It’s catchy, committed, prehensile punk rock.

Lonely Twin is a unified creation, concerned from start to finish with existential idee fixes like death and despair, and how humanity deals with those universals.

The music maintains its drive as it moves, risking the occasional drag in the more languid sections, but never succumbing to a total loss of momentum.

I simply cannot imagine what it would be like to see these guys live, but follow up that New Order at your next dance party with some Congotronics and people will be bouncing off the walls.

For the moment, it’s surely a worthwhile project for players and listeners alike, an album of unusual synergy, exploration, and focus that expands both artists’ repertoires well beyond genre constructions to create something both unique and replayable.

It’s a diverse group and they’re doing some excellent work. Really great stuff.

Yes, Ambivalence Avenue is an album that defies expectations, and it is also Bibio’s most creative and penetrating release yet.

If you enjoy the ear-perkingly dense textures of friendlier experimental stuff like Four Tet and Fridge's Happiness LP, then you can't go wrong here.

As much as Everything In Between transcends what the band has released to date, nothing feels like a true departure, and everything seems like an improvement.

The cuts on Kindred aren't simply longer than before; they introduce a completely different sense of space and continuity... this is why Kindred is so strong.

Blank Face is one of the strongest, most consistently enjoyable in years, even if its glossy and misanthropic merits falls just shy of GOAT status.

With this record, though, Black turns that style into a genuine language--a flexible idiom--one that can conjure up a whole weird world of new emotions and experiences.

Phases nevertheless reaffirms its singer’s preeminence in the current milieu of indie rock. Pulling from material as recent as January and as early as 2010, the album aggregates Olsen’s previously unreleased work into a collection that vacillates between retrospection and contemporariness.

If this isn't the album you are blaring out of your car all summer long, you aren't having enough fun.

Like Bosch’s triptych, the album is vivid and dense, clear as a bell but hellacious, and undeniably worth your inscrutable attention.

[Modern Jester] is, admittedly, a comprehensive representation of his course thus far, but the amalgamation of Dilloway's diverse temperament presents something untried and, for want of a better way to put it, pretty ****ing violent.

Alongside Youngs' anxious, distracted acoustic guitar picking, the most characteristic sound of this album is a damaged electric guitar, pealing its mournful, inarticulate song again and again.

Grief’s Infernal Flower is heavy in the best, most gratifyingly melancholy way.

It is music with palpable warmth, not nearly as cold as your average techno track.

Juxtaposing foley noises, drum loops, and auxiliary click-clacking against minimalist, percussive synth lines and enormous swells of energy, the album clearly has a sonic template and a cohesion easily identifiable within the first three tracks.

A return to/remaining within form where Carey’s freewheeling guitar and (thankfully) sandblasted and virtuosic voice beam at us from our speakers in triumphant denouement.

This record is a tremendous achievement, but in the end, the grandeur of Hidden can be a little much to take in all at once.

Their liquid funk/R&B/hip-hop hybrid has never been more refined.

Black Sun is spotty and rusted, and it is likely that it will be interesting to most for this or that track - a grimy slayer, a leftfield floorfiller - or for the fact that it has a fantastic musique concrète apocalyptic vignette featuring Flying Lotus for a coda.

Intermezzo displays Bishop in top form, and if this is an interlude, the next act should be spectacular.

The M.O. is so resolute, the beat so constant, that even after 17 years it is unimaginable to think that a new GAS album would sound like anything but this. As with the forests of Voigt’s childhood, it’s a comfort and a moment of disquiet to confront something so perpetually, hauntingly still.

The band isn't doing anything that hasn't been done before, but damn if that doesn't seem to matter a lick while listening to the record. It's just too youthful, effervescent, and charming.

The Air Force may signal that Xiu Xiu isn't as jarring and bewildering as they once were, but there's more than enough fortitude and craft present to ensure that Stewart will always be a good handful of steps ahead of everyone else making "experimental" pop.