Tremors is a flawed debut, ironic given the lyrical content, but it's one that, when properly explored, does have some brilliant moments.

Noise is another impressive addition to Boris' expansive catalog of experimental rock.

The bag is mixed, and the lyrics often seem a bit familiar, but Sundfør's shadowy contributions to an often-tired genre are undoubtedly unique.

It goes without saying that this is a must have collection that will educate, entertain, and most importantly, remind us of Cabaret Voltaire's lasting influence and cement it in an approachable collection for further generations to delve into.

This is a decent body of work which would actually work well as an introduction to the band for those yet to encounter METZ’s noise to date.

In the end, Lost Friends is a shape-shifting, intimate, and reflective body of work.

While it is never an easy listen, it often feels necessary to wipe Lee Spielman's spittle from your cheek, such is No Peace's front row ferocity.

It makes for a veritable smorgasbord of genre pastiche wherein there is plenty of fun to be had in simply trying to pinpoint the artist or even specific song that is being aped. On the other hand, it also makes for a bit of a hit and miss affair.

The complexity of the songs means there is plenty to enjoy upon repeat listening, although some tracks do feel under-developed. There is no denying that Walker is talented, but five albums in, we’re still waiting for the flawless masterpiece we hope he’s capable of.

Even if she doesn't match the heights of Florence, she can rest easy knowing she's made much better records.

It’s more of the same, but when it’s this groovy, this killer, this consistently beguiling, that’s absolutely no bad thing.

This is a good collection of songs which progresses the narrative of the band and it deserves your attention, but I suspect these tracks work best in a live setting where they would be allowed to elevate above the often overly precise production on the album.

Singularity would be a dependable record to show someone in the process of discovering the wider world of electronic music, as it is exceptionally accessible, yet at the same time I feel that that same sense of accessibility and friendliness is what is wrong with it.

It's as brilliant a record as it is unmemorable, but ultimately as an artistic vice it is absolutely essential.

Things Will Matter is fine as it is but it feels tantalising, as if there's something more to come from Lonely The Brave.

Overall this is a successful first solo effort. It is similar enough to his band to take Arbouretum fans on board, and it is different enough to justify the billing under his own name. Another Side of Dave Heumann, maybe.

They say love is blind; on the basis of this intelligently balanced LP, though, it certainly isn't deaf.

Unravelling is an album that needs time and patience lent towards it. It's a slow-burner of a record, both in the tempo it sets and the amount of time it takes for it to reveal itself.

With Action Bronson, he's continuously put out solid bodies of work, whilst never compromising his character. Mr. Wonderful may not be the strongest debut he could've released, but for a rapper that probably doesn't measure his ability by studio albums, neither should we.

This album is catchy. There is nothing wrong with writing catchy songs. Melody matters. Listenability matters. But this album feels like priority was put on making sure there were hooks in each song instead of letting the songs form organically.

At the end of the day, this is a compelling addition to the Constellation ouvre, and there’s plenty to love here for fans of any moment of Menuck’s wonderful last 20+ years in recorded music.

Heartstrings may be a rather trippy journey, but be assured, you are at all times with a capably lucid and extremely thoughtful driver.

It's a relentless album full of short, sharp, shocks of art-punk chaos made by a group of awkward, anti-rock stars, but however strange and experimental it gets, there's still that primal joy you get with gangs of mates crashing around in sweaty basements.

It’s an album that flatters to deceive in its use of string arrangements throughout, and may leave some long-time Hop Along fans shrugging a little on their first few times through. However, as with most densely made albums, the more time and effort you spend on it, the more you will get out of it.

They haven't reinvented Christmas music and made it respectable, but it's infinitely more palatable than anything else you're going to hear for the next month.

The music as a whole isn't as immersive as you would expect it to feel at first. Instead it works on a more subconscious level, gradually drawing you in with a subtle pull. That seeming lack of immediacy does nothing to take away from how enjoyable many of the highlights here are, and the album is well-paced in such a way that it never lingers longer than it needs to.

It's fun music and nothing about it is haphazard or casually tossed off.

They've managed to do themselves justice, and that should be enough not only to please their existing fans, but to win a few new ones too.

A Black Mile to the Surface is not ultimately the kind of cohesive and singularly classic album that Manchester Orchestra has shown the ability to create. However, the bold new steps Andy Hull and company take on it seem likely to be the building blocks upon which they build their next classic.

Ty Dolla $ign's most diverse and eminent offering to date.

In an engaging and accessible way, Kehlani uses her sharp pen game to detail her experiences navigating relationships and her career as best she can, despite her past impacting many facets of her future.

It’s Calvi’s most complete record yet. It grasps the catchiness of her debut, and kneads in an increased sense of maturity in her delivery of topical subjects, brought together with seasoned production and her expectedly dexterous, mighty voice.

Beautiful things take time to properly come to life, and this is no exception; although this reading obviously comes in the aftermath of her accident, Bon Voyage sounds like a rebirth of sorts for Prochet.

Whether he feels every emotion he’s describing or is putting on a mask, the songs remain enjoyable and lighthearted.

This isn't a fully realised collaboration just yet, as there are a few filler tracks, but there is more than enough potential to suggest that if they get time and space to create more music together, EL VY could become more of a permanent project.

Still feels modern and reflective simultaneously along with Mazzy Star continuing to produce romantic songs fitting for long road trips or evening drinks.

It's not the best music of its kind available, no. But for Maxïmo Park fans, this will succeed in becoming a vital notch in their canon, and for non-fans, it at least worth a spin or two.

Although sometimes the journey gets bumpy, and Aquilo lose their way to sleepy filler, they always manage to find their way back to the dreamy, lush pop and rich electronic tapestries that makes part of this record such a triumph.

This album feels like the training wheels have come off, and Speedy Ortiz can really show what they’re capable of. For one, this is Speedy Ortiz’s poppiest album yet, with plenty of synths, hooks, and an overall brighter sheen. However, it’s not like Lazar infected their grunginess with an overwhelming flavour of the top 40.

La Luz (which means "the light" in Spanish) have done an excellent job reprising the nostalgic vibes of West Coast beaches by mixing them with more urban influences, and therefore achieving a steady, cohesive album.

The Way And Color is an admirable, solid effort, surely paving the way for better material on the not so distant, sunset dripping, horizon.

There was a lot riding on this album to be a worthy successor to Piñata, and Gibbs and Madlib ended up with something that unfortunately doesn’t come close to those heights, but something that’s still worth thoughtful evaluation and plenty of discussion.

Freddie is an easily digestible trap album, not revolutionary or underwhelming but average considering Gibbs’ catalogue of work.

The album is an engaging and enjoyable listen and deserves all the credit it will inevitably receive.

Passover may be an album of grieving, but it is not beholden to the process. While many albums of loss are as hard to hear as they are beautiful, Shields has opted for a somewhat more welcoming approach.

The Diary's strongest cuts come when Dilla is behind the board.

Donovan Blanc may lack a bit of originality, but when countered by a distinct lack of pretension like this it doesn't seem to matter.

Wanderer is a worthy listen, that keeps us chasing her, slowly, over the next ridgeline.

Nili Hadida may not attract legions of pop fans, but then, it hardly feels designed to. Hadida is clearly enjoying stretching out on her own at long last, and the album plays a bit like her testing her sea legs on a maiden voyage, finding her footing, and her independent voice, as she goes.

Yes, it's clear that this is a more matured, polished Mr. Scruff that often bristles with darkness, but it's a more mature Mr. Scruff at that sacrifices the puckish rogue charm we all fell in love with.

The variety of sounds and instrumentation on the record is something to be admired.

His intensity is consistent and his affinity for recognizing his fans favor is respectable. He doesn’t change things up much sonically, which is a welcomed critique.

As this year's laid-back, folk-tinged efforts go so far, Woods haven't quite packed the sort of emotional punch that, say, Beck did on Morning Phase, but they have provided further evidence that they're slowly emerging as masters of their mellow-pop craft.

You might not revisit this record often, but when you want to step back and step out Altid Sammen in its quiet contemplation will be the record to open up new avenues and expose what it was you were searching for.

With Elephants on Acid they often sacrifice, clearly by choice, catchiness for a more avant-garde complexity. There is a fantastic set of songs awaiting murkily on Elephants on Acid, and for Cypress Hill's intended audience here--the true fans--it's sure to be a joy unearthing them.

Black Moth are a young band who are improving fast and although they've got a lot of catching up to do with some of their contemporaries, the potential is there and Condemned To Hope is one of the better heavy British records of 2014.

The tracks here, whilst enjoyable and (for the most part) produced extremely well, amount to a record that lacks the impact of SBTRKT's debut.

Morgan Delt's Phase Zero navigates that thin line between rêverie and acid trip, drawing an accepted state of temporary and discreet insanity.

As pretty as much of the album is, it can lack the immediacy to really grab the listener and pull them into a different world.

If you're encountering The Mountain Goats for the first time, perhaps this isn't the ideal place to begin.

Are We There is one of the finest folk-ish albums of this decade, but this timely reissue illustrates that Van Etten’s remarkable talent has always been omnipresent. Eight years on, her incoming anxious queries and lovelorn passages are as pertinent as they’ve ever been.

While not as immediately apparent in its charm as say Cerulean Salt, it’s another fine addition to what is fast becoming a vital collection of music from one of the best songwriter’s around.

It is a (relatively speaking) stripped back effort that brings Florence grounded firmly to the earth and perhaps is her greatest achievement to date.

Whilst SORROW is clearly marked by genius, the scope and weight of this project is so substantial that the individual talent of a virtuoso like Stetson is somewhat buried, stepping back from the centre stage and once again filling the role of collaborator.

Southsiders is extremely competent, and has enough really great beats to more than make up for the general air of insouciance. It's good. It just ain't essential.

Ten tracks of beer-soaked bar-floor bliss, Television Man sweats through with an octane of badassery that's hard to come by these days. And while it's far from album of the year material, it probably is one of the best rock 'n roll recordings to bless the scene in a long time.

Those artists who standout from the rest of the pack do exactly this with the additional knack of killer songwriting, and Honeyblood fortunately have that going for them in an abundance.

Blast Off Through The Wicker is the equivalent of an efficient weekend overseas excursion; short, beautiful, and enjoyable, but it won’t leave you tired or wishing you had had longer.

It builds upon the psych-folk elements of Dan Reeves' first project, but delivers them in a way that leaves you at the mercy of their power.

Despite some trite moments, there are compelling sections spread throughout the album... it's just a matter of finding them.

While Midnight is, overall, a somewhat flawed record, it still shows impressive growth for Chura. Like Messes, it doesn’t settle into the oft-tread indie rock rut of bland, cliché emotionality, while the songwriting is clearly leagues ahead of her debut.

It's lovely to hear an album that ostensibly requires so few ingredients to paint such a rich emotional landscape.

In spite of its sequencing, every song on Cemetery Highrise Slum is individually good.

Boys Forever is almost built to act as the soundtrack to the end of the dog days, when you just want a lovely track to wrap up the best moments with your friends.

At times it seems to be too much under the influence of My Bloody Valentine--even the cover art evokes them--and their contemporaries, yet it does what it does very well and it would be harsh to overlook the fact that this is a strong debut in its own right.

Although standalone each song is catchy and refreshingly danceable, they don't add up towards a comprehensive album experience. There is little variation from the funk-punk, and slower tracks like 'Flee!' feel weaker to their more nervy counterparts.

This album certainly does mark a “departure” for Siobhan Wilson, but it sheds none of her allure.

For someone who makes music so precise and demanding, this means that Flying Lotus’ latest album is a harder one to digest, and ultimately isn’t quite as essential as his previous.

Mercurial moods aside, it's a beautifully produced record and almost addictive with the allure of its sublime tones, percussive arrangements that draw you in and an attractive coil of guitar phrasings.

With Kintsugi, the cracks in the Death Cab veneer are undoubtedly visible, shiny or not. While many of the tracks fall flat, the vestiges of their prior form--confession and melody and, ultimately, charm--will likely still be evident enough to keep fans enamored. 


Sivu has naturally but powerfully created a palette of sensory strength, allowed into existence and our listening pleasure simply by being vulnerable and open to both the endurance and the departure of senses--and all that we feel, fear and hold dear.

Although its most inviting moments come tucked away in the calmer less darker IDM influenced tracks. Similar to laughter, this music doesn't necessarily have to mean anything in order to give us deep pleasure.

Full Upon Her Burning Lips requires patience from the listener as its contemplative pace offers multiple rewards on repeat plays. There is a depth to the album which is more evident with an enhanced investment from the audience as layers are revealed in the aural panoramic panacea that are hidden within the subtext of the songs.

Love Is Magic is his most consistent and enjoyable work yet.

Son Lux's remix value is through the roof, settling nicely along the lines of Purity Ring's debut, The xx, or even some of Thom Yorke's solo tracks. That said, each of these examples are revered, but not lived up to.

Young Magic's second full-length is arguably a more accomplished body of work than Melt, which although also very strong, doesn't have the same congealed feel.

PeteStrumentals 2 is exactly the album you'd expect it to be. Similar to the '78 Fury, we aren't chasing the latest here.

It will take a patient, contemplative listener to fully appreciate the picture that emerges.

This is a solid, fun-loving post-punk record that definitely leans heavy on the punk.

Despite remaining dutifully authentic to his own back-story and expressive temperament, the album, at times, sounds like it was written and recorded years ago, offering outdated production trends and repetitive content.

There are some tracks here which are absolutely the best in their class, but it's just a shame that as a whole the collection is weighed down by moments that don't shine as bright as others.

Six Organs of Admittance has rightly earned a reputation for innovation, but with Hexadic, Chasny risks straying too far from the realm of palatable sound.

Uniform pull their weight but it feels like they’re (smartly) saving their strongest material for their upcoming third LP. As for The Body, they’ve shown they can play well with others, but here they feel like they’re indifferently inserting themselves into Uniform’s world, and Uniform was fine with it. It’s an album that aims to make you uncomfortable, but it feels too comfortable with itself.

On the basis of Pump’s youth and energy, it’s a mostly enjoyable listen, but those are traits not at all unique to him, and it’s hard to feel optimistic about how much longevity he has. After all, he’s not getting any younger.

The quality of dialogue on display is--though well-intentioned--kitsch and sustained by hollow jingoisms. The result is something benevolent, musically interesting and occasionally provocative, but rather too one-dimensional thematically to overcome its slightness.

If you’re a Segall fan then these open you up to his influences, while also offering more of an insight into an artist who continues to both be reclusive and impressively prolific.

In bitesize chunks this is a sumptuous feast--but it's more buffet than banquet.