The music tries to express what words can't, which makes this Animal Collective’s most combustive, "live" record yet.

The songwriting is capable, it’s just somewhat predictable, and the lyrics are cheeky.

Shall Noise Upon succeeds in fits and spurts, but as a whole, it lacks the continuity that is an essential ingredient for a career-defining record.

The result is a cache of songs that are somewhat transposable with one another, but they’re undeniably well-crafted pieces of music, let alone psych-pop.

Even if it is a bit less adventurous, many of the tunes are right up there with anything the band has done.

In the final analysis, of Montreal represents a rare and comprehensive attainment of vitality in modern music.

Anderson’s guitar-for-the-sake-of-guitar approach eludes grandeur and self-proclamation.

[Bring Me The Head...] is the perfect accomplice to the contorted bliss of a seductive daydream.

With more focus on the adventurous composition and skilled playing of Coomes and Weiss, it would be hard for anyone, including myself, to dismiss this as anything other than impressive. Now, if they just hire a new lyricist for their next one.

Whether Kimya is trying to find the light side of death or losing faith in her heroes of past, she comes off rather upfront, upbeat, and positive.

P.O.S. is good. Real good.

While there is an abundance of elements that are “of the norm,” a joyous and haphazard mashing of non-standard pop ingredients drives home the album’s directive: a deranged, wonderful projection of polypop-delirium.

While Pfeffer’s lyrics are engaging, they’re sometimes inaccessible in delivery. Despite this, So Embarrassing is an interesting personal take on prog rock’s roots, and therefore quite a step in the right direction.

It’s precisely because of the transience and mutability of Open as a whole that its fleeting moments of splendor prove all the more affecting and beautiful, despite the possible contention that--because of the often contradictory accompaniment--these might not be moments of splendor at all.

The fact of the matter is, despite lesser numbers, they have demonstrated progression as artists.

Although they have a ways to go before establishing their own musical identity, The Uglysuit have more than enough talent to make it plausible that they’ll get there someday.

As gorgeous and misstep-free as it is, the soundtrack risks a bit of that souvenir, collector’s item feel native to score-based soundtracks. That being said, it’s nowhere near as padded-out as those typically are. While melodies and tones recur, track to track, it plays out with an ear toward immersion.

Mellow Waves might be a strange bedfellow for the seminal albums of the year so far, but it’s a nonetheless unassumingly essential artifact.

It has to be said that A U R O R A easily justifies its existence, and that even if its quasi-independent emotional domain won’t empower us to do away with the niggardly concrete bases of its emergence, it will at least beautify them for 40 minutes.

While James is here less austere than on Cheetah EP and less eccentric than on landmark release Richard D. James Album, Collapse nevertheless proves to be a serviceable Aphex Twin release at this point in his career. His knack for finding interesting textures and layers hasn’t been compromised nor has his willingness to build off of previous styles in his oeuvre.

The only complaint about Knoxville is its length, although it's not so much a complaint as it is a curiosity about whether there is more of this live performance out there somewhere that didn't make the final edit. As with almost all Fennesz projects and releases, the listener is left wanting more.

While a few songs interject to maintain the rabid pace of earlier releases (“Because You,” “Somos Chulas (No Somos Pendejas),” “Tonta”), most come through with a mid-tempo energy that might fall flat were it not rejuvenated by dense song forms, disjointed and atonal harmony, and Ruiz’s characteristic snarl.

There is a generative sense of the perpetual "to be continued" and "to be announced" in both the projects of Benjamin and Torontonian songwriter Sandro Perri.

The Future Will Come blooms incrementally, driven from the ground by the grittiest keyboard performance heard on a dance album in some time.

Although not perfect (and perhaps transitional), Time to Go Home is a defining moment not only for Chastity Belt, but also for a style currently seeing a serious revival.

One can’t declare Autumn of the Seraphs, Pinback’s fourth full-length, any better than their first, second, or third album.

If one didn't care for White Hills before, this won't change a mind. Of their recorded material, however, White Hills' latest is perhaps their best; short of an in-person experience of the band's eardrum-shattering performances

The only thing keeping The Death Set from being remarkably original is the repetition of Siera’s beloved drum machine.