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.