This album scales back significantly from the relative bombast of the grand Poison Season in favor of a more intimate, simple setting. Stranding himself nearly alone--aside from longtime collaborator Josh Wells--Bejar hunkered down to record the simultaneously unconcerned and emotional splash that is ken.

For those of us all too invested in the constant slew of bigger, louder, more flashy presentations every week, it's a true pleasure to get lost in such a graceful, deceptively simple world. Open is a true treat.

There’s a balance to be struck between playing it safe and playing it smart, and Lindstrøm leans more towards the latter. If he occasionally veers the wrong way, he recovers handsomely.

Mr. Davis seems to pull in every direction at once. Gucci himself, despite the attempted show of a triumphant album, largely seems to feel somber.

Ogilala lives and dies by the strength of its songwriting, and while there’s nothing here that even sniffs at the coattails of Corgan’s best work, it is probably the most consistent and least offensively pretentious album he’s put out in, well, nineteen years.

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.

Although Lotta Sea Lice didn’t exactly live up to it’s potential and hype, the end result is still something to be reckoned with; a fascinating and balanced attempt at perfecting the concept of the collaboration album.

Overall it’s a fun album of two halves. The first half tows the line between the cheesy elements of radio pop that even the snarkiest Slayer fan secretly loves, and some truly inspirational, if not fleeting, compositional substance. The second half, although still very much a fun listen, somewhat strays.

The Saga Continues, despite being a passably entertaining listen, is a grimmer entry, as there seems to be no concern for their legacy left.

From the very start you can hear and see the ideas that were explored in the clips and videos stretched to their fullest, most histrionic range.

Take Me Apart doesn't feel desperate to reach for anything, it is comfortable, prepared for whatever may come, much like its bearer. Greatness hasn't sounded this natural in this arena for some time. This is everything.

In some of its explorations of dance music’s sub-genres it is less successful, and can come off as a bit too cheesy for its own good, but it’s all produced, performed and sequenced with such careful consideration and bountiful charm, that its few shortcomings in pure songwriting terms can be overlooked.

The music is now lush where once it was loud, layered and thoughtful where it was immediate.

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith looks at life and sees the endless possibility. It’s a sweet thought, and a compelling journey.

There's plenty of fun to be had here, even if it can't help not quite measuring up to past hype.

To say New Energy is a consolidation rather than a progression may seem damning with faint praise, but its palate is so substantial and nourishing that such slight ambition is peripheral. If you’re served a basic carbonara by a Michelin-star pasta chef it’s still a damn fine carbonara.

Rather than betting the farm on a couple showstoppers while keeping everything else relatively muted and inconspicuous, Frost pushes himself further and further and creates an incredible experience.

With this album, The World is a Beautiful Place & I Am No Longer Afraid To Die has stepped up to the challenge of their name (as well as their previous lyrics riffing off the name), and show that they are willing to fight to make it a reality. While this battle may be a substantially uphill one, Always Foreign stands as an impeccable call to arms.

Relatives in Descent, right down to its title, is an enigma of free thought and aggressive, yet powerful sentiment.

More than ever, the human experience is tangible through their music, and they manage to create those unmaintainable moments of joy that can, in a moment or a movement, dissolve into something else entirely; a memory of something long forgotten, a vision of your inconsequentiality in the world, a realisation that everything is temporary. Fortunately, they are not always downers, moreover it just feels comforting to have those feelings quantified so stirringly through music.

Haiku From Zero offers up plenty of mesmerising moments, but they come with a damaging amount of baggage and ultimately the record falls a little short of the tropical dream that it envisages.

After years of delivering on her promise, it comes as no surprise that Hiss Spun is as good as it is. The instrumental tracks dance around Wolfe’s soaring vocals and ultimately collide with them perfectly to create a collection of songs that are a joy to listen to.

Ultimately, The Spark presents a baffling listening experience. Almost every song on the album poses as an unremarkable backdrop onto which the band fiddles with elements of everything from grime to orchestral arrangements with virtually no successful results.

It’s still a functionally and otherwise dazzling work, one that sits nicely among the band's compositions.

Brick Body Kids Still Daydream is the very definition of a slow burner. It lacks a track as instantly iconic as ‘Doug Stamper’ off Dark Comedy, but it reveals its layers and details gradually.

Aromanticism is an album that is heartfelt and heartbreaking, and, from the opening chorals to the closing moments of ‘Self Help Tape’, is an album like no other.

The band rarely have anything interesting to say.

Dedicated to Bobby Jameson picks up where the late Bobby Jameson left off, solidifying his name as an inspiration for one of the most impressive indie-rock records of the past decade.

Through their highly freeform but affectionate collaboration, the trio consistently accentuates the potency of the passion in the songs.

Native Invader is a step back from Unrepentant Geraldines, but still boasts enough quality to suggest that she has another stellar album in her.

Cameron’s reach for the stars will be a divisive listen. He pulls no punches in creating this character, and the ugly language used to do so, will be viewed as unnecessary by some. But it all hangs together pretty well to create a set of songs that largely transcend the lame pastiches that they can stray close to being.

It’s perfectly plausible that the record will age just as well as VanGaalen’s best stuff--we just gotta give it more time to let its shapeshifting flowers bloom into something as beautiful as his animations.

At its best, Antisocialites is a raw effort from a band who swears they've been around longer than they have, composing a handful of very good songs, with a majority of flukey, bored-out-of-my-fucking-mind songs that seem to drag one after the other. Alvvays' main flaw remains their lack of authenticity, a tragedy for a band with this much potential.

We’re left with many songs that could have used some voices, or ones where the voices dominate proceedings, taking the focus away from the creators.

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 short, powerful, and set to turn your insides out.

It’s the best National album since Boxer; and for argument’s sake, Devendorf’s drumming hasn’t been this vital for ten years.

It transmits a message in a coherent way and addresses social criticism of the current times, all of which places their new album among the year’s unforgettable ones.

Music For People in Trouble led Sundfør away from euphoria but, in its own way, also gave her the tools to find herself again in music. Ultimately this directed her down path, through singing in the purest of forms and composing, to finding tenderness in love and matters of the heart.

This is music that can offer everything, but demands nothing. That's no small feat for dance music in the howling maw of 2017.

These aren’t bad songs. They’re very good songs that narrowly miss being great, mainly because they rush or nix the endings.

Not only does Orbit not overstay its welcome, it leaves you wanting more.

Each song compulsively and unabashedly recalls fragments from their oeuvre but when unified these fragments are cleaner, more assured, and more essential, than possibly anything they’ve thrown at us before. From head to toe, front to back, it bangs; but more importantly, it actually has something new to say.

Orc is another immensely satisfying offering from one of underground rock’s modern heroes.

The album is definitely progress, but maybe not as much progress as those of us eagerly awaiting new music were hoping for.

Whether it's their brutal attempt at gloomy chamber pop on 'My Only', their embarrassingly direct ripoff of a My Bloody Valentine track on 'Anymore', or their goofy, oddly timed guitar licks on 'The Garret', The Echo of Pleasure results in being an incredibly vague arena rock statement, one that's hopelessly gasping for life (and critical acclaim). As Berman's vocals have clearly aged, so have his songwriting abilities.

He has further upgraded, re-geared and honed the sound The War On Drugs have been working towards, taking the style and vision of 80s rock titans and updating it to something that sounds truly modern, but with that nostalgic haze.

He brings a force with him that can't be found on any previous release of his, and if his brilliance hasn't swayed your take on him in the past, Who Told You To Think?! is an extremely attentive and translucent entry-point into the modern philosophies and ideals of one of the best emcees of this generation.

Holiday Destination is musically rich, but its greatest triumph is its concord of convenience and intellect.

The mix of hollow percussion, melancholy synth drone and further bird sounds on ‘Crying Fountain’ add up to a conclusion that seems to aim for open-endedness, but is mostly just half-hearted. This phoning-in is concerning, but the other eight tracks are as good and as interesting as ever.

Dark Days + Canapés is quite simply Ghostpoet’s most accomplished record to date. As lyrically smart as his debut, and building on three albums’ worth of musical experimentation, it feels like Ejimiwe has finally found his niche.

As an approximation of the band’s legacy and a reckoning with Lacey’s vocation of confessionalism, this record feels made for them. Science Fiction feels like an Event, similar to the releases of To Pimp a Butterfly and My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy.

They can sneak serious explorations of mental health, of the rise of ISIS, of the political machinations that erode the human connections between us, past their listeners because they have wrapped these high-minded concerns up in a package of eminently re-listenable, deliriously creative pop tunes.

Painted Ruins is the result, a natural, unhindered expression, an album made for the audience they already have.

Perhaps the relentless vitality and vibrancy of their sound might not be welcoming to all listeners, but for any willing to take the plunge into Althaea, there’s a whole alternate realm to be explored.

The most exciting thing about the soundtrack for Good Time is just how kinetic it is.

At times, you catch a glimpse of a singer on the verge of something great, who is only able to suggest it due to limited time, space, or an aesthetic misalignment.

Ultimately, despite its broodier and moodier efforts, Cage Tropical never really hits the heights of Interstellar. However, Rose continues to prove that she doesn’t need to dive into anything so sophisticated as Greek mythology or abstract philosophy to communicate her emotions.

With Mister Mellow, Washed Out seems to have lost his gift of storytelling that made his debut album a reference to dream pop bands and electronic producers. Skimming through the tracks, they feel soulless and are disguised as part of ‘a concept’.

Listened to in isolation, Sodium can be an exhausting experience, and there are a couple of tracks, that don’t quite stick the landing. ... These issues aside, Sodium is still a record with a lot of promise, not only for the future growth of the band, but also the live experience. With any luck, this incarnation of Dasher will stick around to deliver on that.

Dead Cross is a solid record, which doesn’t exactly boast any instant classic songs, but is filled to bursting with individual moments that will floor you.

It absolutely is [worthwhile]--engrossing you from first hammer blow to last squeak.

Earl Grey is a strikingly mature and confident debut album, which acknowledges and consolidates Girl Ray’s influences in a way that doesn’t obscure their own puckish style.

Dear is an album so monstrous, so monumentally loud that you can do nothing but let it consume you.

The chamber ensemble expanded the possibilities for them immensely, but it’s unnecessarily timid at times. Overall, though, Rotations is a successful venture from a duo who have carved a niche but refuse to just whittle mindlessly.

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.

Need To Feel Your Love is more than just a terrific debut, it also happens to be of the best damn rock records released this year. What makes it work so well has to do with the sincerity of the band themselves.

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.

As Vic Mensa will continue to be one of hip-hop's most buzzed about figures, his full-length Roc Nation debut is a patchy tale of contemporary rap, as Mensa tries to find the line between intimate self-confessions and "inspirational" anthems.

Everything Now isn’t so much a misstep as a faceplant, hitting every wrong note with the same precision they hit every right one on Funeral. It’s a compositional mess, somehow both gratuitously moralising and morally repugnant, duller than watching already-dry paint.

A condensed but still very enjoyable facsimile of Snaith's multi-faceted, technical and tasteful dancefloor oriented abilities.

What’s also new about this particular Dave Portner is that the overflow of ideas, lyrics, and themes doesn’t turn spastic and blurry like it has on records past. Eucalyptus, though adventurous, is down to earth and focused. It’s by far the most spiritual Avey Tare has ever sounded (except for the transcendent love on AnCo staple ‘Fireworks’).

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.

Over repeated listens, the former evolves into a touching meditation on love’s complexity and erraticism, where introspection intercedes the Big Important Questions.

Crutchfield is baring her soul and just about every song shows some signs of greatness. It comes up short, but not for a lack of trying.

At its peak, Boo Boo is Toro Y Moi’s most luxurious, if not remarkably lush effort since 2011’s Underneath the Pine.

Public Service Broadcasting's intentions are to be praised, even if the result is weak and unfocused. If the SDP leadership had formed a band, it would sound like this.

This is more a record for hardcore fans than casual ones, though there are some distinct highlights.

Unfortunately, aside from a couple of other stronger tracks (‘Gonna Get Better’ and ‘Towers and Masons’ – one of Brendan Canning’s contributions), the rest of the album isn’t something I have a desire to return to.

Ultimately, this seems to be his goal on Ruinism; to take you into a world of house and electronic music, where each and every artefact that you thought were held dear can be just as easily crumbled and recontextualised to create a whole new atmosphere. This is where which he wants you to venture, and not look back.

Whether he's taking himself to task, tossing shots in every direction (see: ‘Bam’), or simply reminiscing as on the glorious glide of ‘Marcy Me’, he sounds perfectly at home. ... 4:44 presents a renewed Jay-Z.

An album that is stacked full of mind-transporting moments, rendered by carefully selected, produced and deployed analogue elements. It’s a lot to pack into 40 minutes, but it ensures that Theory Of Colours is not only a noteworthy debut album, but a statement of beautiful, fascinating intent from Dauwd.

LANY is certainly listenable and its hour run-time isn’t a total drag (grating voicemail interlude ‘Parents’ notwithstanding). There’s just a deficit of substance in an album that practically seems to be begging for you to feel something.

With a release drowning in possibilities, Floating Points' latest is a humbling work of art, ridden in environmental discoveries, alongside an empowering sense of mental stability.

While this album is being heralded as a triumph by many, to this writer it feels more akin to an in-between; furtive steps in a new direction that will almost doubtlessly be mined even more successfully next go round--assuming our hero doesn't veer in yet another direction. What's sure is, we'll never be bored.

This record’s three parts, separated by the gender of the narrator and little else, are muscular, repetitive, exhausting pieces of psych-math riffs that hardly let up. They make me feel like I’m stuck on an endless dancefloor, forced to nod my head into eternity.

A Place I'll Always Go makes you forget about the good, the bad, and the ugly, and proves the fact that Palehound are one of the most relevant indie rock bands to date.

It’s her most complete-feeling album to date, and never seems like Halo is trying to please anyone but herself. Yet, she also manages to create emotional bridges through the sincerity of her compositions.

The best thing you can do is let Iteration’s rain-soaked neon lights wash over and see what you feel.

Peasant is a pretty staggering departure from the massed ranks of 2017’s batch of albums. It is a restorative, headstrong burst of inspiration from an artist with the courage to execute his vision without compromise. If ever an album deserved to rise above the fray, it is this one.

An auspicious debut for Trevor’s career, Andy Warhol’s Dream’s only faux-pas is that it probably set the bar too high: it’s an incredibly solid, balanced, and overall beautiful album. I can’t wait to see him perform it live.

On The Echoing Green is an experiential album, but not in the way of something like The Wall. This is an album that seduces you to come and spend some time with it; sit in the shade with it, stroll in the hot summer sun with it, take a dip in the lake with it.

As a breakup record City of No Reply is truly refreshing. It’s vulnerable without being either self-defeating or overly-aggressive and it’s both honest and warm, admitting blame without being overly-dramatic.

Unfortunately, Morby's latest effort seems to purposefully aim for the very middlest of the road.

Fleet Foxes return with a grand, theatrical approach to music as a whole, and although they reminisce on their grand, prog-folk glory days, Crack-Up as a musical statement is genre-less.

Written during tumultuous times, Ti Amo is the soundtrack to a future as hopefully bright as the record itself.

The majority stays well within its comfort zone, cuddling up to the listener, rather than poking them in the eye.