Transistor Rhythm is an album with a thin atmosphere. There is little reverberation, just repetition, vocal samples repeating without degrading.

In lieu of messing around in the dark fringes of slightly bizarre café music, Free The Bees is a straight up rock album more in line with Iron Butterfly and the Small Faces than Morcheeba or Quantic.

The middle third of pom pom gives itself over relentlessly to schlock and dross for the purpose of exposing deeper truths on the way.

This new approach is graceful but weary, with mixed results throughout.

Many of the tracks are begging to be played live in full force, as most of them, to be sure, sound unfulfilled here on CD.

Drunk’s a chill listen, but it’s also a restless one.

Melt-Banana prove with Fetch that they can twist their peculiar universe into something more cordial, but one that forfeits a certain part of their penchant for risk.

If you've been pining for a fresh take on the libidinous funk of yesteryear, or looking to go back to prurient, carefree days of teenage infatuation, the National Trust is for you, ooo, ooo, yeahhhhhhh.

It sounds promising at first, but then it slumps into a bed of mediocrity that Toro y Moi has already proved he is more than capable of avoiding.

Mirror Eye is just as solid in its own pop culture reductionism as Moon Safari or Before The Dawn Heals Us. It’s just that the hooks here are more textural than musical.

Compton itself is a part of this little something too, because even though it fails to make a clear artistic statement, it houses some of the finest hip-hop production Dre has turned in for years, and proves that the city has much more going for it than just a bad reputation.

The more lukewarm segments of Ghosthorse weigh its worth down like saddlebags filled with iron, particularly the trip-hop confessional sections. But even these lesser moments contribute to a greater good when all is said and done, adding up to a slightly cinematic experience best witnessed with full attention fixed on the little details.

The songs on Pyramid serve admirably as precise and severe mood pieces; they are great for rocking out to while one devotes half a mind to something else.

For Years is at its best when Airhead is working in the first of these modes, the more melodic one.

It continues to be true that instrumental synth of this caliber is a perfect backdrop, but today it gives the impression of digital trompe-l’œil, a backdrop devoid of foreground, a Real Hero as crash test dummy.

There is a deeply impressive EP to be found on this album.

As progressive and interesting as Wilderness the band is, Vessel States is not a great leap forward for them, and those who appreciated [their debut] will probably be underwhelmed with the band's latest offering.

I’d rather be listening to Magnificent Fiend’s antecedents.

Starry Mind is both an effortless listen and a taxing one, blending easily into one's surroundings while also rewarding intense examination.

Despite looking to set the world on fire with Free TC, his debut, Dolla $ign spreads himself too thin and mostly stumbles over his own lofty ambitions.

The dichotomy between the agonies of face-melting and beatific singing has long been a Pterodactyl motif, but this time the guitar wizardry takes a nonetheless threatening backseat to the structure of the songs.

Where it is intellectually interesting, it may not be aurally satisfying.

Poetry aside, none of these 14 songs are highlights of any of the three artists’ vast catalogs. The stories and the production alike are pure sunshine, which often passes into the saccharine.

Exquisite Corpse's saving grace is that there is enough variety to its ensemble of guest performers to keep the listener somewhat interested.

Share The Joy sees our own Vivians enter into a similar contretemps: locking horns with death and with demons (literally, on "Trying To Pretend"), they achieve a narrative victory that nonetheless remains, for the auditor, a work in progress.

This exact formula probably will function well with the new listeners, although it's hard to imagine someone appreciating Buck65 for all he's worth without being familiar with his earlier work.

It's Nurses' funky dance pop album, and thankfully they've also conjured up some irresistibly catchy melodies to complement them.

Foreign Body has moments of generous lucidity. Yet it struggles to find a foothold amid a flood of ideas, as if each performer were vaguely unsure about her role.