What ultimately hits hardest is the aesthetic singularity of everything here.

ILYSM explores memories and how to process them in the here and now, while also being a record I expect to be remembered for a long time. It’s Wild Pink’s crowning achievement as a band.

With few exceptions, Ascension is channeled into one energy level, despite the variety of sounds. It’s busy lethargy: too hive-like to be soothing, too sedated to be invigorating.

The record’s stylistically confused (and confusing) bookends prevent the project from being a straight dream pop homerun. Nonetheless, the bulk of The Last Thing Left is essential summer listening: don’t overthink it, just enjoy the vibes.

Icky Thump, despite the presence of some simply insane over-indulgence, is a great album.

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.

Bloodsports is the sound of a band who have rested, recouped and clawed back some of that old time vitality.

Despite the minor grievances and sore-thumb songs, and the fact that it's unreasonable to compare this record to its near-flawless predecessor, I Liked It Better When You Have No Heart is a sterling addition to Butch Walker's celebrated discography.

The relative polish on 13" Frank Beltrame Italian Stiletto with Bison Horn Grips doesn’t conceal its edge.

Fortitude may not have the charisma and power of previous releases, nor does it have the ability to take us to Sirius, yet its joyful, all-encompassing spirit unveils a new creative cycle that deserves our full attention.

It’s Ben Howard doubling down on ambiance, creating a collage of moments both fleeting and everlasting while choosing the art of the craft over the simplest path to accolades. It may take more time to appreciate, but it’s a masterclass of songwriting that will likely dictate the future direction of his music.

It’s a wake-up call to those of us who are able to see the irony in the album’s name and how it conflicts with the panicked and desperate lyrics that exist at every turn.

Despite the similarities, the record does not fall in The Soft Bulletin’s shadow. It is definitely the work of a veteran act that learned how to evolve their sound and incorporate the past into it too. Luckily, they have reached another high point in their volatile career, continuing to move forward.

But really, it's Kozelek's voice in all its imperfect glory that makes April (and indeed all of his other work) as wonderful as it is.

Essentially, this is an album aimed at everyone – which could explain why it’s so long and inconsistent – and while For Those That Wish to Exist is far from perfect, I do feel everyone can take some good things away from it.

CHAOS NOW*? Boasting highly energetic rap/hip-hop, acoustically-driven indie-rock, grunge with stadium-sized riffs, and melodic hooks that will invade your mind for days, CHAOS NOW* seemingly has it all. Despite sounding as though it could be too eclectic for its own good, Dawson seamlessly integrates all of these styles into something dynamic and insanely fun.

Every member audibly leveled up with each LP and Formal Growth in the Desert again takes it up a notch. There are bits of everything the quartet crafted so far and more, all incorporated into a cohesive and intense narrative. As the instrumentals become more evocative, so does the storytelling.

Dedicated fans of The Felice Brothers can bask in another strong batch of songs, while newcomers may look to this as a gateway to the group's very best material. Either way, Valley is about as worthwhile as b-side compilations come.

This is an album of songs for a big idea before it was shrunken down and packed into the blockbuster money machine, and its well-intentioned attempt at bringing legitimacy to Marvel leaves Lamar and co. alone on a podium, broadcasting their passions through a megaphone to kids who just came to see superheroes do some backflips.

UGLY is a headlong tumble into deep waters, careening sharply off the edges of decency and screaming out for meaning as it goes, arse over teakettle into the unknown. Follow it down if you want, just untie that rope around your waist before you do: this is the kind of fall you take at terminal velocity or not at all.

Listening to something like Thursday is the ultimate form of escapism that so many of us flock to music for. That's a quality that should be celebrated, not criticized for its lack of immediate pleasure.

It’s the sound of the world crumbling from overdoses of exhilaration, and it’s as rowdy and psychotic as we’ll all be in those final moments.

Even with the steam the record loses near its end, its willingness to go for broke seals it as the group’s most thrilling and cohesive record yet.

Patina sounds pristine and good enough to justify its own existence. When the highlight ‘Special’ carefully laces its framework with enough sparkles and ethereal vocal melodies to light up a pitch black sky, it’s hard to feel anything but joy. Tallies make music that, in absence of originality, is of excellent quality.

American Slang is a very subtle step forward from The '59 Sound, conjuring exactly the same thrills from slightly different angles. They're still the archetypal blue-collar all-American rock band given an emotionally sloppy, musically slick post-punk makeover.

The serene aesthetic is undisputedly the selling strength here, but if you’re looking for some of the band’s best creative ideas, you won’t find many of them here. Nevertheless, if you’re wanting a wholesome pop-rock album with plenty of experimentation, you may find a thing or two to like here.

An album like 7 easily sets itself apart from any other record Beach House has recorded thus far; it's far more easier to write it off as a derivative indie album, but to do so would discredit the obvious effort it took to actually record something so different from every other album they've done yet.

It's hard to be overly harsh on the band for getting too hung up on a good thing, even if there's a missing something holding Cartwheel back from knockout excellence. Get your twelve-year-old into it; be your own twelve-year-old to it; ravage yourself on caffeine with it.

Unrelenting, uncompromising, and infinitely catchy, After the Party is a statement album that proves The Menzingers are the best in the business.

The result isn’t moving, per se, but it is at its best affecting and warm (Reach Out, The Pillar of Souls and Cimmerian Shade exemplify the record at its most beautiful, for my money). ... Interestingly, the duo save their best - and their most experimental - until the final two tracks.

LP3 is a house built brick by brick with patient songwriting--lush arrangements that blossom over a lengthy period of time, cultivating in fully fleshed out songs. Where’s LP1’s charm largely came from its high energy and juvenile tone, LP3 is the labor of seasoned musicians.

This is a great record but is very often hit or miss.

In short, The Book of Souls is what every heavy metal fan might want a new Iron Maiden record to be and more.

So good are these songs that you don't realize they're all sort of the same until you've gone through, like, seven of them, and even then it's difficult to fault DIIV for sticking to one sound since they do it so well.

The sound quality is, by all accounts, mediocre, but the raw nature of the music reflects the “one day” aspect of their motto.

Aurally consistent, hauntingly introspective, and beautifully self-reflective in its just-over-a-half-hour duration, Don't Wait Up may not rewrite the hardcore how-to book, but it does showcase how to bow out gracefully, with nearly 20 years' worth of respect earned intact.

Two Hands is a bit less chaotic and more carefully produced than the self-titled album, but offers the same amount of fun.

To the world outside the next thirty-six minutes: I'm sorry, you just don't exist while The Hands are at work. There’s little you can do to break the immersion, and even less you can do to break Andreas Werliin’s stride.

There’s little to fault here in all honesty; it plays everything right and does so with a near flawless execution. Though one could argue it’s a little one-dimensional in terms of almost exclusively working with one style, as I said earlier, it nails the way these songs are presented.

This thing is a beast. If nothing more, We Cater to Cowards has convinced me that I need more of this kind of noisy bullsh*t in my life. After wading through all this thick sludge, at least two showers will be necessary, but I’m in no rush; I’d almost forgotten how much fun it can be to play in the dirt.

The bulk of EVERGREEN does little more than yeeting a distorted riff at you, copy-pasting vocal melodies on top and subsequently repeating a few lines by way of a chorus (and, if you’re lucky, this is the part where Gunn’s vocals get a little grittier, yay!). While this affords the record an inherent sense of cohesion, none of the songs here are particularly memorable or uh, good.

It’s hard not to feel like there could be a little more to Big Sigh, a little more to Hackman. Regardless, there is a lot to be found in this excellent album if you allow it some time, give it some space and, while it may not be as easy as it seems, embrace its familiarity.

Live From The Underground offers nothing game-changing, but is definitely enjoyable (especially on high energy jams like "Yeah Dats Me"), emulating its influences well.

Thankfully, the thrills don't stop with the summer's hit single.

This album is certainly worth checking for those who found something to enjoy on Bonny Light Horseman, and even for those who simply desire a mellow folky listen, but don’t expect anything earth-shattering. Chalk it up as another pretty good effort from a supergroup.

It’s not a reversal of normal Flying Lotus material. We’re still dealing with confusion exemplified as a messy but ultimately rewarding tracklist, fear exemplified as music that is just off enough that it could feel terrifying, depression exemplified as little quirks and late starts scattered like jacks and marbles. The difference is that, for once, he’s not trying to fight it all off.

More than just a pretty acoustic record, Harris, through Grouper, has created a startlingly vivid and brooding shoegaze gem that works in spite of its length and first impressions.

It may not garner the same kind of fond appreciation that fans have for The Mysterious Production of Eggs, or Break It Yourself, but this album is less a niche corner of the folk genre and more an illustrious banner for all to appreciate. In Bird’s vast canon of genre experimentation, there’s room for at least one big time indie-rock record--and this fills those shoes quite well.

Appaloosa Bones demonstrates that Gregory Alan Isakov remains standing as an essential voice in the folk scene.

It’s a triumphant rebirth, pulsating and healing dark energy that feels inspiring and genuine.

Spiral in a Straight Line strives to strike a balance. It’s a collection of great songs, varies in pace, and is recognisably Touché.

It’s a record confident in its own making, even more so when it turns its focus inward.

At its best, the album embodies the curiosity of revisiting audio or video recordings, scanning for oddities which could possibly be the etchings of spirits crossing the veil between worlds. At its worst, Gallarais fools you into thinking its divination has lasting credibility.

The group has expanded its vocabulary and in general made its sound more broad and enjoyable.

The album feels wonderfully grounded as such, and is ideally placed as an ambassador for the open-heartedness, peace, and healing that are as key to new age as its otherworldly mystique.

Unlike previous releases, there is not a dire need to shuffle back a few tracks to listen repetitively, but more of a, 'when I'm in the mood' feeling. No Age are certainly living in the moment, and Everything In Between has a similar retention factor.

Anti-Icon is a concise offering with plenty to offer both fans of Ghostemane and the industrial genre.

There are enough interesting motifs and musical adventuring on Reflektor that the negatives seem inconsequential on the whole.

If you've heard the albums it's drawing its material from, you've already got all of those secrets figured out. Ultimately, that renders this album as a novelty of sorts, a release that should only have a footnote in the story of her career rather than its own chapter.

There's not a weak track here, and on close inspection each song could be singled out as a highlight if debased from the album.

The song is always so compelling, so rich and vibrant, so immaculately layered that in the end it doesn't really matter. Gorguts, as usual, have created a death metal masterpiece.

It is difficult to even listen to individual songs because they flow into each other so well that it feels wrong to skip around. That said, this is her strongest collection of songs yet.

The latest album by indie rock's stalwarts of subtle evolution and refinement will not disappoint those of us who always delighted in their hidden textures and atmospheres as much as barn-burning screamalongs; it is a resolutely peaceful affair, totally unconcerned with forcing drama or histrionics onto its gorgeous landscapes.

This represents a new territory for both Dulli and Lanegan, and it's one that they (generally) excel in.

It’s pithy and monochromatic, forcing the listener to pay the closest attention to every movement. Every harmony is a different shade of grey, and this record does yield some of her loveliest harmonies.

The Jacket is an excellent foray into dream pop, country, indie, music, textiles, life, the stratosphere.

We've Been Going About This All Wrong reflects on the darkest moments of her earliest work with a newfound sense of confidence and control fully discovered in the Remind Me Tomorrow era.

This latest Lana del Rey record does contain some measure of robust and moving songwriting about topics other than sex, death and California. ... Secondary highlights “Paris, Texas” and “Kintsugi” disappear into the background; otherwise cogent hip-hop flirtations turn into innocuous daliances (“Fishtail”); the middle of the road becomes the most desolate of wasted spaces (“Fingertips”).

S/T is a valiant try by a band that has a strong history of trying, but it’s neither an impressive return to form, a nostalgic trip back to 90s emo, nor is it a breakthrough in Rainer Maria’s sound, it mostly just exists.

“Reluctant Hero”’s post-rock introduction and its booming mid-section pay-off delivers one of the crowning highlights for the entire album, while the rest of the record is peppered with great reverb-y, ambient soundscapes and really well-executed vocal performances from all parties involved, unearthing the squandered potential here. Unfortunately, these aspects are definitely overlooked in favour of the aforementioned thrash-y, hardcore sound.

The Bones of What You Believe hits so many high notes with its surprisingly simplistic delivery that it’s impossible not to recommend to even the most jaded of listeners. Yes it is at times sickly sweet, but that’s part of the charm.

Super Taranta! is easily the group’s most accomplished effort to date, and an exciting prospect of things to come.

The limber Assume Form finds Blake with a new lease on life. We were lucky to have something as insightful and forward-thinking as James Blake; we’re luckier still to have this one.

Alongside "With Oden on Our Side," Twilight of the Thunder God just might be the strongest record Amon Amarth has written thus far.

Adroitly oscillating between creepy and seductive, the album makes for a ravishing piece of occult-rock revival that draws from its retro influences with great artistry and aplomb.

As far as contemplative, comparatively low-energy releases go, this is one of the finest in years, carefully-crafted and delicate but full of nuance and color. However you’d like to classify Aspirin Sun, it’s a damn good record.

Fuse lands as a welcome sampler of the Everything But the Girl sound updated to the ‘20s, but not quite the powerhouse comeback they are so clearly capable of.

Their vocals throughout the entire album are fantastic and they work together only like sisters could, even if they live across one of the largest countries in the world.

The second half of this record is so continuously alive.

The songwriting here is too good to deny, and its shortcomings are merely down to personal preferences. If you’re looking for a well-made rock album with all the pop and punk trimmings, look no further than Lifeforms.

Truth is, none of that intimacy [in For Emma] has gone, just the direction it's flowing has changed. Bon Iver today has traded that one-to-one, man-to-listener intimacy for the many-to-many intimacy shared between Vernon's circle of collaborators.

Full of thoughtful songwriting and brilliant instrumentation, Abandon All Life is a hellish and exigent work that grabs hold and refuses to let go.

It may be flawed and an uneven listen, but The Hum Goes on Forever is another gripping entry in The Wonder Years' canon in spite of that - perhaps another defining moment, where they finally keep their heads above water long enough to see the sunrise.

Overall, Anathema have struck gold for the third time in a row, but for the first time there are some prominent flaws as well.

The Beggar is definitely flawed as a front-to-back experience, but it's also the most engaging release that Swans have put out since To Be Kind.

Working at breakneck speed, Vivian Girls is sloggy, hampered by the cloying feeling that the lo-fi shtick is simply too on-the-nose.

While clearly it is their best work to date, the purposefully epic moments of the music just don’t hold the same candle to the ones that were found on their earlier records.

There's no real dips on Triple Seven as even the slightly less engaging moments (“Busted”) enhance the excellence of surrounding highlights and sound perfectly fine in their own right.

[A] foggy, glorious mess of an album.

The pairing turns out to be ideal - Sparhawk’s voice and presence maintains the kind of somber elegance he’s always had, while Trampled By Turtles provide a rustic backdrop which not only fits the material like a glove, but adds a world-weary sense of depth.