This is a sexy album.

Stadium here is an exposition of time, in this stadion, this measureless measure, or rather, time is here exposed.

By rising to the high standards of recording and tonal detail set by “kraut” rock pioneers the first time around, and contextualizing the movement’s obsession with repetition within novel structures and rhythms, CAVE’s music sits on a decades-long continuum with the forebears that continue to inspire its members to pick up their instruments and write new music.

The Men have decided to gift us with yet another 10 glorious songs.

It’s a record that vibes on mixture of psychedelic forgery and improvisational wholesomeness.

Murs fails to gain any ground regarding his approach to rhyming and lyrical ingenuity. Yet, Murs 3:16 is far superior to The End of the Beginning, due to the tight and refreshing skills of producer 9th Wonder.

A fantastic record for Morrissey fans.

Double Cup sounds like an album Rashad has been gearing up to make, but instead of abandoning the footwork style he has championed throughout his career, he’s scoping its potential on nonconformist terms. And from the perspective of the listener, it’s an absolute treat.

This is an unfettered, deservedly ecstatic victory lap that’s riddled with in-jokes.

Even though Glass has a lot of physicality to it, it’s gentle in the ways in which it fills our space with its presence. It’s a record one loops for the evening and unconsciously forgets about it, only to wonder what is missing when it stops playing.

What Lapalux manages to do here is capture something of the mood of his time in the sonic language of his time. It's a real achievement.

Bandana continues a conversation not only between eras and between styles, but also between Freddie Gibbs and Madlib, both of whom continue to carve a path wholly their own — with little regard for what lays outside of it.

Within Radiohead's oeuvre, TKOL most closely resembles Kid A and Amnesiac, the double-headed phoenix that rose out the ashes of the band's turn-of-the-century identity crisis. The only thing missing this time around is, well, the identity crisis.

There are thus a number of quite diverse stylistic influences at work, but here they are all fused together into a whole that is both natural and low-key.

He reins in some of his rougher edges, offering listeners a more streamlined sound.

I find it hard to find fault with their approach, which is same-y but laced with beats and rhymes so powerful they conjure the old ‘if it izain’t broke, don’t fixxit’ axiom.

Ghost has had his share of ups and downs, but Apollo Kids finds him back near the top.

Exploding Head is a solid album that spits in the face of any sophomore slump expectations.

Filled with quirky and inventive pop songs packed with sultry harmonies and an immense level of musical intuitiveness.

An exhilarating listen.

The band’s persistence is what makes this music “challenging,” as opposed to the compositional structures that shape them, but on Piano Nights, those idiosyncrasies are pressed through a grotto of layered instrumentation that reveals an essential addition to the Bohren canon.

Jukebox is a big, bold kiss-off to the indie ghetto that’s braver and all the more interesting for the approach she’s chosen.

The songs that do hit the number, however, are unimaginably nimble in their enthusiastic originality, carrying on the busy-bee legacy Hill has been building and venturing into exciting territory. Considering how ground-floor some of his proper-solo recordings have been, this is an intriguing development.

Robert Schneider has always been an expert tunesmith, which makes the potentially disastrous transition from garage rock to super hi-fi feel like a natural extension of The Apples' ambition. Not only has the evolution been seamless, but an expanded mastery of studio technique has only served to buttress a fine collection of songs on Travellers.

In the end, Opticks sounds nothing like Norway, but it's still quite a trip. Artful, spooky, groovy, human, it sounds like anywhere and nowhere on Earth.

2008 requires more focus and more grace. Modern Guilt delivers both.

There isn’t a moment when Charli XCX doesn’t display the kind of wild, brash confidence that other artists take years to arrive at.

While it is simply impossible to duplicate the raw power and energy of [Vaudeville Villian], the newly resurrected Viktor proffers a tolerable continuation of his street hustle and ice-cold thuggery.