It might be helpful to think of Blood Bank not as an EP but as a single with a solid new A-side and three largely irrelevant B-sides.

Not only is it exciting to hear Youngs challenge himself with genre conventions, but it’s also comforting to know that no matter which mode Youngs adopts, it always sounds like him.

As with most Adams records, the fact that some of the songs made the cut is perplexing.

It’s a fun ride, to be sure, but once the high wears off and all that’s left is the darkness, you can catch a faint glimpse of oblivion. Hopefully we get to peek deeper into the chasm the next time around.

Ditto and company take indie-rock in a direction many of its fans are not used to, in that the focus is mostly about the human voice and the way the musicians compliment the singer's attack.

The contemplative Mary's Voice may win over listeners who couldn't stomach the unrefined energy of The Music Tapes' older work, with artistic integrity intact.

A real carnival of a mess, completely inconsistent, sometimes really horrifying, and, more often than not, entertaining.

This time around, Chasny is clearly interested in writing structured songs with clear lines drawn throughout, with seemingly no concern for the reactions that might ensue from such high production and exacting precision.

A generous musical vocabulary enables each song to speak with both a familiar voice and novel inflections.

What do these songs evoke? Nothing much in the realm of emotion.

Sure, it's a logical progression from 100th Window, but because their progressions are neither commonsense nor predictable, it's difficult to predict how it will hold up in terms of posterity.

Either too sugary or too bitter and complacent, Normal Happiness is a strictly a family affair.

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.

Colors dispels a greater notion of contemporary selfhood with its sheer tastelessness. It holds status as the most truly perplexing move from the artist to date. Unfortunately, the result of that move is borderline unlistenable.

Blues Control are one of the most intriguingly unclassifiable outfits in contemporary music, putting forth music that is clear and refined while also being absolutely incomparable.

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.

The final product is an album marked by the unique signatures of its creators that ultimately fails to play to any of their strengths.

Prolific folks like Presley tend to forget the presentation of an album, and Cyclops Reap seems like a step in that direction: not just a collection of songs, but a collection of songs that work well together.

Yet despite its cryptic, apocalyptic themes, it’s more appropriate to say that Courage Of Others is a more formal, deliberate album than its predecessor, owing less to “take it easy” leanings and more to the prodigious prog-folk of E.L.P., Giles & McDonald, or the most minor-key offerings of Pentangle.

Listening to Slaraffenland find their way, as they approach indie-rock from a rarified angle, is enjoyable enough in itself to cancel out any inhibitions.

Twin Sister ultimately make music seemingly wired to appeal to our most intrinsic pleasure centers, and--as befits the album's title--it's nothing short of rapturous.

Not great, a few catchy moments, certainly not god-awful, but just bland enough that after three listens, all life is drained from it.

The lyrics are particularly generic, even for a pop band, and they render The Broken West’s mission obsolete.

Song of the Pearl, then, is well-executed, but stuck in the same gear, especially in its middle.

Eno's true strength has always been in his ability to constantly create, to constantly make good noise. Small Craft on a Milk Sea finds him doing exactly that, and the results are at worst incredibly listenable, and at best utterly invigorating.

These Four Walls is a consistently exciting album full of memorable songs, and one of maybe five records this year so far that I would recommend unreservedly.

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).

Though for him this may seem to be a progress toward honesty and wholeness, for the listener the benefits are not so clear.