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.

The result is a sometimes great, sometimes merely serviceable album which can stand among Death Grips’ ample discography, despite occasionally sacrificing melody for amplified pandemonium.

For its faults, Gallipoli is nice. It’s pleasant. But it’s the type of nice that makes you wonder if there was any substance there at all.

Bandit is a smart album made for smart people, and something that garnered them critical acclaim in the past is lost. So yes, One-Armed Bandit is a good record. But Jaga Jazzist can do better.

It's not going to impress those that irrationally expect every release to be a mind-blowing exercise in progression and experimentation. On the other hand, it should impress long-time fans and satiate their desire for no-frills, in your face music.

Even though 52-minute long Enter! feels very much like one multifaceted composition, it has been awkwardly divided into two parts. The first one is way more engrossing, showcasing the big band's knack for blending numerous potentially dissimilar styles to dazzling effect.

It feels like eighteen years of history, story and fanbase community are coming together like, uh, some sort of keywork.

Blending the light touch of her backing band with selectively applied electronic elements, Marina gives a more refined take on songs that in her past might have been layered in obtrusive electropop production or overwhelming string arrangements.

In short, Long.Live.A$AP takes what made his debut new or exciting and more finely hones it.

The record makes no indelible mark on your day--I imagine this skirting the periphery of most year-end lists, the perennial shut-out waiting flustered at the gates (“I’m sorry, you’re not on the list”)--but it’s detailed enough to add dimensions to the scene Burch sets.

End is better than passable - I’ve heard far worse even in its genre. But, as things are, this record feels redundant. Explosions in the Sky, at this stage of their careers, need to give us a whole lot more in order to really deliver. Maybe that’s not fair, but let me tell ya somethin’, kid: life ain’t always fair.

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.

When I’m in the perfect mindset this album feels like one of the finest albums I’ve heard all year, while if listened to when the mood isn’t quite right, the sleepiness of most of the album overwhelms its virtues. At the very least, Nothing Special is worth a spin for fans of Okkervil River, folk, or good lyrics, if for no other reason than to decide whether the album title is appropriate or not.

Black Kids are trying too hard, plain and simple.

An album which simply allows itself to be washed over, and take it all in. To simply be. In a time when even being must hurt like hell, that's one hell of a gift to give to the world.

As an EP for the band to dip their toes back into the creative process of being a band again, it’s a thrilling piece of work, a preface to their national run of live shows and, well, whatever comes after that. Because while EP4 makes for a mighty fine mixtape, one certainly hopes they won’t stop there.

If this is what we're going to be getting from Boeckner and company, perhaps Wolf Parade can stand to take a break for as many years as it needs to.

Justin is foremost an entertainer, and as is clear after about three tracks, The 20/20 Experience is hardly a vanity project; the songs are simply good enough that their length becomes an afterthought.

It’s occasionally a little oblique (“Turquoise Hyperfuzz”’s rhythmic breakdowns feel purpose-built to add a little edge to what’s otherwise the IDM version of straight candyfloss), but packs little of the clutter so often associated with µ-Ziq's quintessential-but-not-quite-essential style.

A Wasteland Companion at first seems unsure of what it wants to be or where it wants to go, vacillating between various genre exercises rooted in a common retro theme, but by the end it reaffirms what those who've loved Ward's old work have always known.

They might not be fracking new rocks with their sound, but for those in the know with ears to blow, it's manna from an alternate heaven.

Present Tense is a comfort album on the pleasant side of catchy; it’s the perfect collection of songs to augment your mood when the weather climbs to twenty-something centigrade.

It’s a very digestible and fun debut LP.

It is absolutely an evolution from his opening trio of releases, and a strong step towards becoming an integral voice in the indie rock scene.

It’s the LP’s sense of cohesion, achieved despite its sonic variety, which makes Hour Of Green Evening a triumph. A measured triumph, but a triumph nonetheless.

It's an important album for Scuba, as a means of transition, of mastering his new craft. It's just not a terribly important album for the rest of us.

All in all, not the death knell that it could have been but not the triumphant return it so could have been at the same time, Descension is another addition to the Coheed saga.

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.