The Mouse and the Mask's downfall, though, is its excruciatingly narrow scope.

While the band have shed much of their aggressive musical past, they are able to bring an edge to a wealth of genres that otherwise struggle with balancing a new audience with an older, AOR-accessible set.

Devotion has that same opiated warmth that left me lying in a bed of rose petals for long stretches last year, and though I would have preferred a bigger growth spurt from the Baltimore duo, they shot up at least enough to warrant a new pencil mark a half-inch/inch above where I placed them in ‘06.

While Don't Climb on and Take the Holy Water is a nice change of pace and a pleasant excursion in the free-drone for an underrated guitar band, it lacks any real defining moments that would make it a more noteworthy and essential album.

Gate of Grief puts the band back on the map, and while it sometimes stumbles, it nevertheless continues to slink around in the shadows, cackling.

Take Fountain... does little to expand on the formulaic offerings their followers have released. Instead, the album risks running itself into a dead end it creates, all on its own.

Mr. Hollywood Jr., 1947 won't win any awards for innovation and probably won't yield any radio hits, but that's perfect. This album isn't about creating the perfect pop song, but about creating a story that bridges generations.

A few forgettable collaborations and sing-by-number hooks aside (the usually spirited Seu Jorge sounds especially enervated on “Favela Love,” which languishes until a jaunty guitar riff revives it well after the four-minute mark), many of the guest verses on the record pleasantly surprise.

This music on this self-titled release is perfectly and tightly composed and arranged.

Playing it Strange isn't the most awe-inspiring Fresh & Onlys record, but it fits snug on the shelf next to their myriad other records and offers a few of their nicest melody slices yet. This is what lo-fi is meant to do.

The tracks blister with attitude and grit, but the persistent monochrome grows a bit exhausting all coughed out at once. The bitter sandstorm could stand more punctuation, even if it did make Horehound less terrifying.

Indeed, when everything clicks, Darnielle can't be denied, and even when there's cause for concern, there's always something worth taking note of.

Here, he’s stripped aside much of the theoretical sprawl, resulting in a work that feels both minor, even by his standards, and gargantuan, even by his standards.

Nevertheless, this unsettled eclecticism notwithstanding, Fading Frontier does in fact sport some of Deerhunter’s most conventional and poppy material.

The Kadanes have released their third full-length, a self-titled release best appreciated as the culmination of the Kadane’s experience of playing together since children in Wichita Falls, TX.

The album is consistently entertaining, but lacking in some of the really revelatory moments of his earlier records.

While The Sound The Speed The Light might not push the band beyond the ground they’ve already covered, it goes a long way towards proving that “more of the same” isn’t so bad when it comes from the right outfit.

Its intensity and aggressiveness reveal Truths about Raime’s process that “process music” can’t really tap into.

Local Business is an uneven record in comparison to the two that preceded it, owing to a slight loss of momentum in its back third, but the material that shines does so with an effulgent intensity that's become par for the course with this group.

Crazy Clown Time isn't a groundbreaking work in the way that Lynch's films are, but that's not to say that there's not a lot of darkling pleasure for the intrepid and the curious.

Dark Developments is another remarkably fine album from a musician who has been around doing what he does so long that he’s often unjustly neglected.

Temple and co. have obviously taken a big left turn that at the very least indicates a commitment to motion over stagnation; they're pushing themselves and their listeners somewhere.

Though Langhorne Slim has its delights, one would be remiss not to note its flyover country.

Music this agreeable and well-produced may not leave the most potent aftertaste, but it still makes for a sweet listen without veering into the saccharine.

It’s a good album. ... It’s a lusher, synthy, melodramatically gothy version of Tamaryn’s sound. More Soft Cell, less Chapterhouse.

Where the album stumbles is in its inconsistency, with some rather uninteresting filler that doesn't do much but flesh out the album.

Cut the World may not be essential Antony and the Johnsons, but it's a recapitulant compilation of some of their strongest songs, in some of their strongest iterations, while presenting stimulating ideas for reconsidering their music and our own planet.

Walker is still ultimately a troubadour at heart, a keeper of old languages retelling us stories from years past, and Deafman Glance shows that he’s continuing to sharpen his tongue.