is a pleasant enough listen, and in embracing Smith’s more hot-blooded production, the xx have avoided becoming stuck in a rut a second time. Yet like Sim and Madley-Croft in song after song, I See You still leaves me wanting something undefined: something more.

For lack of a better word, it’s dull. The subtext of this record is rich for those firmly invested in Swift’s personal narratives but, perhaps for the first time, outright irrelevant for anyone else.

Ordinary Corrupt Human Love sets itself apart from previous Deafheaven releases by connecting the listener to the kind of core-of-your-soul burn that can only come from the pain of failed connection with another human being.

So it comes as no surprise that the harmonic progression does not cadence as the listener might expect; the ear wants one more chord, but Pecknold and his backup singers simply end. There's nothing more to say.

As The Stars is an album for the wide black metal audience, because it shows how bands don’t always have to choose a side and then put up blinders to the world around them. Things can be integrated, but only insofar as the breadth of a band’s musical vision and their talent in transcribing that vision into their songwriting. Woods of Desolation are more than adept at both.

Model Citizen is absolutely straightforward and all the better for it, even if its second half can't quite live up to the relentless good vibes of "Brighter Days (Are Before Us)" or heavier banger "Mapped Out".

Despite its searching, Hannah exudes a qualified, though not-at-all-false confidence.

I feel like I can whittle away my days listening to this album and only this album for the rest of my life, and never have to feel anything except what this album makes me feel. Which is to say, everything.

It is a ferocious and captivating listen that twists and turns through the deepest darkest depths all the while pushing forward into new sonic territory.

There is both a braggadocios confidence and an honest humility across all of If My Wife New I’d be Dead, a masterfully created dichotomy that is at the center of everything that CMAT creates.

Autofiction manages to be both raw and cinematic, dangerous and beautiful. Put more simply, it’s an excellent rock album.

Veckatimest works like a cash-back bonus, the more you give in to it, the grander the return.

In short, it’s a shining example of personal and musical growth. There’s something to be said for toeing the line between fervent experimentation and enjoyable song craft; here, Let’s Eat Grandma walk it effortlessly.

My Method Actor is very likely an aimless sandbox, one which leads to some very cool songs, and others there's no chance we'll remember once we're eight albums deep into Nilüfer Yanya's career.

Skinty Fia won't tell you much about whether that vein of insecurity that runs below the band's surface level of confidence can fuel good art indefinitely; in its best moments, though, it may make you want to hear the band crack open that ground and let their strangest selves out completely.

Bitte Orca is an unorthodox listen; racking your brain and melting your heart all in the same instant, and that is something to appreciate.

Devotion does something remarkable in making the universal--love, heartbreak, and yes, devotion--feel specific, simply because Jessie Ware doesn't sound like she's lying.

Animaru is as gorgeous as can be, and undeniably triumphant as a debut. Mei’s music has all the exuberance of a sprint imbued with the mindfulness of sitting with your eyes closed; it fits just about every occasion. “There’s something I like about it” indeed.

The lyrics might not always make linear sense, but there’s a sort of appealingly weird logic to it all, and the musical soundscapes invite the listener towards some (often placid) alternate dimension. This may be a mood listen, more than anything, but as a soundtrack to a relaxed moment on a sunny day, you could do a whole lot worse.

This album is the first work by Kishi Bashi that feels like a mission, and it’s that same sense of purpose that drives Omoiyari to be the most beautiful and impactful piece of his catalogue.

The execution on Synchro Anarchy is often crazed and thrilling. Other than some brief, but ominous doom-inspired guitar sections in “Mind Clock,” it’s a nonstop thrill ride.

It's a shade better than Send Away The Tigers, itself heralded as a return to form, and in a year that hasn't really been anything special so far for straight-ahead rock, this is a standout.

A higher level of ambition and a confident balance of the various changes in tone is felt all over the record. While not all of the flaws from the new Opeth are gone, the band are giving their full effort and showing off how creative they have always been, and still are without doubt. Renewed inspiration and a fine balance between the dark and light sides of Opeth’s music make In Cauda Venenum their best work since Heritage.

In the end, Fucked Up aren't nearly as good as Refused were thought to be, but hey, Refused aren't even as good as they were supposed to be, so Fucked Up may yet be remembered as revolutionary.

Every song on IDKNWTHT is strong on its own merit, but when digested as a whole, the album is overwhelming in the best kind of way that stirs the soul.

While the 80s are a well-trodden playground, Girl with No Face proves there are infinite ways to make old ideas new by contrasting them with the now.

The Airing Of Grievances is not about anything so much as it is for everything--the beauty of life, the tragedy of life wasted, the looming of death and the desire to go out having lived fully--no, it is not about those things at all, it is for those things, it is a collection of songs written as odes to the gritty and the beautiful and the mixing of the two: our world, our sick world.

Balanced on the bleeding edge of Yeule’s morbid visions, Glitch Princess practically crackles with vitality and affirmation in their desperate, unadulterated, damaged, awkward willingness to show all and be heard. Does that make it inspiring or depressing? I don’t care. It’s the most meaningful music I’ve heard in years.

With Heaven :x: Hell, what Sum 41 has given us is a true grand finale, and it's one worth reveling in.

Pure Comedy is definitively a headphone album; where I Love You, Honeybear made you swoon with its overt eclecticism, the gems here need to be unearthed after a few excavations. The album’s pacing does not help matters, burdened with a middle section that dares you to fall asleep and counts on a deep love of Tillman’s voice.

While Elemental isn't quite on par with their earlier material (more than a few tracks here are simply nothing more than feedback loops, as if the group were deliberately trying to sound scary instead of just simply being scary), as a whole package it's still a genuinely disturbing yet fascinating experience from two men truly caught up in a dialogue that only they seem to be able to hear.

In its most proficient moments, Older is heartbreaking, raw, confessional, melodically ethereal, and outright fun in flashes. These moments definitely outnumber the record’s more unfocused offerings.

Home Video is a vibrant, unsparing celebration of life's many chapters and what it means to be human: flaws, doubts and all.

It feels strange yet familiar, rather comforting and welcoming while also showing the artist being peacefully exalted about it. Some will need a tunneling machine to get to them, and some other will do with a spoon, but there's treasure to be found in the heart of Fossora, and if willpower is not enough to help you find them, mushrooms will surely help.

The radical optimist in me wants to commend Magdalena Bay for channelling their myriad inspirations without referential pussyfooting, but they play their theoretically dazzling palette so straight, with such frictionless segues that the bulk of its tracklist pans out as one proverbial thing after another.

Lonely People With Power is a masterpiece that turns Deafheaven’s story on its head, leaving greyed out charcoal marks where Sunbather was once penciled in. In fact, declaring it the band’s best work is probably the least interesting thing you could say about the album when there is so much thematic resonance to latch onto and seemingly endless points of musical intrigue packed into this dense of a package that will only continue to reveal itself in time.