Even though Farm may be the album we (should have) expected from Dinosaur Jr., it is still an excellent record that offers a variety of different qualities, while remaining as much fun to listen to as they have ever been.

it’s an excellent change of pace for the band, and proves that they can indeed write spacey, esoteric mid-tempo songs instead of...well...spacey, esoteric breakneck songs.

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

Unfortunately, Beacons Of Ancestorship may leave listeners concussed; as there are only a handful of memorable musical fragments.

Basically, Black Clouds & Silver Linings is an album that continues the band’s increased use of metal riffs combined with extended musical interludes but also brings in strong compositional skills that give the songs the kind of consistency they require in order to be truly memorable and engaging.

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

Its faults are minimal, though its highs are somewhat indistinguishable. In the end, you're left with a wash of mid-paced, hook-laden and relatively solid post-post-hardcore.

When an emcee sounds interrupted or unbalanced by the guitar and most of the music appears to be ripped from a bedroom jam session, it’s painfully obvious; Street Sweeper Social Club would better benefit society by performing said namesake operation.

Guns is a fun album, made for fun people, but that doesn’t mean that instants of awkwardness don’t result.

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

The Eternal is simply just another confirmation that Sonic Youth is one of the most essential---if not the most essential---indie collectives of the past thirty years.

The Ecstatic is solid from front to back, but it's not always entirely cohesive. The production is uniquely executed, with the beats often focusing more on sample placement than drums and bass, but it's this lack of a low-end that sometimes makes your head nod in backwards directions.

The most important takeaway when listening to The Pariah, the Parrot, the Delusion is that however centaurian the album as a whole may be, Dredg are a truly special group.

While any change from that tired normality is appreciated, it’s disappointing that so much of this is mediocre, that so much of this imitative, that so much of this is overblown, and etc.

New Again feels focused and sure; the band sounds confident despite yet another lineup change.

Similar to UGK's "4 Life" earlier this year Dilla's friends, family, and admirers have created a(nother) great tribute to one of hip-hop's great.

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

At fifty minutes long, and without a single climax, Arrivals becomes exhausting in its maturity, composure and homogeneity. And while it is a great album to chill, think and lose yourself in, it doesn’t seem to shed much warmth, much emotion.

I suppose you could say that’s what wrong with Relapse, it is almost completely non-sequitor, with no real lyrical substance until the last half of the album....Relapse sucks.

Abnormally Attracted to Sin is, by quite some distance, her weakest album yet.

Essentially, Still Night, Still Life is a fun, carefree listen and doesn't pretend to be anything more. As an added bonus, it's also a clear improvement over the band's past works as well.

Back on My B.S. disappoints regardless, making it a point of no contest that the Busta Rhymes of old is gone forever.

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

It is overbearing, pretentious, huge, and begrudgingly catchy, but most importantly, it unveils a band without direction.

Using Shallow and Waterworks as benchmarks, this doesn't even come close; it's glaringly obvious that the addition of a third member has wreaked havoc on the formula.

Between the organic and artificial sounds found in Actor, St. Vincent’s voice melts the two clashing styles into a divinely pleasurable experience.

Outer South is too long, too uninteresting, and too uninspired to be anything better than not good at all.

Despite all of these positives, and no real negatives to be found, Set ‘Em Wild, Set ‘Em Free isn’t quite a perfect work--it’s much too clunky, much too unorganized to be considered as such--but it’s a considerable record, one that’s sure to remain a highlight of this decade’s final chapter and afterwards.

To attempt to rank Wavering Radiant within the Isis discography is to miss this point. Fans of earlier releases will likely be disappointed but if this record proves anything, it's that Isis are a fully-functioning organism, slowly moving towards something not yet known by the listener and perhaps not even the band themselves.

The album is pure homogeneous shitheap of stream-of-consciousness turgidity nonsense that strives to be different and to take you “somewhere else” but in the end really just ends up being hilariously bad and hilariously derivative of his past work and despite the frequent “so-weird-it’s-almost-cool” moments it still just plain sucks hardcore.

Insides is a thrilling, addictive, at times breathtaking piece of electronica and is sure to make Hopkins into a name more renown than just ‘Coldplay’s co-producer’, but here’s hoping that with his next effort he can focus a little more on stirring the heart and a little less on shocking the head.

It's a shame that the album fails to hit, and in some ways, it's also a shame that it's not terrible, either.

Shockingly good but reassuringly gimmick-free, The Devil You Know is not only the best Dio or Sabbath release in over a decade but a front-runner for heavy metal album of the year.

What's really impressive: this is intelligent enough to satisfy the conscious-cats with enough inspiring socio-political discussion (see Gina Loring's "Poetic Greed"), poppy enough for the club with some hype-generating hooks, and ideal for a 45-minute workout.

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.

Listen to the guest performances if you dare; just tune out the pedestrian rapping.

Mean Everything to Nothing is an excellent record, but no better or worse than its predecessor. It’s just different.

At the end of the day, this album might not be what the change-resistant fans wanted to hear but it was necessary and more importantly, they pull it off quite well.

Fantasies is not only a top notch record that effectively picks up where Metric left off at "Live it Out," but with a sense of genuineness that some of the band's contemporaries have lost.

It's intimate, accessible, and--Pumpkins comparisons aside--fairly unique in today's scene. What more could one ask for?

Simply put, Two Fingers is pretty much everything that anyone with an interest in clubtronica has been waiting for.

Two Suns then is everything it could have been--a worthy follow up to Bat For Lashes’ Mercury nominated Fur & Gold... and so much more. Here and now, take a trip, you just may come out enchanted.

Without hyperbole, it is one of the most fun, vibrant, rewarding, intelligently structured pop records to shimmy through these parts in quite some time, taking cues from whichever electro-punk-pop-DIY-indie-sludge-rock hybrid 21-year-old Londoner Mica Levi fell in love with when she was 14.

For better or for worse--you'll like it because of the music it reminds you of, but you won't love it for exactly the same reason.

Repo isn't a bad record, but it's certainly the least fresh and consistent one I can remember Black Dice releasing and both of those traits are a big deal with 'difficult' music like this.

It's Blitz will probably date badly and, despite clearly being better than "Fever To Tell," it probably won't be remembered by as many people, or as fondly by those people. Regardless, it IS a great album, and one that's come completely out of leftfield as far as its style and its depth goes.

Excessive, sexual, and catchy, UGK has crafted the most definitive template for the southern rap record. Sadly, it'll be their last.

Black Cascade should be taken for what it is: fodder for the band's increasingly heralded live show and, at its simplest, a strong output in an increasingly stagnant, attention craved US black metal scene.

A couple of 50 year olds have just made the most vibrant, youthful record you'll hear all year. What's not to love?

Deacon nips the synthetics that allowed Spidermanâ??s sandpaper production to grate, opting instead for smoothly textured layers, a trick that strengthens a brilliantly executed dance album into dramatically structured art.

The Hazards of Love is shockingly good.

For metal devotees seeking heaviness and shred paired with otherworldly curio, Crack the Skye is the be all and end all, but for anybody without a Celtic Frost tattoo, do not follow "the wise man's staff / Encased in crystal."

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.

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.

Fist of God is very much in step with all the party rage of every other club track album that’s been released in the last year or so--and that’s exactly its problem.

Along with fellow Georgia natives Mastodon, Kylesa have crafted one of the metal albums to beat this year.

Not Without a Fight lacks the kind of hooks, fun riffs, and sing-along choruses that made the band famous and it also lacks the solid song writing that helped their last album not become a horrible failure.

Kasher still embraces his flaws and while that may not work to the record's advantage when it does Cursive hits hard as ever.

All in all, An Imaginary Country is probably Tim Hecker's most accessible album. In a way, the record bridges together the elements heard on previous albums, only without regurgitating old ideas.

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.

For all the criticisms Nelson may endure for not branching out or over relying on minimalism, White Bird Release does provide a certain thrill.

In the grand scheme of things, I’m taken aback on how Thursday can still manage to spark my interest with each new album. Just when Thursday seems to stir in unfamiliar, unwanted territory, they manage to find a way to make it happen.

Hush not only breaks down new barriers for the band, but more importantly, is just a pleasure to listen to.

Havilah will remain as yet another great record from one of the most talented acts currently playing rock music.

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.

While pacing proves to be the record’s ultimate strength, Sagarmatha simply doesn’t say enough to be a real force.

Their self-titled LP is diaphanous and elusive, but leaves the listener deeply moved nonetheless.

While it's hardly a pop renaissance, It's Not Me, It's You is an appropriate follow-up to a debut that peaked not only because of its musical merits but also because of it's cultural catalysts.

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.

It will be bettered, as surely as night follows day, but there might not be another album released in the next 12 months that offers the same delirious, sugar-coated enjoyment, let alone one that matches it with Kapranos' casually whip-smart lyrics.

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.

The notable tracks certainly makes this far away from a failure and the record as a whole is yet another solid presentation of Frusciante's unique take on his own solo career.

Merriweather Post Pavilion is heartbreaking and heartwarming, and you can either disregard what is one of the most pleasing, enjoyably rich and rewarding releases of the past decade or you can rally with the rest of us, and clap, and sing, and blare it through the earphones on your iPod because we are still all the things outside of us.

If you were one of the many that loved "I Am A Bird Now" when it was released, then you'll undoubtedly enjoy this just as much.

With Noble Beast, time stands still for a brief moment until a song eventually hits a certain plateau, but sometimes that plateau can be too distant.

The Golden Medallion will “click” better for those that can find bits of themselves between the lines, but Fight Like Apes have crafted a fine pop album in their own right.

Musically, this is a very good record, one that might have been worth as much as a 4.5 with a different vocalist.

Universal Mind Control is offensively bad.

Circus is a top-rate pop album that, with a little bit of justice, will be afforded the same sort of longevity as her brilliant early singles.

At once a thorough progression of style, a blisteringly catchy indie pop record, a more accomplished indie rock record, and finally, a wordier but far heftier slice-of-life ode to being young and younger-than-you-feel (oh, love), We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed follows up on a promise and then some.

Kanye West’s fourth album 808s and Heartbreak follows the crowd rather than leads it. Where he steps, the footprints of T-Pain are readily visible. His use of auto-tune throughout the album is heavy, and in songs like Heartless and Love Lockdown its use is appealing.

It is a hodgepodge of stupid ideas that one will either find brilliant or, well, stupid. However, it is hard to deny that it is a pop album of massive ambition and yet, suffers from none of the pretentiousness that plagues most of the Killers contemporaries in that aspect.

Chinese Democracy is comfortably the most consistent record the band have put out since "Appetite For Destruction," and proof the ginger midget can put out genuinely great rock music without the blonde giant and the black guy.

There’s no question about which side of the disc is the more interesting- sleaze beats manufactured sentiment any day--but ultimately it’s the country half that most people will pay attention to, and to that end there is very little to actively criticise.

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.

The New Game signifies Mudvayne's transition from elite metal juggernaut to their inevitable fade into obscurity.

Sycamore Meadows is an album that was born from heartache, and it’s on its saddest and most visceral numbers that the album truly shines, and perhaps gives some validity to that old lie about art.

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.

The band sounds like they're simply trying too hard to keep up with their more contemporaries, and it shows; the song writing is poorly executed, the syrupy hooks are, for the most part, dull and unimaginative, and the band fails to cover any ground it already hasn't before.

For an album called Out of Control, it's astonishing just how bland and devoid of personality or expression this is.

Intimacy, as an album, is hit-or-miss.

Overall, 4:13 Dream is an extremely consistent album throughout its runtime.

There is just about enough top quality pop music on offer to ensure Snow Patrol’s star continues to grow on the world stage but, worryingly, A Hundred Million Suns is another middling affair from a by-now-mature pop act, and now might be the time to ask why.

But for all the praise it should receive for being the record Deerhunter were destined to make, what will make Microcastle a classic (and this has every right to become a classic) is what the album means to the person listening.

The Fame isn’t a defining moment in pop culture, but it is a promising sign for Lady GaGa, with plenty to dance to.

Symphonic elements always have potential in music, but often are ruined by the execution and this album is no exception. Cradle of Filth fall into the trap of using them as a replacement for actual songwriting, relying on the symphonic arrangements to cover up their lack of talent. It doesn't work, especially because the arrangements themselves aren't too interesting in the first place.

Black Milk has simply made a completely unique statement in what is typically a pretty stale genre, and with Tronic he has confirmed his status as one of the best.

Skeletal Lamping lacks a satisfactory, uh, idea. None are progressed, thoroughly provoked, just simply thrown out the speakers in hopes that we are transfixed by its oh-so literal translation of Barnes’ Georgie Fruit act.