Reaching for Indigo transcends the traditional appeal of a singer-songwriter. Whenever Haley Fohr sings, it’s as if the instrumentation around her is momentarily frozen in time; quite the compliment for an album that surrounds her with so many uncommon vibrations.

Ctrl is a Facebook-photo album of opinions and behaviours that probably shouldn’t be broadcasted online. It’s also an assembly of tracks that prevail as mantras of self-affirmation, and it balances the two sides of its character with an awareness that feels like an accident, though it's welcomed all the same. But even if we disregard what it all means, these tracks are still jams, tunes, or any other blasé term people attach to music that you can throw away your dignity to.

Birthing does not resolve so much as disperse into a shimmering lullaby afterworld. It releases you, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it’s still playing and you haven’t noticed. Maybe you’ve changed afterward. Maybe not. It’s no new world for Swans. But it does feel like a world that’s more charged with that strange luminosity of those brightest days, when the edges of everything feel like they’re dispersing into the atmosphere. Whatever it is, it’s a beautiful thing.

I Love You, Honeybear is the rare love letter that manages to capture all the ugly, bitter sides to a relationship, the angles covered in shadow and hidden behind front doors, because it understands that these are the moments that make up a full and fulfilling relationship between two people with issues and histories and feelings that are more often awful and conflicted than not.

There’s such a rush to these songs and, resultingly, it feels like Mitski is hurrying to capture something before it dissolves into smoke. It’s ephemeral because life is.

Ohms is abrasive, destructive, and alluringly beautiful – but most of all, there’s a profound purpose and longing behind every punch that they throw. After two and a half decades, Deftones are still finding new ways to energize, enrage, and inspire themselves – and with Ohms, they’re finding new ways to peak.

It's about as good as Funeral and features some truly wonderful songs; although The Arcade Fire have certainly progressed, Neon Bible features everything that made them special in the first place, to even more epic proportions.

Umbilical unleashes a different side of the band’s signature blend of bone-crunching riffs and ear-splitting screeching, but it’s characteristically well-crafted and certain to satisfy music fans previously seduced by Thou’s grim and imposing style.

This is her best album yet, and great moments abound amidst the fat.

This Is A Photograph is an album which aims for an impressively grand vision, but rarely hits the mark. In its less grandiose moments, though, it’s frequently successful, providing the listener with a number of lovely folk tunes.

D'Agostino remains one of music's most enigmatic yet intensely relatable figures. A voice like a car engine cutting in and out and the discursive, layered nature of his songwriting ensures the full impact of Empty Country won't land for several listens. This, if anything, is just another notch on its list of strengths.

Whether or not you’re a fan of their earlier, grittier material or their newer, more polished recordings, Is Survived By is a massively engaging and surprisingly triumphant record, and you cant expect anything but for them to continue to add to their ranks of love-moshing fans with an album that is just so damn solid.

It may be difficult to listen to, and even harder to stomach, but there is great reward in focusing on what happens in this deceptively hushed landscape that Hval has built, because for all its use of soft atmospherics and gentle, eiderdown-laced vocals, the album ultimately betrays the implication of a lifetime of misuse beneath its soothing dulcet tones and restrained palettes.

The music on The Suburbs is as direct and straightforward as Butler's lyrics.

It remodels slabs of wax in a way that not only acknowledges but embraces the pop potential those snippets of sound have been denied for so long.

Rich and intelligent, it's a welcome blow of muted midnight compulsions, swimming in its own tides against the sea of bombast and extravagance that's taken root in recent years. Underwater dance music at its finest.

This album destroys as much as possible while it’s on, and even if it leaves a little to be desired once it’s over (damn expectations!), it doesn’t seem to give a fuck about what you think. Honestly, fair enough.

Despite being a free mixtape, House of Balloons feels like a true album, a true labor of love (and pain and hardship and everything else), more genuine than more prominent R&B stars, but perhaps that is due to The Weeknd's anonymity.

Shore sees Fleet Foxes reborn and entering a new season themselves; a stunning evolution to behold. Fleet Foxes’ fourth album glistens with warmth, energy, and melody. Whereas Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues, and Crack-Up were earthbound, Shore sees Fleet Foxes entirely liberated and taking flight – a fresh incarnation of their former selves.

Kala is definitely a song-based album, but, that being said, the songs fit together perfectly, and even more surprisingly, they’re all good.

Where Magdalene found itself virtually overburdened by its own emotional weight, this album is almost ponderously short of it, yet malleable and playful in a way that vindicates its escapist bent.

22, A Million is an entirely different kind of beast. Not only does it confirm that Vernon is a modern visionary at the forefront of folk, but it sets the new standard for experimentalism in alternative music.

From continuous instrumental surprises to brutally honest lyrics, Trophy Eye’s sophomore effort is much more than a solid return, it’s an unanticipated punch to the gut--one that will leave the listener reeling as it rightfully earns its spot among the genre’s most passionate and achingly honest albums.

This is war poetry at its finest and will keep you coming back for many repeat listens. Its influence on any listener, impressionable or otherwise, should be a positive one.

The great thing about this album is the same as was great about the last full length LCD Soundsystem album, and that is its effortless blend and execution of mix.

Young Fathers don't owe us anything except themselves, which Heavy Heavy feels like a true and warmly sincere extension of, a hand extended from the light across the dark, if we're willing to let go and take it.

It's this underdog story that emphasizes just why Body Talk is such a revelation; it is the musical peak of an artist who has always had a bigger picture for what pop could sound like.

There aren't many artists who can deconstruct and rebuild such interesting tracks equally based on both disturbing and exquisite soundscapes, yet Fennesz continues his winning streak.