For its occasional low ebbs, Oxymoron is an impressive display of bleak wit.

On the strength of the songs here and the pitch perfect atmosphere they’ve conjured it would be criminal if we didn’t hear more from them in the future.

This is immediate, incredible folk pop that pays homage to the godfathers, performed amid the disco balls of a train hurtling through time, by kids who love alternative guitar bands.

They’ve pulled off possibly the most intelligent, involving and profound record since OK Computer.

Although they bring precious little new to the table, they have mastered the art of hiding beautiful melody under layers of glorious distortion.

Beautiful in places, but falling flat on an emotional level elsewhere, there is an air of duality in Lo-Fang’s work as light and dark elements intertwine and clash with each other. For someone who has done so much travelling, it is clear that Lo-Fang is still finding his feet.

Its attempts to live up to the bare-bones stylings of his last “folk” album fall somewhat short.... Still, the songs themselves are as strong as ever--this may well prove to be the biggest grower in Beck’s catalogue.

The wondrous melodies sometimes come across as overly whimsical and fey, but Death Vessels create a communicative link from the human heart straight to the unknown realms of the cosmos.

Close to the Glass is a record bookended with perfectly executed experiments, so gentle on the ears. Beautiful and perfect, they make the whole record seem round, and right.

It really is a stunning record, a completely unexpected treat and an album of the year contender, no doubt.

Guilt Mirror’s musical confusion overall is shattering, there are moments of violence, others of beautiful fragility, and it’s a great big mess of ideas all thrown against a wall until they’re smashed into tiny pieces... lucky wall.

Those who never warmed to the sharp-elbowed vibe won’t find themselves wooed by a new angle, but for everyone else St. Vincent is close to definitive.

The band fails to keep up that feverish tempo, and the album’s bewitching beginning quickly gives way to less inspired, repetitive numbers that plague a majority of the record, especially its weak second half.

Olsen is a unique songwriter of incredible complexity and fearlessness, and despite her ostensibly considerable inner sorrow, she manages to deliver an album that is as equally exultant as it is despondent.

A songwriter with a distinctive world view definitely but rarely the musical nous to really make the most of it--as such North American Poetry amounts to some sweet melodies delivered with slacker poise but is largely forgettable.

There is nothing special about this--dualities of form and content are as old as art itself.

Whilst the narrative of Rise Ye Sunken Ships is gone, there is still a mood arc that runs through Augustines.

For the majority of its running time, Crosses is a slow, steady and comforting listen, very rarely raising above anything more than a laid back ebb and flow.

This is an album of hard-staring shoegaze, of richness and discomfort mixed, drawing you into a strange and beautiful otherworld, and ends up being compelling in the luminescent moonlit beauty that emerges from the introspective sound.

Even with their most straight-ahead record to date, GBV still show that they’re capable of surprises, and no matter how much more they release in the next [insert arbitrary period of time here], will always be worth following.

This album comes so highly recommended because it’s strung out, not drawn out; it’s melodic not chronic and ultimately it’s both pleasant enough to listen to a few times and suggestively dour enough to suck you from there.

It’s is a fluid, cohesive album that flows seamlessly from one movement to the next--as its cover suggests, it’s a canoe ride without the possibility of capsizing.

Cutting Up The Present Leaks The Future is a refreshing listen. Its lo-fi aesthetic, invigorating guitar approach, nuanced throwbacks, heartfelt lyrics and general quality (among many other fascinating titbits) all make for a lovely record.

The moments of intrigue are too fleeting and the encompassing ‘feel’ of the LP lingers too long in flat territories, which is a shame, as there’s potential for her solo work to be spectacular indeed.

It’s music that shakes you to your core, and even if you’re left frosty-hearted afterwards, you’ll be under the spell.

Fanfarlo may not be breaking new ground with this, but they’re building on their previous foundations nicely.

Comfort food is dubbed so for a reason, and Real Hair’s got my belly delightfully full.

While the band leads us down roads we have assuredly traveled before, that doesn’t make the sights and the sounds any less interesting or intoxicating this time around.

A compelling listen, and a new side to Doug Paisley.

Brien and Geeneus have turned in a finessed and involving convergence between dance and pop that mixes timeless songwriting with an energized and gutsy production.

Performing at a venue that once hosted the iconic long-running Grand Ole Opry show, the band do seem slightly in awe of their venerable surroundings. They certainly never get too chatty here, with Bridwell limiting himself to an occasional aww-shucks ‘Thanks y’all!’ or similar.

Emmaar [is] possibly the band’s most consistently satisfying album yet.

He clearly has a blast doing this, and it shows through in a release like Four Foot Shack.

It deceptively makes you think there’s not much happening here but is in fact a highly complex thing that needs care and attention, only then do you realize we have been offered Rostron’s heart on a plate.

Sun Structures is a bold, muscular record.

This record is a creation: you can hear the adventure in it.

There’s little to get excited about here--there’s no wheel reinventing, no formula shake-up, no scrawling outside any boxes... it’s just pleasant, familiar indie-rock that verges on wishy-washy.

On Benji, and even more particularly on some of the live versions featured on the additional disc that accompanies the first ten thousand copies, Mark Kozelek is at least as piercing and persuasive as in his best output over the last two decades.

With Angel Guts Stewart once again manages to dig his nails into the grubby under layer, not returning with any transgressed beauty but instead stark honesty and brutal truth. You may want to turn away, but you might not be able to.

Following Marissa Nadler from one album to the next is like scraping away at the forearm with a scratch awl, each outing going progressively deeper, and we’re finally at blood and bone.

Although this might not be a record that grabs you by the collar and slaps you in the face with its genius, for those who are happy to give a little of themselves to bring these songs to life, Along The Way could prove an excellent companion for whatever journeys lie ahead.

Ultimately, Dunes is a collection of tracks which showcases Gardens & Villa’s distinctly original twist on the well-worn and much abused genre of synth-pop. It’s fun, it’s clever and it’s mature--electro-pop for adults.

Wonderland‘s a cracking slab of chewy pop-toffee. It’s sugary, and superficially slathered with rainbow glitter, but it takes more than a few seconds to comprehend and devour the music.

It can be straightforward, but more often than not on Too Much Information it’s actually quite clever.

It would appear that the desire to remain in stasis has left it to stagnate somewhat, which is a shame, as Kompakt remains one of the most invigorating labels in electronic music.

Terrestrials sounds surprisingly cohesive considering the project’s improvised roots and slow development.

It takes the form of a vanity project rather than a perceptive communication between artist and listener.

Young Fathers have not so much captured their sound as they have chiselled it afresh from the Earth’s core.

It’s a mighty lunge forwards for the four-piece.

The laid-back pace and contemplative mood then doesn’t really evolve over the 11 songs, and although Croz doesn’t outstay its welcome, there is a nagging feeling that the slickness of the production and instrumentation don’t play to Crosby’s strengths as a singer or songwriter.

It’s 17 near-perfect minutes that whisk you from sparkling seas across soft, white sands to smoky late-night bars beneath torrential rain, full of soul notes that lift the rafters. It’s a tiny, little, beautiful adventure.

Innocence is saved by the urgent innovation that courses through its emphatic high points, with Pontiak once again proving that they are taking rock ‘n roll in a thrilling new direction while also giving a knowing nod to its unruly past.

The result is a well-tempered mix of organic and contrived capable of rivaling even the most fertile metropolis.

These are not songs which will not change the world, and they will probably never be a huge band--but songs as beautiful and honest as these will always be huge for some people.

It’s the record’s most easy-to-appreciate moment, but whether there’s enough to the rest of it to ensure its makers aren’t soon to be forgotten remains to be seen.

Each tone, note, or scrape here seems deliberate and purposeful without ever feeling overly controlled.

Ghettoville is lonely and solipsistic, music for 3am and the glow of streetlamps and the distant reflections of glass and steel, of crumbling urbanity meshed with neon glow and shadows cast long and deep.

[Divine Ecstasy] is a sound--no matter how hard to quite pin down and vivisect--with which the music world has been familiar for going on a few years now, and very little groundbreaking--cloud breaking? sunshine breaks through clouds, right?--is going on here, although Cuts’ brand of amoeba production does have enough individuality to stand apart from its peers.

While their aesthetic hangs in the balance, they’ve proven on The Age of Fracture that they have it in themselves to achieve cohesion.

Tonally, it falls somewhere between the shoegazey aggression of I Will Be and Only in Dreams’ hazy hooks, but it’s lacking the former’s force of character and the latter’s infectious melodies.

They demonstrate a knack for so many areas it’s hard to predict where they may go in the next few years, although it’s a bit incoherent at times as the band schlep from one genre to another while still trying to hoist in their innate pop flair. This record’s a crossroads.

“Vibrant Beast” is an entirely apt term to describe the complete album, as well as serving as its rowdy closing track, with Marijuana Deathsquads emphatically proving once again that there is indeed beauty to be found in electronic dissonance, as well as plenty of original artistry in the band’s boundless creative exploration.

The end result is an album sure to be a curiosity for fans but likely to be lost on everyone else.

Choir of Echoes is largely a retread of old ground. It’s perfectly lovely ground all the same.

There’s nary a misstep, and yet, it still sounds as raw as a carcass in a butcher’s window.

Through all its globe-trotting nuances and outlandish statements of grandeur, it’s a striking pop record.

A welcome comeback.

Ggood voice is nothing without good songs, and Rateliff comes with plenty of ammunition on Falling Faster Than You Can Run.

Haze and her production team have creative ideas and the means to realise them on record. They simply distract themselves trying to turn a rapper into a pop star.

Rest assured, young worrier, Chiaroscuro is triumphant.

The best album of their career thus far.

Waking Lines is an ambitious premiere, but one that’s not had all it’s misshapen foibles ironed out. Patterns have, however, ensured that they’ll remain inside people’s heads for a considerable time to come.

Simultaneously concerned with uncomplicated nostalgia, yet quietly indulging in the slightly-less-conventional. It makes for an intriguing introduction, and a much needed reprieve for supergroups everywhere.

With the good comes the average and with it the great.

Age and time haven’t withered the power of Thee Silver Mt. Zion; if anything, this five-piece incarnation of the band has distilled all that free-jazz/post-rock/orchestral/folk/punk/metal influence into a record that’s the best work the Canadians have produced to date.

Painted Palms’ firm grasp on hooky songwriting and Pet Sounds-levels of vicarious whimsy makes for a rather interesting edifice of introspection for a debut LP, despite its cluttered arrangement.

What it lacks in crowd-pleasing polish is gained in atmosphere. Intimate doesn’t begin to cover it.

Thematically, it can seem like a little bit of a kitchen sink job in places, but there’s certainly no shortage of crushingly safe folk songwriters at present; in fact, Jurado’s disregard for convention and appetite for reinvention stick out like a sore thumb amongst the output of many of his contemporaries.

It’s a different sound on Warpaint, that’s for sure, and though it’s friskier and more malevolent in nature--possibly even more damaged and/or emotionally ruptured--they’re far more open. There’s an accessibility, an empathy for kindred feelings.

It is a powerful and dark narrative that fits the explosive attitude of the Big Ups and makes this record relevant on so many different levels.

Rave Tapes doesn’t quite reach the euphoric heights of Hardcore Will Never Die, but it is an elaborate and intelligent album from a group that isn’t interested in grabbing their listeners by the scruff of their collective neck anymore; instead, today’s Mogwai are purveyors of nuance and subtlety, and fine ones at that.

They still unleash stunning music on Origins without always seeking to shock.

Grassed Inn anchors itself with sturdy, rhythmic melodies, which is the biggest testament to Blank Realm’s mission of increasing focus and tightening up their ship.

Post Tropical has lots of vivid imagery, much drawn from the great outdoors, but throughout the LP’s duration, there’s always a strident theme of strength.

By turns infuriating and intoxicating, but swaying strongly in favour of the latter, Little Sand Box ultimately suggests that maybe those promoters were in the wrong after all back in 1991.

Has God Seen My Shadow? seems similarly poised to wipe out Lanegan’s reputation as a perennial sideman: on this showing, he must count amongst the most compelling voices currently in circulation.

Total Strife Forever is breathtaking. It might get tough sometimes, lonely and desolate even, but Doyle’s catharsis will hoist you by the bootstraps into lusher pastures.

Like the tightrope act of love itself, Love’s Crushing Diamond perseveres through calculated effort never to offend or betray the trust of its betrothed listener.

In spite of its shortcomings, High Hopes will tide fans over until the next bona fide LP.

However cloaked in black this record often feels (the closing track “Sister” deals viscerally head-on with the issue of rape with passion and extreme clarity), it’s rarely at the expense of any listening pleasure; sure there’s little let up in the mood but when the writing is consistently good you really can’t quibble about wanting more colours on the palette.

Wig Out at Jagbags is pretty much everything we could have hoped for from Stephen Malkmus at this point in his career.

On its own merits, Galapagos offers diversity and stickiness and ensures that the Post War Years might hang around a while yet.

As it is, the quality is a bit inconsistent, which is a shame, as the bits that are good are really, really good.

It tells more of a story than rolling news coverage ever could, and for that The End of Silence is as close as I’d ever want to get to real conflict.

Alternate/Endings is never a relaxing listen; when the breakneck pace drops, it’s only replaced by an unsettling calm, and one that doesn’t last very long.

Abrasive but not completely inaccessible, it’s The Fall very nearly at their best.

Feathers excluded, art abstracted from the man, Black Panties is one of the finest albums of the year.

This record is a lot of fun and show great song writing promise.