Far from a drop off in coherence, Mr. Beast is just another stop on a long, strange, satisfying trip.

Sweeney brings an array of agile guitar playing and striking harmonies that create a more contained, musically astute Billyvironment.

A hypnosis kicks in and we discover that a massive and dense album has run its hour-plus course in what felt like... two minutes? Four days?

On Catacombs, as always, McCombs stands as an unfashionable maverick who plays on his own terms, and if that is not good enough for the mindless millions, then tough shit.

Serving as the final part of a trilogy that includes the much feted records Rook and , the album is an epic feat of baroque pop craftsmanship, something akin to an update of Scott IV or Dusty in Memphis for the new millennium.

This sumptuous sonic depth exceeds that of a live band, but still feels like something The Luyas will pull off live without a hitch. Evocative and avoiding narrative, brooding but warm to the touch, you'll feel compelled to return to these songs without actually learning the mechanics of their nature.

Dream On moves in pretty similar territory to Hive Mind and with almost as much flair.

For being as spare as it is, Zomes’ music is incredibly full while maintaining a hazy, idealistic distance.

Records like this are what will eventually outmode the contradiction of “too street for the industry,” eschewing both categories in the unique accomplishment of a profit-driven truth-telling venture. More like this.

While not as immediately consumed fully as a whole as Rejoicing In The Hands was, when given time and taken apart to be put back together anew, Niño Rojo clearly states the depth of Banhart's presence, if admittedly, not quite making a clear purpose just yet.

On Glacial Glow, flurries of compositional details accentuate a reassuring aesthetic, inviting us seamlessly into her world.

It is heavier on quality than most Bright Eyes albums I could name -- both musically and lyrically.

It might be "teenage" in its orientation, but it is an adult album in its serious and mature rumination--and affirmation.

They’ve managed to wrap the menacing and the rewarding up in an air-conditioned pleasure circuit, beyond transgression and provocation

Taking chances within the realm of a three minute pop song takes sheer talent, and on The Slow Wonder, Carl Newman proves that he is one of the brightest songwriters working in music these days.

Ultimately, 13 is a lens buffer for viewing Supersilent’s previous interrogations of how conditioned humans process sound and space, yet it needn’t in itself be a normative work.

There aren't a great deal of people making chill this good any more.

All The Way is quite good; let’s hope Growing defy their album’s title and live up to their own name by pursuing their clever ideas even further on their next release.

The whole affair has a grandiose, almost decadent feel to it, with its damaged beauty and elegance.

Though proVISIONS offers some playfully charming moments, ('Can Do,' 'Out There,' 'Increment of Love'), the dark center of this album’s middle is telling.

Slime Season 3 is as celebratory, emotionally rich, and life-affirming as a good funeral should be but never is. And this isn’t the end; it’s only the beginning of a brand new chapter.

CLPPNG is an excellent, beautifully-executed record.

There’s little apparent by way of concept, lyrical wit, and aesthetic quirk — qualities that illuminate the work of many of Duterte’s colleagues — but ambience, style, and ingenuity are well at work, making the album a vibe-y classic worth hanging onto.

Even with the complete lack of song-oriented material, Instrumentals 2015 serves as an interesting career overview and a welcome return of someone who I had begun to believe had slipped entirely into the light of time.

Plastic Anniversary is unfamiliar, strange, unsettling, and wonderful.

The lack of a reliance on the electronic merging with folk is the most interesting aspect to There Were Wolves; whereas it is essential to the appeal of Genders’ Tunng gang, The Accidental plays it straight, using those ever-present vocal sounds on top of primarily unadorned acoustic numbers.

This album is easily taken as it is, a good side portrait of the parts of America that are somewhat still in the throes of modernity (if we all aren’t to some degree).

Although by the record's second half the brassy, treble-kicked sound wears a little thin, there are enough gems to keep the release fresh through the end of its 35 minutes.