Death Seat leaves nothing unsaid, and through this purge, Wooden Wand is absolved from past sins, ready to face a new life with a new resolve. The fiery mess of mangled metal and flesh looks much better from atop the cliff than from the wreckage.

For fans of some of Broderick’s earlier material, then, these qualities, combined with the relatively narrow range of instrumentation and short duration of the album, may prove somewhat limiting and not as immediately immersive as some of his best work.

This isn’t their first release, but it’s no doubt their best so far, a fully realized space of shimmering notes and subtle signs toward a masterful production and shared creative mindset of defying expectation.

The style is, in fact, so far from themselves and close to Smith that I'm going to assume this is a one-off mourning effort. If it is, it's worthwhile for anyone moved by Smith's death; but if they make another, it'd be extremely blasphemous.

Compared to the discourse and debate surrounding the new album, the music itself is somewhat of a non-event: two epic 20-minute-long LP sides, and a 7-inch of drone tracks.

Sure, with Cloudland Canyon stringently adhering to their newfound formula and retaining a similar pace throughout, Fin Eaves doesn't lend itself to any startles or immediately striking moments. But their renewed approach allows for the full realization of the album's flavor: grandiose, ambitious, and almost painfully beautiful.

Blouse may have inadvertently produced one of the most notable, truly unencumbered reflexive turns on the genre (and almost necessarily by extension, its subculture) in recent memory.

There are a few scorching solos throughout, but most of Ensemble Pearl witnesses the musicians paying more attention to atmosphere than technicality.

Just know that Architecture in Helsinki have enough energy to continue cranking out these adrenaline and saccharine cocktails until you do.

Less Than Human is the sound of James Murphy transforming the songs of a guy who has spent a nauseating amount of time fiddling about with Kraftwerk-y synths into an album as enjoyable at home as it is on the dancefloor.

It’s a soothing cushion of chaos, like a bloody valentine, a buzzing saw, and an amazing star exploding into particle dust.

Ask The Night is a dose of a kind of southern comfort that my doctor might actually approve of.

It's an agreeable listening experience with moments of catchiness and beauty throughout, and hints of an evolutionary path that leave future expectations open-ended.

By the force of their musicianship on Rivers, however, Wildbirds & Peacedrums manage to own that risk as one of their greatest assets.

Drained from the melodic juices of previous works, Cosmos is left to bubble atop of a seething pan of sharp shards of metal, to be later buttered with a mechanical hum.

Yet as much joy as you can hear in Hercules and Love Affair, it’s impossible to separate the melancholy from the mix.

So, caveat auditor: this album is deep and often rich, but it definitely wants, even requires, you to pay attention.

None of these songs is an inferior version of other songs on the album; each dangles from its own distinct nostalgic thread.

Whether sublime or quizzical, the work of David Daniell, Doug McCombs, and their like-minded collaborators has resulted in a pair of fascinating albums.

Antisocialites may not be a manifest step forward for Alvvays. Quieter than its predecessor on many of the songs, the album sacrifices immediacy for Rankin’s occasionally mawkish but otherwise astute poetics. But the tradeoff is worth it.

With Tapestry of Webs, Past Lives prove how musicians spawned from relatively constrictive sonic bloodlines, like hardcore, can eventually produce something that's different, yet equally penetrating.

Paperwork is a definite step forward, and though it’s possible that those who loved volcano! before might find this more "conventional" album less exciting, I’d be surprised if anyone called it less rewarding.

Its best songs are the ones that maintain the spark of originality that has always threaded through LCD Soundsystem’s work,.

The result is a mix that is less concept-driven and less unified under a singular identity than previous releases.

Dedicated isn’t a perfect album--it’s overlong and occasionally concedes too much to chart tastes to be interesting. But by the time Jepsen takes a bow following bonus track “Party For One,” you’re reminded once again of her generosity, of all the space she’s cleared for strength and weakness, for personal epiphanies and communal release.

While it may lack the freshness and shock-of-the-new presented by their previous full-lengths, Key Markets marks the next logical step for the band; the sound of Sleaford Mods’ ultimate rejection.

The biggest pleasant surprise here, though, is the vocals.

Cold Hot Plumbs cobbles the weird mechanical detritus from last year’s dank and gloomy Hubba Bubba into something capable of using its spindly appendages to pry open your eyelids and shine shafts of colorful light directly through to your brain’s misfiring synapses. Sometimes it even goes down smooth and sweet (you’ll develop any complications with time).