Yeasayer constantly threaten to come out with a startling album; alas, Amen and Goodbye isn’t it.

IV isn't Black Mountain's most ferocious album, but you might well find it their most profound.

While the project makes more sense if you’ve seen the movie, there’s plenty of warmth and intelligence alongside the tits and willies.

Weighty subject matter, then, but Harris’ John Darnielle-esque delivery rams the message home amidst their strongest set of tunes since 2006’s The Body, The Blood, The Machine, with Kathy Foster’s on-point harmonies (Thinking Of You) and propulsive bass (Always Never Be) adding purpose to their power-punk arsenal.

Homme’s relative subservience is largely to the record’s benefit--he’s clearly happy to ride shotgun for Pop--and the symbiotic alliance renders Post Pop Depression a beguiling listen, fascinatingly experimental, thematically compelling and a deeply intimate portrait of one of the all-time great rock wildmen coming to terms with the idea of retirement.

Stiff is better when it's slower, but it still feels like riding a rollercoaster that's all climb and no twist.

Compassion’s best moments share this kineticism: the chirpy cowbell entry in Sudden Ambition; Tokyo’s driving bass. When the pace slows however, the group’s very affected 80s-evoking style becomes a bit overbearing, so committed to its trendy celestial shtick that it runs the risk of rebounding past retro-chic back into tacky territory again.

It’s confidently compressed, and where this kind of urban dance music can serve as a vehicle for ego, Rodrigues' deft arrangements and choice guests speak for him--and speak volumes.

You'll be happy to hear that Xtreme Now, the Brooklyn duo Princa Rama’s latest record, is just as joyously naff as any judgey pre-judger could expect.

Songs that are perfectly pitched to suit fans of Pixies, Daniel Johnson and Drive By Truckers; Lisa Walker on the other, working like Margo Timmins to make his harder (She’s Killed Hundreds) and funnier (Hello, I’m a Ghost) material more plaintive (Donny’s Death Scene, Hand of God).

On the Land Blues is especially reminiscent of the latter’s Blue Ridge Mountains, but lacks their pathos and grandeur. Otherwise, there’s plenty else for the ears to feast on.

Though she’s on the edge of slipping into Adele-esque poperatics, this is a bold and confident first LP from a producer--and singer--with great potential.

At least half of Chaosmosis matches its vitality; the only real stinker is opener Trippin' On Your Love, a happy-clappy rave generation anthem even The Shamen might have passed on. But the highlights here are as good as anything Bobby Gillespie and co-writer Andrew Innes have fashioned since 2000's touchstone XTRMNTR.

Grapefruit is both excruciating and luxurious in its patchiness.

There's a point during Transuranic Heavy Elements where the bludgeoning beats pause and something (Guitars? You? The earth?) begins to howl, and you think: This is probably not for everyone.

Barbara... is less massive comeback than slight return.

Girl at the End of the World is, on one level, more of the same: bulging arrangements; hefty half-hooks; Tim Booth's screwy commentary connecting somewhere to the left of immediately comprehensible. But it's also intelligent, accomplished and likeable.

Moogmemory is a brave and rewarding left field adventure.

This is a sharp and quite possibly an important album, as memorable and considered as it is acerbic. Bravo.

More Rain finds Ward playing genre bingo with generally enjoyable results, including a tasteful homage to T. Rex and a well-handled country number about his Christian faith.

A moving synth-pop paean to the pair’s powerful relationship and a fitting finale to their School of Seven Bells project.

More often than not, United Crushers settles into a groove and gets comfy.

Dry and lacklustre instrumentation does nothing to compensate for an unshakable one-dimensionality.

Never alarming, never challenging but always effortlessly attuned to the dusty hum of who they are, Nada Surf are a faded favourite t-shirt; an overnight stay in your childhood bed; a comforting glimpse at your past that throbs with nostalgia while burning brightly with the knowledge of how much you've changed and how far you've come.

The presence of Jeremy Gara on drums peppers the record with a likeable melodrama that’ll seem familiar to fans of Funeral or Neon Bible, although this particular record requires much closer listening to fully appreciate its charms.

Hiperasia might be a less accessible album, but it’s Díaz-Reixa at his most experimental and inventive.

An album with a few moments of sweetness, but which ultimately feels like a pleasant collection of background music.

Like most LSD songs we’ve come to love since the band’s rise in popularity around 2011, Side Pony is packed with tunes you’ll want to sing along to before you know any of the words. But there’s also more sonic muscle here.