2016 ALL

18+ - Fore

Guy-n-girl duo's homespun protean sprawler where their respective roles as frail whimperer and spurious seductress are reminiscent of a twisted and amateur xx-portrayal -- which leaves trap-banger renditions lying somewhere between hazy art-school caricature and self-aware dork-fest, exercises in understated glitch-tronix sluggish flounderers, and latecomers "Love Was Like"+"Glass" I-swear-it's-true beautiful. The biggest bummer being their too-cool passivity becoming a real bore -- cuz for what it's worth, in spite of some awkward bumblings, they've got something here that's vital and invigorating; from the trap-rap takeovers to the ambition and track-flow. Plus they make me laugh and wonder and roll my eyes and sympathize with their mental pickles all at once. See "Sour" for a particularly-classic hook-n-line from each of 'em: spurious seductress goes for stutter-'brrr's and asks how you'd like her "butterfly flapping on your face", frail whimperer spits out the gem "Katy Perry / dysentery" and pledges to "keep her squawkin' like a crow". Er, not Katy though, someone else I assume. 7.5/10

18+ - Collect

Comes off as somewhat surplus when taking into account their more-sprawling/parentheses-packed release from three months prior, especially being plainly plainer and really no less obnox persona-wise. But if you dig/tolerate/get a kick outta their apathetic weirdo disposition and art-n-pills-at-night mood-trap beats then this shouldn't disappoint -- matter-o-fact, a reduction in glitch-work experiments and the comparative cleanliness arguably give this the upper hand in some ways. "Drama" sees 'em at a surprising tier of legitimate despite repeated allusions to tigers+chimps, "Glow" is an anomalous shrill-effect acoustic solo effort via the femme-side, standout bangers and hooks sprinkled healthily enough throughout. Patent silliness toned down here too, but they still manage to bust this one out while simultaneously kinda summing up their schtick: "If you ain't depressed then you probably dumb / You could probably choke you so full of cum." 6/10

2 Chainz - Felt Like Cappin' [EP]

Lax-n-stripped shorty-discharge embodied by the final track's title: "This Me, Fuck It." The carefreewheelin' disposition bears stylish persona aplenty and a refreshing sense of ataraxia, flows and particularly the beats seize quite the clarity-bolster -- but his usually-cunning braggadocio is rendered into shuffling about in the ho-hum as are the monotonous choruses, and the whole of it emits an aura of inessential lenience. Worth it for shining production via Zaytoven/Timbaland/etc., a winning+Shinobi-referencing Lil Wayne verse, and the semi-charm of offhand oeuvre from a guy pushing 40 who apparently just Felt Like Rappin'. 5.5/10

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A Giant Dog - Pile

Having already procured what'll probably be the best band name/album title combo of the year, these Texan rock&punk&rollers aim for a garaged rowdiness that's radiant as it is dirty, sweet without nearing saccharine and rough without reaching ridiculous. Though a bit too customary to contend in any other 'of the year's, I'd say we have a winner -- consistently contagious, loud+blistering+raw complemented with the convivial+melodic, illuminated frontwoman (Sabrina Ellis) and bass-lines (Graham Low). It only really lets up for some post-party stoner-love acoustic whimsy near the end, buzzy keys and horns occasionally jab through and entirely enhance, and the slacker "bop bop" backups come off as both parody and panegyric of antique eras in rock music -- something they're also devoted enough to to make sure "sex & drugs" and "rock & roll" each get their own song; always a good sign. 7/10

A Sagittariun - Elasticity 

Admittedly began skipping past most of the talky transmissive interludes after a few plays; cuz hey, 70+ minutes of heady techno is mentally taxing on its own, never mind the added occasional shift into philosophical brain-buster discourse. But they do make this beat-ridden beast feel comprehensive+cogent and also complement the surrounding compositions, as in they too make you sit back and think "like, whoa, man": spacey but never limacine, involved without being too burdensome, a vivacious and varied sound palette that's fond of muzzling its melodies. The ender emergence into the hustle-n-bustle-n-rainfall of Myrtle Avenue fittingly feels like being dropped back into normal ol' reality -- though there's no 23s noticed throughout, it's safe to say Elasticity is this sagittariun's very own version of Operation Mindfuck. 7/10

Abbath - Abbath

When it comes to metal of the black inclination, the breadth and barbarism of Abbath's scare+despair components just about match that of the silly album cover -- instead of a full-on commitment to swallowing worlds and coercing into abysses, they transmit something a bit more in the way of traditionalist heavy-n-gallopin' thrashy riffage; their sturdy trounce rather stock but proficient and consistent enough to remain engaging and warrant some war-troll kitsch. Particularly adept at crescendo-breaking belches and well-timed synth-horns. 6.5/10

Aesop Rock - The Impossible Kid

Bars are anti-generic, defiantly daedal, and constantly enthralling; and he's got enough of 'em to handle the whole sans guests. A word-wiz wonder-man whether he's blathering absolute absurdities or molding said absurdities into meticulous yarns that are keen, personal, comical, even pensive: there's the neck-tatted kid at the Baskin-Robbins who makes him feel hoary as hell and half-hearted bout his own body art+its creators ("Now some 22-year old inside a cube of brick and mortar / Got me questioning my morals and their corny pecking order"), the 'specially standout story of one estranged brother's ballgame-impeding gopher and another's letdown after mom won't let him see Ministry, the acknowledged defects and resultant kitten of psychiatry ("When you start getting all exact and algebraic / I'm reminded it's a racket not a rehabilitation"), the blunt bashing of a prominent quote ("Knowing ain't half the battle / That's a bullshit quip written by some asshole"), this ("Airhorn airhorn airhorn airhorn"). Oh and he also found the time to bust out the beats too -- those lively, heavy, funky, eerie, beats. 8/10

Agoraphobic Nosebleed - Arc [EP]

The inaugural of a four-EP series, each "designed to decimate your total being" and allegedly tackling a different genre/a genre differing from their customary psychotic grind-freak blitzkrieg-core. So here we have the officially-dubbed Sludge-Doom Inc. 3-track 27-minute EP from the group whose 100-track LP was a mere 21 mins. and change. Exclusively Kat vox (along with occasional accompaniment from anonymous low-pitched demon) is revivifying, riffery is substantial and sonically pleasing, mech-drums mesh specially well, samples remind that this is indeed ANb -- but though her vox slay they also never really alter, and songs seldom feel comfortable in their own tacked-on skin; kinda just going wherever and doing whatever and transitioning whenever. Which considering the outcome, is fine and good. But I can't say part of me has been decimated, certainly nowhere in the area of 25% anyway. 6/10

Aluk Todolo - Voix 

A presumably single-session and perpetually-careening instrumental that's generously chopped into six time-stamped sections, this is a hypnotic and riotous exercise in all-out steadfast propulsion that scarcely isn't cramming the skull full-a mesmerizing cacophony. Stabile and subtly-chugged dual-note bass repetitions and nimble-yet-constant drumming maintain a well-trudged path while guitars are usually used to twist and shriek, but now and then pluck out a clarion riff for good measure. And though every so often it builds up to peak-like intensifications and wanders into restless tear-downs, the tautological persistence can feel a bit superabundant on the whole. Eh, small price-2-pay for a grime-groove so bewitching-n-jittery that the final calm-down halfway through "9:29" feels like a warranted post-orgasmic release. 7.5/10

The Amazing - Ambulance

Grudgingly gave in to their leisurely haze-folk last year ('Picture You') as the dolefully dreamy atmosphere was kinda hard to combat. Plenty-o-pretty to go around on this one too, but oof what a snoozer. Downy+demure as they may be, there's definitely a decent amount of instrumental aptitude for a troop that's about 90% tone and 10% showmanship -- do the vox really hafta be this vacant tho? Breakin' up the doldrums last time we had a piercing noise segment and a crushing acid-rock freakout, on 'Ambulance' it's the much less anomalous "Blair Drager" with some low-down creep-funk that recycles "How Soon is Now?" and would suit a night-prowling mystery solver. Tonight's mystery: The Case of the Missing Moxie. 5/10

Amnesia Scanner - AS [EP]

A 21-minute slice of ominous and whacked-out electro-grime; awash with dirty deformities, walloping 'what-the's, stutters-n-sputters: muddlement abounds fo sho, but hacked+marred vocal deliveries help accelerate conditions into gnarled club bangers for contorted creatures, and though these six arrangements lurch and confound with the best of 'em, each one does tote a sense of compactness. Comicality amongst the inexplicable: cartoonish boinks and a hook that sounds like "mush head". 7/10

Amon Amarth - Jomsviking

Yep, it's got all dem viking-lyfe-metal platitudes: us vs. them outlook, summoning inner strength, brutal battles, harrowing weather, raising horns+pouring beers for fallen freebooters, fulfilling destinies on seas of blood, etc. Then halfway through they dare to break out "The Way of Vikings" as if that wasn't already their ingrained band motto to begin with. But they wear their vet-status for this disposition loud-n-proud -- performances, though perhaps a bit recycled, are reliable and heavy and galloping round-the-clock; impressively decipherable growls are on point and allow for a welcoming coherence+precise depictions of injurious actions and various weaponry, they don big choruses and love to exude triumph but don't plunge into Cornville or shy away from piano-plinking amid tributary balladry. Notable/novel moment comes during "A Dream That Cannot Be", a guy-gal back-n-forth of bad-assery between Johan Heg and Doro Pesch that works way better than it probably should. Not-so-long story short, haughty-n-macho rescue is attempted and met with rejection and independence, then he goes for the forceful grab, and, well: "I pull the knife I've concealed / I put the edge to his throat". You go, girl. 7/10

Anderson .Paak - Malibu

Fresh off his particularly illuminated guest-work on Dr. Dre's 'Compton', Paak delivers a full-n-flowing semi-filmic experience of his own: one whose bonafide and infectious old-meets-new soul&b uber-warmth is oft-mated with/accentuated by retro surf-talk samples and bittersweet familial nostalgia. Sure, the sustained breeziness it suffers from transforms to tiresome sex-corn now and again, there's some standouts yet it never really peaks -- but when instrumental suavity is this sumptuous and consistent, those very well may be non-issues. Plus he's got some hip-hop chops and is able to make jumping into bed with him sound nothin' but playful; Miguel could learn a thing or two here. 7/10

Angel Du$t - Rock the Fuck On Forever

Rowdy+rapid+punchy enough to claim bonafide hardcore, but opener "Toxic Boombox" winds up somewhat of a tough-guy tease -- granted, they're quite the rigid yellers and mean riffers when they wanna be and shout "fuck you" before a breakdown, but when melodic pop-leans and non-shouted hooks pervade it adds an almost laughably-extrinsic boyish charm; not to mention bring xtra clumps of catchy, a fuckload of fun, and a sort of atypical neatness and innocence. When they vow to make me hurt on, erm, "Hurt You Bad", I assume he means he'll beat me good in soccer next time or something; the barks that fall on chord-changes, simply aggressive aerobic instructions; being addicted to a real bad thing that's gonna take him out, masked by hella-adorable harmonizing. They also whip out a "Twist & Shout" that's terrific and all their own, and a fiery sax for the swan-song. No worries, the tunes don't actually rock the fuck on forever -- 1:35 or so usually does the trick. 8/10

Animal Collective - Painting With

Could be conclusive confirmation that these animals have collectively ceased to keep giving a shit following the long-time-coming and merited 2009 breakthrough of Merriweather Post Pavilion -- while lotsa peepz bemoaned the exorbitant clutter of 2012's successor Centipede Hz, at least that felt refulgent, agitated, bustling; hell, kinda filthy. Here we see arrangements similarly thronged but muffled and flattened, an enunciated simpler approach that often comes off as a hasty rush-job, vexatious bouncy-ball harmonies that manage to be both vertiginous and lifeless, and John Cale+Colin Stetson drone+sax guest spots left nearly illegible. Not that its without ear-worms that beckon and standout/bearable moments and a boatload of wonder-sounds, but never before have they come across as clocked in. Eliminating that aura of indifference at least woulda been nice. 5.5/10

Anohni - Hopelessness

Melodramatic martyr and political abridger, perhaps -- but between the curiously sumptuous throat-throwing via emphatic trans protagonist, the 'bama bashin' as we near his term-termination, and the pointed roundup of harrowing happenings heard (and not so heard) 'round the world, let's call it a snide snapshot of cultural currency; a summary of discernible disheartenment as we move closer towards said term-termination and the future at large. Though they certainly don't make for the most insightful of dialogues, the topics alone give it a welcome weightiness; Hudson Mohawke's overzealous boom-bap production finally feels complementary, and together with spacious-glitcher Oneohtrix Point Never they form the kind of damaged electro-epic rushes that are fit for the spectacle of mass animal extermination and the tearful regret of drone-bombs and torture, the could-be hooky pop hits that poke fun at surveillance and highlight the hypocrisy in capital punishment. The album title is telltale: this is no call to arms. She doesn't give a shit what happens to you and don't care 'bout herself much neither, oh and humanity is not only headed for armageddon but rather deserving of its wrath. The sort of rash+direct idealisms we're not worthy of living up to, I s'pose. 8/10

Aphex Twin - Cheetah [EP]

Cheetah; as in this serves mostly as a demonstrative dabbling with the seldom-seen synth of the same name, not as in this is a speedy+voracious set of tunes that are gonna hunt you down and sink their teeth in. And per ushe, the Aphexer proves himself a gracious enough guru, establishing the particular characteristics of said synth slow and safe and steady while compiling its miscellaneous morsels into 30-second asides for the sake of consummation. But unlike his similarly satiated showcasing of computer controlled acoustic instruments last year, this sound palette reads too much as routine and the bore fruit is pretty much dispensable. Shoutout to stark-n-crawling thick-ass bass thumps, though. 5.5/10

Ash Koosha - I AKA I

Still steadfastly squooshin' all kindsa koosha in your hear-holes: right from the onset of "Ote" there's bizarrely blistering bleeps+blops and a pitched-up someone switching between "poopies" and gobbledygook. But such overzealous scrambling is otherwise scarce this time around -- still a sharp+woozy litter of sketchy convolutions and slime-slides and fairly-warped everythings, surely, but I AKA I often finds his sound palette a bit more reasonable (dare I say relatable?) and the compositions steadier (dare I say composed?). Still kinda arduous after about 15 minutes, though, too. But if slowin' your roll increases the capacity for observation and ken, and even makes for moments of poignant placidity, so be it. Cuz I do dare say, I prefer this digestible to the debut. 6/10

Shinichi Atobe - World

This rudimentary set of scratchy electro-loops could feasibly fit nice-n-snug as disregardable background fodder for an equally rudimentary video game that sports only a title screen and 5 stages, especially given that the titular choices here are simply "Intro" and "World"s 1-5. On their own however, these worlds are really rather barren -- prosaic-but-passable techno starts to sprout towards the tail-end, but on the whole this is way too meager, perfunctory, uneventful. "World 1" in particular has to be one of the most frustratingly monotonous tunes I've encountered in recent memory; kind of stunning really, but certainly not a satisfactory first impression. ~*~meh~*~

Audio Push - The Stone Junction [EP]

This fleeting hip-hop forest-footslog forks over its fair share of solid verses+hooks+beats+inflections; which amid the condensed kinda-conceptual venture-flow/occasional compositional curveballs/allegiance to vigor makes for a proficient and pithy project. Personas+motifs ain't particularly distinct, it routinely gratifies but nothin' quite wows, super-chorus of choice is served via Bmacthequeen on "Servin'", too-easy chorus of choice is obv-hit "Vamonos", compositional curveball of choice is when "Hard" goes soft. 6.5/10

The Avalanches - Wildflower

16 years since they left us and a copious amount of copycats later, this anxiously anticipated followup is less of the wild "what's next?!" ride from their first and more of a strikingly insouciant+sunny daydream; swimmingly fluxing from festival traffic to a bounce-house to the skies to the sea to a bit of the sublime beyond. Whimsy and frolic and psychedelia are in full effect -- and though it's not without its overly mild moments and middling disco-leans, the flow+detail+amazingly affable aura beg for basking; not to mention fashion a universe where getting pulled over with prohibited paraphernalia is nothin' but an amusing aside. Lighter compositions also make room for greater guest utilization: the highlights of which include Danny Brown with his "blunt after blunt after blunt after blunt" and fittingly wacky delivery, Dave Berman "drumming up a little weirdness" for the finale with his soft-spoken and poignant poetry, A.Dd+ killin' the bigots with kindness, and of course Biz Markie with his vociferous appetite and penchant for cereal. 7.5/10

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Katy B - Honey

Katy B as fairly faceless dance-pop-voice reigns over the Katy B with slew of prominent house production at her disposal -- but despite the tangles-of-love/in-the-club thematic banalities and capable-yet-customary delivery, she rarely overbears and is regularly adept and reliable when adapting to late night vibes, summer pop, the boisterous bangers, the slowed-n-sensual. A few killer hooks and revitalization via bicontinental guest-spots and the ability to hold a good long note are always nice too, but lordy does it get fatiguing by the final third or so -- luckily said slew does its best to graciously keep ya groovin' right up to the soothing reward/headphone homage outro. Slew also does its best to rectify the fact that maybe the most curious she gets is when admitting that "anxiety's a bitch, babe." 6/10

Babyfather - BBF Hosted by DJ Escrow

Cements its satirical snobbery and affinity for experimentation thick-n-quick by hollowing out a sampled British-pride line via a C-or-so's worth of loops; casting the path for "20 bands" and "pour some liquor on my head" as deadpan+bored mantras entwined with baby-cries, casual remarks of "gunshot" and "mad smoke in the studio" during one of the jet-engine noise-hunks and a snuck-in "fuck you mate" in the other, and not-one-but-two reprises of that ol' British-pride line. Primarily it's an extensive slab of hip-hop mockery that places concept, album-flow, and a skittish+squeaked-up narrator on a pedestal far above songs and strain, abstractions/phone calls/icy-drink-clinks more obligatory than bangers/sincerity/significance. Real riveters are there but few and far between, though near-end "The Realness" may take the cake for managing to channel just that: nothin' quite like chattin' bout the entanglements of trusting your crew and mini-reviewing a Cormega album over some solemnity. 6/10

Julianna Barwick - Will

Her airy+layered+indecipherable Enya-esque vox are steadily breathtaking; and whether paired with soaring synth drones or ambiance with pinches-o-piano and subtle strings, it makes for a captivatingly churchy tranquilizer -- or straight-up divinity deliverer at its best ("Nebula", "Same", "Someway"). That's not to say the uniform wafting and sense of inactivity don't become a bit snoozy; that they predictably do. But thankfully it doesn't get as vast or inflated as, say, comparable contemporary Gabi; or for better or worse, as weird: instead of Argento vibez for the finale, we just get drums and a lil electro-takeover. 6.5/10

Basic Rhythm - Raw Trax

Raw Trax in that they each clutch tautology like a crutch and can't be bothered to explore much outside of whatever vocal-sample-snippet and twitch-beat was there at the kickoff, and if you're looking for melodies plz look elsewhere. But for how stubborn and protracted these not-quite-Basic stop-n-go Rhythms are, they also never fail to keep things fun, groovy, alive and well; each one drilling its distinct and vaguely hip-hop-flavored concept into your psyche as you helplessly jerk around all the while. Both the ecstatic thrill of weekend rushes and the moody stillness of twilight hushes are channeled, and though the voice-clips dip heavily into the generic, they undoubtedly help anchor the Trax and even form a semi-hook at times. They really are Basic, though. The voice-clips, that is. 7/10

Beach Slang - A Loud Bash of Teenage Feelings 

Beach Slang is back and the same rules apply: young hearts in the gutter, being alive/not dying, downtrodden determination, euphoria via volume and passion and good ol' fashioned drugs-n-drank. So while those teenage feelings are permanently palpable per ushe, it feels rather tamed-n-timid as far as loud bashes go -- whereas last year's (sigh) 'The Things We Do to Find People Who Feel the Same' was a fiery and urgent incitement of such motifs with its wild hazes+broken guitars, this one comes off more like a moderate rehash. Stiffer performances, unnecessarily veiled vox, but not without some here-and-there irresistible lil' guitar melodies and thunderous riffs and concise wide-eyed charm. Epitomical Cliche Teen Feelz Chorus From 42-Year Old Man: "I'm an atom bomb, tick tick ticking." 6/10

Olga Bell - Tempo

Bell's playful sass and pushing of the electro-pop envelope intrigue, but the beats often seem far too eager to eschew cohesion for abstraction+eccentricity, and usually the result comes off labored and lumbering more than it does engaging or felicitous. Potential abounds but it seldom gels here -- not looking for total uniformity or nothin', but some more solidity would go a long way. Doing away with the pesty pitch-shifts and hackneyed house hi-hats would too, methinks.5/10

Bent Shapes - Wolves of Want

Nearly wrote 'em off as all-too-familiars whose LP here seemed all-too-curt, but the chummy+canny pop sensibilities are strong with this one -- frontman Ben Potrykus's proneness towards (actual) singing is appreciated as is his casually savvy lyricism, front-ish-woman Jenny Mudarri provides ample backups and ah-ah-ah's for supplementary sweetness, and their output evokes/ensues the bygone Masshole-alt-rock lineage of Buffalo Tom or The Lemonheads or when they get fuzzy and solo-y, perhaps some Dino Jr.; albeit peppier interpretations. Bonus points for still tossing in the ol' acoustic+piano down-n-out ender and suddenly breakin' out the wordy-n-goofball plain-spoken section in the middle of a sub-2-minute tune. I think we can all agree that "Xerox Voids" ends way too abruptly at just over a minute, though. 7/10

Betonkust & Palmbomen II - Center Parcs [EP]

Don't be daunted by the cumbersome appellation alliance or leery of the initiatory shlock-hoots, for this is an estimable little dollop of haze-crust house and other electro-etceteras -- you've got your summery alfresco romps and sunset jams, cogitative dream-land lingerers, a spooky slinking-in-space 6-minute ender, volume oscillations and queasy surroundings reminiscent of a faulty VHS tape. A fun+varied instrumental 27-minute EP that doesn't drastically alter your life either way, worse comes to worst. 6/10

Beyoncé - Lemonade

Even if the cheat-centric celeb drama is a contrived embellishment at best and a tricky Tidal-tempter at worst, Bee's got the economically expert voc-cords and 'tude and stylistic melange and thoughtful production to back it up. Make no mistake; dealing with deception and heralding defiance are smell-n-taste tangible throughout, but my what a medley of methods: desolate heartbroken balladry, belligerent frayed-at-the-seams garage rock starring Jack White, a good ol' fashioned hootenanny, reconceptualization of a 13-year old Yeah Yeah Yeahs hook and the reggae horn, an uber-resolute morale-peak climactic triad. Or perhaps from a crasser stance, it's just kinda vivifying to hear a lady this illustrious nonchalantly toss out there that she's gonna fuck her up a bitch and no-bullshit gruntingly exclaim "suck my balls balls". 7.5/10

The Black Queen - Fever Daydream

Thanx to quite-the-junction of electronically-experienced personnel, the 80s worship-meets-now synth-beast beats are admittedly often worth the ear-lend: between the steamy-n-spooky atmospherics and quivery hectic-techie dance cuts, it's convincing+rigorous in its goth-brood sensuality and doesn't back down from slight weirdo touches like elastic-trap spicings or twitchy-trick xtra-sound whip-outs. But then comes the inescapable wince that occurs during flamboyance this stagy and sentimental -- oh right, that quite-the-junction-personnel's previous works include The Dillinger Escape Plan, Nine Inch Nalls, and er, Kesha. Actually, if you cut DEP from that equation but keep their forays into electro-skeez-pop and stuff the vacant gap with a heap of groaner Phil Collins cliches, that just may be a passable sum-up. ~*~meh~*~

Black Tusk - Pillars of Ash

Even-split hardcore-metal trio whose stylistic conventionality would be a straight-up shortcoming if it weren't so-oft played with such plain-hearted vim and power -- a far stretch from breaking new ground and siked on it, complacent but surefire where it counts. So it's a fairly catchy, heavy riffin', devoted kind of shortcoming; not wasting time and shouter swap-outs are certainly pluses too. 6.5/10

James Blake - The Colour in Anything

Virtuoso when it comes to bonding fragile achiness with chilly cybernetics both vocally and instrumentally -- though sad-n-slender compositions and a nowhere-to-go flow and 17 tracks in 76 minutes make this an undoubtable slog, it's a slog that's oft-striking, satisfyingly sneaky, and sometimes strange; capacious enough to still forget about/get spooked by Bon Iver's startling "wooo!" some six listens in, reliable enough to still get goosebumps on the regz some ten listens in, irresistible in its intransigence enough to accept the 20 minutes it takes to hit his stride and the inessentials and the goofball dog-barks. Crucial Lyric from the pretty much music-less ender: "Music can be everything". 7.5/10

Karl Blau - Introducing Karl Blau

Despite having ~20 years under his belt as a prominent character in low-budget indie miscellany, the introductory title remains reasonable -- this neat little 10-track collection of country covers is so instrumentally rich and placidly professional I'da never guessed it wasn't his usual forte, forming a new-n-enhanced identity from some old-n-standard ones. And as someone who only recognized the Memphis-arrival-explanation kickoff and that one about the woman sensuous woman, it's convincing enough to read up on all of the OGs even when they're not your usual forte either. Barring the 10-minute sendup of Link Wray's "Fallin' Rain" that breezes through its duration absurdly adeptly, these renditions are accurate, accessible, well-mannered; maybe to a fault even. But the flourishes and authenticity, the detail and personable poise, the whole routinely lovely without getting showy thing, they all work wonders. Irony-free, too: even that woman sensuous woman one is sincere as hell. 8/10

Bleached - Welcome the Worms

This group-o-gals make feeling dead and taking risks and "giving in to giving up" sound like a shrugged-off bubblegum jamboree, complete with shady pasts and still-shady presents and scary-looking futures that they're hoping to acknowledge and revel in and confront with the help of bong-rips and engine-revs. Though their sunny Californian complexion and flighty YOLO livin' can lead a listener to play the callow card, the mean pop chops and partiality towards good ol' fashioned rock-n-roll give them an all-too-beckoning bulwark that both palliates their punk and candies their tough. And they don't come up often, but for the record, dumb-ass dudes are dealt with better than Best Coast ever did it -- barring the anonymous hitchhiker recipient, which could be problematic, sure. 8/10

Blood Orange - Freetown Sound

Lotsa good bleedin' on through here: lush-n-dreamy arrangements that are percussively preeminent, multi-instrumentalist mastermind crooner with loads of soul and sensitivity and smarts to boot, a gaggle of propitious girl-guests. Prominent Prince worship and kicking things off with a fiery feminist recitation never hurts neither -- but I'm not sure the near-permanent placidity is quite conducive to the durational ambition and socially conscious commentary, the latter of which comes through in interludial sampling more than it does the actual tunes. A handful of moments pump up the pep, but on the whole it seems stuck in a shell of subtlety. Nothin' wrong with that per se -- just could've done with a bit more in the way of hard-selling methinks. 6.5/10

The Body - No One Deserves Happiness

Call me a sucker for the juxtaposition of the beauty and the beast, call this the explosive execution of such a thing: the most apparent attribute being the guy+gal vox-ers; or rather, the perpetually incomprehensible tortured mutant screamer+halcyon-n-mighty possessed-at-church hardened women who can crank it up a notch-or-three if needed. Then there's the perdurable pummeling of impossibly mammoth sludge and deep-n-dense din-layers and industria-tronix threatening to engulf your entirety, spawning an aura of terror so towering and torrid that it enraptures and induces awe rather than sending ya runnin' for the hills. Dispositional sum-up steamily/plainly stated whilst comparing contrastable parents and the derived traits of their kid: "You wondered how, being so different, they could've formed a union", "a mixture of the violence of the one and the gentleness of the other". Personally, being a mere 90 miles away from these heathens is both edifying and alarming -- and as long as they keep dishing it out like my father, I'll gladly take it like my mother. 9/10

Boliden - Landscape and Memory

Endlessly enveloped in an airy-n-dubby ghost-ohm ambient fog, which adorns these otherwise meat-and-potato melodies-and-beats with quite the spacious substratum of pensive ethereality. An aura of halcyon remoteness is in full-force and hella absorbing, the compositional bits and pieces accomplish a lot with a little, and each track still forks over individual greatness despite manifest similarities -- do they get repetitious? Oh undoubtedly. Straight-up stagnant, even? Er, yeah kinda. But between the gauzy accessibility and the cushiony tones and the deep-yet-buried bass and the near-celestial atmosphere, this makes for a notable aural tranquilizer -- one that does it (and this is important) while unfailingly pursuing dat groove, only permitting the interstitial "Interstitial" to go full comatose. Which makes for a nice switch-up besides. 7.5/10

Bombino - Azel

This Tuareg axe-slinger and concomitant squad have their formula and they're stickin' to it: acoustic+electric high-string-centric bustle+sputter, rigorous handclaps, dynamic drumming, set-in-stone song-structures that synthesize jocund hippie-jam fiesta and mesmeric world-music grooves. High spirits and breezy virtuosity help annul any apprehensions about a language barrier, and either way his singflections and intermittent quavery party-chirps are quite the charismatic components in themselves. Stylistic redundancy does reveal itself rather rapidly, however -- enchanting and easeful as they may be, I can't help but find myself achin' for some expansion. 6.5/10

Bon Iver - 22, A Million

After the initial attempts of deciphering song titles and wondering if my auxiliary port was fuckin' up and suspicions that he was trying too hard to get his glitchy weird on, bonafide beauty reluctantly revealed itself as did a convoluted-yet-charismatic flow. Vernon's voice in all its shapes+sizes bewitches more than it badgers, but badger it likely will; particularly teamed up with these often shaky and deficient-seeming "arrangements" -- but following in the footsteps of recent co-collaborators Frank Ocean and James Blake, he uses the bold, downplayed, and broken to convey an uncompromising fragile man/enigmatic cyborg opus. And while his is a comparably-n-courteously compact 34 minutes, it's also the least assured. Mutations cuz the ol' fashioned folkie in an abandoned cabin kinda feels old-hat, no dearth of acoustic plucks or swelling strings+horns or plain piano cuz he's not ready to let 'em go altogether, fine fine. Could certainly go for some tidying and development though. 7/10

Bookworms - Xenophobe

For those who like their techno deep, rigid, and unnecessarily time-consuming; stiffen up, grab a book, and hop on in. It's stellar, sure, modestly motley, highly hypnotic, some of the grooves convey emotion here and there, it references partly-privy skate slang -- but the passages of extra-monotony paired with kinda-all of these track lengths push entrancing to encroaching, intriguing to 'so what else is going on?'. Standout "You Say So" is a cute+pestersome peculiarity, which at just under 6 minutes is nearly the shortest of 'em all and feels like a flittin' ditty squished between 10-and-18-minute monsters. The shortest being the title-track finale, which just resigns to a blah-blah ambient blob. Makes sense for a Xenophobe I s'pose. Kinda. 5.5/10

Boosie Badazz - In My Feelings (Goin' Thru It)

Losing faith in God cuz of a post-prison cancer diagnosis, in women cuz they stressin' him, in men cuz they failin' him; considering a pooch purchase for some semblance of actual companionship: Boosie's goin' thru it alright, and throughout this wisely-terse relentless downer of varying volumes it's his earnest charisma and unmistakable delivery that help you through a lethargic-by-nature aura and seize some real-life sympathy. And much like on last year's Touch Down 2 Cause Hell, the final track showcases a badazz w/ just piano that is downright touching, if perhaps a bit self-concerned this time around -- though given the circumstances, appropriate enough methinks. 6/10

Brood Ma - DAZE 

An avant-electronic-noise whirlwind so dizzying it may actually induce motion sickness, so absurdly garbled and flat-out strange at times it could be misconstrued for an hour-long album that was condensed-to-fuck until out shat a non-stop topsy-turvy ~27-minute thrill ride. But given the near-total plastering of hair-raising intensity and how much complex-n-booming dread-fun exudes on through, consider those compliments. The whizzes-n-whirls of fiery toying often invade every passage in your perimeter, and even lil lull-dips never quit squirmin' on the low, and are usually rectified by all-out reemergence-blasts with keyb-guns a-blazin'. Opens with pleasant jungle descent and orphically forewarning countdown, ends with 5-minute industrial crusha that also somehow manages to claim the omg-weirdness-crown, in between is your guess is as good as mine. 8/10

Danny Brown - Atrocity Exhibition

Flagrant line-sniffer, cunnilingus devotee, down-low depressive, frantic yelper nearly to a fault: this is dark+droll+deranged stuff undoubtedly, frequently bracing and feverish with a dauntless depravity that only really gets deplorable when revealing himself as a bit of a hoe-hater. And acting as a proper pivot to the driving force that is Danny's delinquency-n-dash are the dirty-n-turbulent beats that borrow from post-punk and angst-rock as much as the album/opening titles hint towards -- the peak being the marvelous midway chunk that manages to up the off-the-wall ante as it advances, starting with the irresistible horn-blare-stomp of "Ain't it Funny" and ending on the death-defying chant-ridden "Dance in the Water". 8.5/10

Bullion - Loop the Loop

Simulates a dreamy vacay on a friendly-robot island -- the outre-tropical sun-kissed pop and boyishly wide-eyed harmonizing meshed with genial and dexterous electro-doodling makes for an animated and elaborate sojourn that should secure accolades from Animal Collective as well as an Eno endorsement. But through all the instrumental and tectonic prowess, he seldom comes off as anything but debonair: wind-swept strings and bird-chirps assure refined relief yet he's not shy bout spacing out for a bit or getting his goof-swank on, the elusion of exceedingly-cheery cheese makes leisure sound fetching even to a worrywart workhorse, heck there's even pieces of eugenic encouragement: championing change despite the complications it may lay on ya, literally+figuratively gettin' your feet wet, embracing cleverness+finding confidence. Given the record at hand, all are concepts he clasps tight. 7/10

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Alex Cameron - Jumping the Shark

My favorites of these vignettes about failures are the most apparent ones: the drunkest/ugliest girl and dumbest/richest guy at the bar who consciously leave their kid in the car and are all outta cash-n-credit respectively, the washed up bout-to-be ex-TV host who's got his lawyer staying up at the Ritz to fight back against his replacement ("some fat fuck crying with a song about di-o-beet-us"), the guy whose new life on The Internet procures him receptionists and business cards and the appellation known as "The Man". Elsewhere jobs are lost/parent's homes are moved back into, business needs taking care of, vitals enter vials -- and gluing it all together is a baritone sleaze that straddles sincere+satirical to a T and elementary keyb-beats with contorted bits all the way. Which on the whole screams blunter+scummier Stephin Merritt aesthetically and now-n-again a harebrained Bruce Springsteen circa 'Tunnel of Love' anthemically. But doing alot with a little, composed+concise anecdotes, dipping into a bit-o-drama and good ol repetition; it reads more like Newman-meets-Eno. Neither of whom I'd bet could pen a tune about making it on the world wide web this aching and accurate. 8/10

Camp Cope - Camp Cope

The introductory coulda-been-dead shoula-helped-him mystery body that Aussie singer-punker-songwriter Georgia Maq walks past may come off a tad trite, but her ineffable performance paints the picture perfectly and pulls you in pronto -- a pattern which follows for the full duration of this no-frills no-filler helluva debut, minus the trite and renewed with the personal+remarkable. All at once a desensitized+medicated hospital worker too weak to hold her guitar, an anxious busker ignored by tranq-toting classmates, a truth-craving textbook devotee and somber stepfather dedicator; 'Lost' is how she feels inside and what she watches in bed when her separated sig-other is on tour "out feeling everything", breakup heartbreak slightly wanes when she hears the ex's new boo was Tinder-borne, the rationale of career cat-callers and good-guy-with-gun facilitators is decried in an understated anthem so stunningly rousing it deserves a sincere salute, and she uses the goddamn Australian slang version of 'grouse' to describe smoochin' a dude to Tigers Jaw. Though grateful for the modest oomph that accompanying drums-n-bass provide -- particularly dat playful bass -- peepzin' solo sets via YouTube prove she and these tunes are no-less wonderful on their unadorned own. I mean, the charismatically detailed scenarios are one thing. The doubt, the anger, the dire defeatism, the glimmers of hope, the perpetually palpable passion, the relationship goalz of being losers forever and drinking coffee in bed together? They go a long way. 9/10

Car Seat Headrest - Teens of Denial

A magnified portrait of prototypal indie-boy apprehension; as in the thing flaunts 12 tracks in 70 minutes and one of 'em allegorizes the troubles of being a tyronic adult with the sinking of the goddamn Costa Concordia. But thanx in part to a penchant for rawness+ruckus+mumbling+hoarseness, its sizable scope never really leans toward lofty; and though heavy on the mope and musical miming and diffident drawl, cranium-cushion-commander Will Toledo is personable+pitiful enough to not only draw you in, but make you give a shit too. Invariably observant inward-n-outward, his narrations are oft-laced with wit, woe, candor, nobility; and perhaps some good ol' fashioned naivete -- he cries when a cop shakes him down and needs to warily ask a merciful mademoiselle if what they're doin' is dancing, driving drunk is acknowledged and discouraged without even a scintilla of advocacy or condescension, a shroom+acid cocktail gets him feeling trashy and vile instead of transcendent. Having lotsa mantric hooks never hurts either, take this decisive and descending sequential triplet: "It'll be alright", "I give up", "We're never gonna never gonna get a job" -- considering the ambition at hand, the last one at least is prolly not something worth worrying about. 7/10

Cate Le Bon - Crab Day

Always the sucker for Nico mimicry and resourceful rock squads whose instrumental tangle collides contentedly+incorporates marimbas, Cate's temperate quirk and stony absurdities receive oh-so-complementary playful accompaniment: oft-dueling guitar-work that's strung out/scuzzy/squeaky, piano plunks+synth plinks, splashes of sax, deft drumming/percussive etceteras. Drollery from all involved parties charms far more than it chafes, and ramshackle as they may seem there is always a push for the melodically memorable and miraculously accordant. Also subsumes all the angst that comes with being a self-described dirty attic who longs to be a motion picture film and/or bowling ball -- i.e., there is none. 8/10

Cavern of Anti-Matter - Void Beats / Invocation Trex

A lengthy and enthralling smorgasbord of amalgamated electronic+organic jammy groove-work; where despite half-the-album-title expectations and a sinister-sounding band-name, the beats avoid voidness at all costs and are oft-chummy if not downright coltish and/or pretty. It very much calls upon the persuasive repetition and cautious progression of krautrock (the Neu! worship is strong with this one) -- and with Stereolab representatives lending their renowned velvety precision and sweeping+subtlety-stuffed synths aplenty, even the multiple 9-to-13-minute trek-trax glide by with ease. Much like any proper kraut, though they're more-or-less permanently sailing through space, there's always a firm sense of tangibility and diligence that keeps 'em grounded. Rare vocalized guest-emergences include a rather hollow/might-as-well-be-Deerhunter Bradford Cox cut and Spacemen 3's Sonic Boom as highfalutin spoken worder-turned-robot. Titular clues towards them being total gear-heads/sound-doods include "Melody in High Feedback Tones" and "Hi-Hats Bring the Hiss". Titular clue towards them just havin' fun during all this: "Blowing My Nose Under Close Observation" -- which could also explain the whole spoken worder-turned-robot thing. 8/10

Chance the Rapper - Coloring Book

Steadfast sustaining the winsome posi-gospel spirit found on his ultra-lit "Ultralight Beam" guest-spot, 'Coloring Book' makes for a more-than-meet titular pick: Chance's agile geniality is markedly illuminating+comforting, the plethora of partakers spanning from Young Thug to the Chicago Children's Choir bears a fete-esque vibrancy, nostalgia and newfound fatherhood permeate throughout, The Lion King gets referenced not-once-but-twice, big guffawing-head hooks and a "don't be mad!" chaff you into givin' in to feelin' good. In true guest-laden lengthy mixtape fashion, it sports its fair share of clutter and inconsistencies; and as addled voice-laden production and unabashed pronouncements of "HOW GREAT IS OUR GOD" tend to do, this goes an iota overboard on the pitch-shifts and pietism. 7/10

Charli XCX - Vroom Vroom [EP]

Sophie's production is as sleek as the whip on the cover but refuses to approach grandiose, instead opting for the minimalist battiness of percussive booms/bubble bursts/woozy synths/cattily clarion yips -- which serves as quite the felicitous vehicle for Charli's mix of can't-be-caught by bitches/can't-lose to bitches pugnacity and baby-voiced sky-ride sugar-rushin'. Percipient and proud when it comes to bubblegum brashness and innovative clubby obnox; and in the sensibly small space of 12 minutes at least, makes for a pretty scrumptious joyride. 8/10

Cloud Becomes Your Hand - Rest in Fleas

A zany prog-punk funhouse whose obnox is reduced by its absurdist vibrancy and dirty details -- wherever they suddenly meander off to or whatever wacky-ass instrumental mashup they're implementing, precision and intricacies are in full effect; but capital concern seems to lie with sonic landscapes of warm warpage that are simply a hoot to hear and toying with the unpredictable. Take the clamorous keyb/violin/horn/scuzz soups or the propulsive build-up into an anticlimactic paper-lick for example. Vox are intermittent-n-indifferent but help fortify the 'tude: shrooms sprouting from shoes, apes with fur capes and glassy eyes, apple-headed puke-drinking sewer-dwellers, pining to be made of East Indian timber, etc. 8/10

Cobalt - Slow Forever

Dropping the twelve-track double-disc bombshell not as a flow-focused vehicle for some visionary concept, but cuz they simply seem stuffed to the gills with vehemence, vitriol, and riffage. Of course their penchant for patience positively plays its part in this 80+minute pelt-fest as well: severe savagery packs just as much a punch as the extended grooves and exactitude, and for all the snarls and screams and mosh-motivator grunts and double-bass demolitions there's steady+studious buildups+transitions and reprieve in the form of desert-folk forays+an all-too-tru analysis on first-world writer-problemz. Remarkable in its ability to capture the stalked-buffalo beast-whip buried-elephant animalisms they allude to, sure, but more treasured is their exceptional conglomeration of heavy+catchy+curvy with performances that are electrified and invigorating as fuck, frankly. Xtra points upon learning that Erik Wunder plays all instruments on this thing. As in, the guy both ripped those riffs and decimated those drums. A Wunder, indeed. 8.5/10

ColdWorld - Autumn

Those who like their black metal mucky may find this too clean, those who dig interspersed cleans may find his too mumbly, momentum and riffage are arguably a bit middle-of-the-road -- but besides a sparse wind+leaves interlude break, the all-encompassing combo of fury+rue rarely falters, oh-so-cogently blending hypnotic layers-o-loud with epic synth-voice patches and weeping violins. And though raspy shrieks are likely his true vocal-calling, the mumbly works too; as his down-n-out droning fits all too un-happily in saddest+slowest/but still roaring "Woods of Emptiness". The tail-end bellowing 'woah's and the occasional particularly beastly bloodcurdler screams are nice too, but the oral peak fo sho comes during the least-void "Void"; when a crunchy pick slide from heaven opens the gates for a grand goblin+angel duet for the ages. 8/10

Conan - Revengeance 

A bit by-the-book when it comes to sludge-steeped low-n-heavy simple riffage, not without its dawdling or wearisome propensities -- but their sinister slows-to-crawls appropriately decimate and lure, semi-gauche breakneck burst provides a brief pick-me-up, an appreciated no-frills procedure grants some slight background-space for the customary bubblin' psych-pedal-fx stew. However, the true horsepower comes from the poised+possessed duality of these stationary-scorcher-shouter frontmen, the human-ish mountaineer taking prevalence with a demonic roarer there for foil and further severity. 6/10

Zach Cooper - The Sentence

The Sentence spelled out via song-title sequence: This Is For Us To Incite Stillness In Our Hearts And Minds. The Sentence bestowed via actual auditory adventure on the other hand, somewhat incarcerative. Its shaky tape-recorder braiding of rando-noise/instrumental tinkering/mysterious-yet-consoling jazz-flute ambiance creates an intriguing and unique microcosm, one that could be likened to a sort of old-timey movie score gone wishy-washy lo-fi gallimaufry -- but torpidity and irresolute floundering make for a pretty tough slog, and the extensive sonic asperity and quick+loud bursts of weird-n-shrill don't do much to incite stillness in my heart and/or mind, personally. And what would room-fuzz exploration be if it didn't include extrinsic bits of dialogue? Two tidbits that may be inklings towards this album's conception: "Umm..I was just..not really thinking" and "Okay, you start something, whatever you wanna start.." followed by stress-breath. Perhaps this was an incarcerative sentence for Z Coops (and crew?) too. 5/10

Cough - Still They Pray

Decent if you're lookin' to satisfy that heavy sludge hankering, especially if you want it dragging and dirty and gradually doleful -- lotsa longanimity necessary to sit through the entirety of this one despite the appreciated occasional migration into softer non-rumbly sectors. Obviously cuz it's leaden as hell, but also there's just not a whole lotta noteworthy justifying the enormity of it; all too handily it begins to blur and/or tilts toward excruciation. The wailing-surfer-dude vox don't particularly help either. Wait a sec, wasn't that the riff from "Sunshine of Your Love"? 5/10 Elysia Crampton - Elysia Crampton Presents: Demon City Feels fairly frivolous following last year's four-track mini-epic American Drift, one of the finest half-hours to permeate the ol' earholes in quite some time: this is more rigid, less ambitious, even shorter, rid of a striking spoken-word proem, and heavily constructed around other (albeit consentient) peep's productions. But even when it comes across as clutter or a minimalist getting lucky or a whose-song-is-it-tho scenario, the vivid-weirdo soundscape's got me salivating on the regz -- haunted house piano, simple synth lines, warped synth things, synths that just stab, touches of hip-hop, lots+lots of sinister-yet-screwy etceteras. Also very well could be that I just get a kick outta being incessantly taunted. The parenthetical footnotes are telling: one dedicational to a female revolutionist who was publicly tortured-n-killed as punishment, another simply stamping itself as a "No Drums" version; the latter vital in that despite doing away with all of the peculiarly wonderful percussion it manages to convey heavenly gates openin' up wide/Judgment Day, with zealous reggae horn to boot. The prior vital cuz there's clearly a bit more going on here then just sound-mushing and dem "beats". 8/10

Cross Record - Wabi-Sabi 

Occupying terrain somewhere between phantasmal and lovely, this hubby+wife+Swans percussionist+part-time femme-choir crawl and soar towards a sort of ramshackle basement bliss, fuzzy tape-tronics and mantric stomp-n-pierce riffs and dusty-crusty acoustics anchored by the forever breathy and clarion dreamghost-vox of Emily Cross i.e. 'wife'. The ramifications of which being somewhat reminiscent of a Phil Elverum project: a prevailing sense of tenderness and soundscapes that can convey psych-laced desolation and toweringly epic majesty with persuasion and character, scrappy as they may be. But for my money, this kinda has the upper hand -- it's concise, for one thing. 8/10

Crying - Beyond the Fleeting Gales

The band that'll make you do anything but unless perhaps out of glee, Crying oft-straddle the line between cock rock and unreasonably cutesy in a cluttered-yet-dazzling display of synth-pop prog-punk. So big+bright+bubbly, so blaring and busy bouncin', that honeyed murmurs and muffled zeal gets the job done for vox; so technical and towering that it balances out the candy while somehow enhancing it as well. Helps when through all the volume and virtuosity they never touch thrasonical, and throwing in some slow ones for breathers is restorative too -- truly helps however that they specialize in righteous rollercoaster stadium-rock rushes and crush with stardust on cue. 7.5/10

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Dälek - Asphalt For Eden

Heavy-yet-airy hip-hop duo content with a majority of the verses rendered shrouded and/or decimated by the massive murk of comfy+claustrophobic boom-beats and sempiternal shoegaze-squall -- and as adequate as their levelheaded vitality and political proclivity and antique scratch-n-sample choruses are, that murk does make for quite the delightful binder all on its own. Whether its piercing+occupying the skies or emulating slo-mo blacktop-melting summer sultriness, it persistently provides a wide world to be besieged by while retaining a drawing dirtiness throughout. Their faith in said murk certified by lettin' tracks linger and an instrumental inclusion, a nugget of their matters+concerns divulged by a scantily-clad 'terrorism' voice-loop. 7/10

Dej Loaf - All Jokes Aside

Pleased to be a prosperous bachelorette-boss who's dogged as hell and a bit of a judgmental beef-bringer to boot, she sports a winning 'woah' and a flow not unlike a more-intelligible/self-proving Future; and of course stupidly superb hooks on the regz. Her merging of juvenile sing-song diction and oft-glittery beats with fierce+vulgar bars and vainglory galore can come off conflictive, but the 'tude and talent and production make for some cogent convincers. Quick 2 Condemn: mob-life mockery, blogs, early-morning perc-poppers, pretty much everyone. Consumables Of Choice: chamomile tea, Smacks cereal, salad+wings, side of money. 7/10

Dieterich & Barnes - The Coral Casino

Deerhoof guitarist and Neutral Milk Hotel drummer/organist/piano man collaborate to create an instrumental something that doesn't particularly sound like either -- part seemingly sporadic and thrown together/part not and slyly byzantine, oft-propulsive and hectic yet lax and lighthearted, the commixing of psychedelic radiance and basement scuzz generating a crudely carnivalesque aura at times. Compatible fellas fo sho who emit a project that's welcome+engaging and do good not to dillydally, but to brand it as bounden would be a stretch. 6.5/10

DIIV - Is The Is Are

Despite their dishy-dream guitar tones/feedbacker squeal-skills/generous bass-lines, the full-time glum-bounce apathy leaves 'em feeling vacuous from the get-go, and they fall so rapidly into reiterations that I wouldn't hesitate to call it impressive. But hey, dishy's dishy; they bore agreeably, keep a fine beat, nurture a stylistic formula enough to churn out a true ear-perker now and then, pay tribute to godfathers Can+Primal Scream with mantric amp-yowl jam-out, etc. 5/10

The Dirty Nil - Higher Power

Insubordinate with their arrant amp-shrieks and dual throat-shredders and disregard for the man of a gal he's tusslin' in the reeds to Husker Du with, but these loud-n-earnest rock-n-rollers bring some munchable melodies and a high-spirit ruckus that's palpably sweaty and generally welcoming -- for the first half, at least. A peak is attained at "Friends in the Sky", which suitably reaches near-celestial levels of catchy emotional squall; but barring the prolonged rodeo-entombment-request ender it's decidedly downhill from there, opting moreso for the so-so and inevitable sub-minute thrasher. Timespan of 'prolonged' ender: 3:29. Thoughts on that aforementioned man-of-a-gal: "Oh yeah / fuck him." 6.5/10

DJ Katapila - Trotro (international re-issue of 2009 album)

Ghanian DJ who employs Fruity Loops and a bell to create uber-incessant kiddie-toy goofball techno beats, lays down layers of assumably improv/mostly incomprehensible yelp-fests, and even gets his fledgling pitched-up daughter in on the vocalized fun. Stylistically, it can drive ya nuts; and yes, the instrumentals and alternate versions to boot may be excessive, and well, the only discernible words are likely to be the respective song's title or his pre-moth moniker. But it's so amusing+bemusing, so unreasonably upbeat and assertive to the nth degree, so inescapably just havin' a grand ol' time -- so much so that contagious captivation overrides the eventually obnox-as-fuck ingemination. Possessing an affinity for percussion-piles/meager melodies/hurtling lions with the dynamic delivery to match will certainly help when it comes to annihilating exasperation and facilitating tolerance. 7/10

DJ N.K. - DJ Do Ghetto

Comin' straight outta Lisbon, this delirium-activating disc jockey fuses the sonorities of tribal, club, accelerated city lyfe, and warped what-the -- unsurprisingly label-mates with like-minded year-fave DJ TiGa, albeit N.K. don't fuck wit rappers and remixing; rather aiming for uber-bustling groove-barrages of percussion aplenty, eccentric electro spurts, literal bells+whistles, and intermittent monosyllabic voice clips. Unrelentingly heavy-n-heady-n-hasty, it delivers a dizzyingly detailed romp, though undeniably a draining one. Standout touches include the fat+formidable ah-shit horns of "Punched Horn" and a windswept flute in "Tribalistic Face", TiGa-ish touches include gunshots and rapid-fire yellin'. 7/10

DJ TiGa - The Sound: Vol. 1

Replete with rambunctious rumbling, hacked-up repeato voices, and dizzying intensity, this remix-exclusive wingding seemingly longs to intimidate yo ass right outta the club more than provide dance-friendly cordiality -- bass often simulates an impending stampede, gunshots+guncocks are standard soundbytes, percussion is accelerated and unquantifiable, screams-n-grunts are plentiful. Hip-hop party aura (albeit an aggressive one) happily emanates through all the buck-wild twitchy thud electronics, the pop balladry of "Your Love" provides a midway kinda-cooldown (albeit a zippy one), scared Scooby yelps go up against incessant inquisitors and Jersey trite-talk is mockingly (sincerely?) tossed around like a rag doll, a football video game is semi-serenaded. It's commanding and uncivilized to an extreme that's deserving of its general-yet-pompous 'The Sound' titling, and doesn't exhaust nearly as much as it probably should; and while the evident recognizables stand out as such, in this bunch-o-bangers they're just the easy ones: the m.a.a.d city gone madder and torn free of context, Biggie coming back from beyond to full-tilt suck tits and grab paper, a Drake-collision whirlwind which has him sounding harder+woozier than ever before (maybe). Where Vol. 2 at? 9/10

DJWWWW - Arigato

Well, I adore the introductory melodious mosquito choir and the methods administered on followup "Sampling" so it lives up to its appellation; i.e. the bairn beckoning for ya to take a looksie under his sheet of mystery to reveal a getaway car/building demolition/person getting eaten/etc. And 4 realz, kicks are gotten from the majority of this throng-o-sounds, along with the comprehensive commingling of the recognizably contempo+the absolutely absurd that spews forth during this spastic avant-collage: flashes of Future/a Death Grips blip/a countdown into waves of Animal Collective rub shoulders with feminine cackling/rousing robots/choking humans/sundry gunfire/all sortsa miscellany and percussive implements. But much like this description suggests, raucous dizziness is its downfall -- so much is thrown at you but there's not a-lotta stickage, and the persistently transformative nature of it overwhelms to a fault. Then there's that extreme+vexatious volume spike at the midway point, perhaps an intentional shake-up seeing that it succeeds the interludial sleep-mode breath-catcher of "iPod". Elsewhere, "Network" says "network" alot, "DIS" says "bitch" alot, and ender "Hometown" serves as a congrats-you-made-it consolation prize; fittingly soothing like a revisit to a good one should. Which is a relief. Which you'll need. 6/10

Dorisburg - Irrbloss

The bassy base-beats are as deep+stark as they can get whilst remaining understated yet routinely have a buoyancy to 'em, the sounds-besides are winningly vibrant+varied for understated too -- finespun percussive add-ons, some vintage-synth ooze, scratches/ticks/bloops/blips, semblance of melody here, epic-n-exotic foggy flute work there. Exceptionally treads the line between entrancing and engaging; and for restrained rigid-robot techno it goes alotta places, doesn't get too tautologous, and can swap out wondrous for wacky no probz. Considering the paucity of personality and mucho machinery, pretty generous. 8/10

Drake - Views

A faceless female's commencing comment forecasts the constitution to come -- "It's a little chilly out there." And considering how promptly this sets sail into a near-bloodless grouse-fest, 'little' may have been an understatement. When "Fire & Desire" schlepps on through at the tail-end of this elephantine track-list, it's a kind of indicative corroboration that those are the two traits this album lacks the most. Well, those and magnitude-moderation: how about accommodating an 80+minute slog with a flow+format that propitiously correlates? What happened to the vigorous bars-4-dayz from that year-gone scrawled-on mixtape? Why not propel the pulse provided by a bulk of the beats and a handful of highlights towards the rife-n-dull not-so-fortunates? But one thing hasn't changed -- blame the length or Drake's Drakiness existing in a particularly listless+bothersome state or both -- and that's guest-spots instantaneously contributing heroic relief by merely deviating from our star-at-hand, without much effort to boot: PartyNextDoor accomplishes it (again) by simply emoting, Future kills it while reiterating the same chuckly line four times in a row. If it interrupts poutingly rattling off yet another surfeit of women and their chosen life-paths instead of settling down with the boy, I say do it up. ~*~meh~*~

DUST - Agony Planet

Sturdy, fairly mesmerizing, dense, robotically groovy, texturally aware -- quite acceptable for sweaty grave raves or when that stringent-creeper-techno scratch really starts itchin', but on the whole this can get old quick, often too quotidian to justify such elongation of both the separate tracks and overall album. Most of the voice utilization is stellar, with the background groaner of "Alien Prey" and "She Woke Up in Water"s anomalous straight-up distorto-shrill screaming serving as pinnacles amongst all the consonant echoey utterances. On the voice-usage flip-side however, the alien-talk is beyond corny; and I'll keep my fantasies/dreams/fears to myself, thank you every much. 6/10

dvsn - Sept. 5th

The more I tuned in, the more it wavered -- what was initially despicably drowsy and tepid r&b using syrupy understatements as whitewash turned into gravitating towards a few of the particularly-gratifying hooks became somewhat-smitten with their slo-mo sensual+emotional sincerity, the trap-n-bass-inflected ethereality for beats, and the falsettos qualified at melting heart. "Try / Effortless" at track 3 is when they start to do just that / and make it seem so, "Do It Well" is perhaps when they do it the well-est, "Hallucinations" is a dream on a cloud; on the whole however it heavily recalls the ol' drowsy-n-tepid thing with a dash of cringe to boot. The soulful old-style croon vox intermixed with not-so-old-style propositions are a hoot, too: "fuck with me now" as a come-on, the straight-up proposal that sleeping with him will make her feel better about all his wrongdoings, opting not to pull out but eager to go in+out. Name of the one about being eager to go in+out: "In+Out". 6.5/10

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Eluvium - False Readings On

Appropriate for kicking off a New England December and as an epic elect for the final high-rec of the year, this airy-n-acute ambi-synth-string odyssey seamlessly slo-mo soars through snowfall, church, the opera, heaven incarnate, fuzz flurries, full-blown hypno-abysses, the profoundly life-affirming intermixed with the profoundly heavyhearted. Which at an hourandthensome should scream sluggish -- if only it wasn't all so sweeping and stately, so sublime and spacious as to spur stretch-out sit-backs despite its relatively stationary comportment. Having a 17-minute finale that's well worth the wait and ups the ante on world-consuming is quite the booster, too. 8/10

Brian Eno - The Ship

Gradual+grand expanse would probably be an understatement, torpid traipse would likely denote a lack of patience -- cuz as far as the amalgam of atmospheric lingering/refined pacing/conceptual drama goes, Eno and his trailblazer-status evidently still have it down pat. Propelled by a massive pair of ponderers that incorporate obtained-through-senectitude low-C vocals+creaks-n-moans which are all too befitting for sinking into an ocean and haunting image-conjures of young soldier retrospection+"humans turning back to clay"; and for the xtra extraneous weird, there's gasping robots and ticking time-bombs and accelerated bilingual phone-operator chitchat. Clinched by a comparably bare-n-brief Peter Serafinowicz reading and Velvet Underground send-up: the former perfectly proper+somber, the latter perfectly heavenly+gratifying, and, well, perfect. 8/10

Eskimeaux - Year of the Rabbit [EP]

Sports three titles that could fly on a Kanye album and three that allude to animals, and yes duh they still align with the hypothetical adorability of the latter all the way. Their brand of shy-n-soft vivacity remains a bit more compelling and, well, vivacious, compared to the maybe-too-meager-ness of collaborator/friend Frankie Cosmos; but on the whole this is of that ol' EP type: ya know, the kinda-passive, chiefly sub-3-minute songs that neither jar nor bore in particular, cordially-adequate sort. Topics include the complications of companionship, the potential derived from a day alone, and up-n-coming NYC musician life: i.e. the yearning/gratitude for a simple dinner date instead of gettin' bogged down by all those pesky newfound plans. Crucial Query: "What the fuck is a kiss anyway?" 7/10

Explosions in the Sky - The Wilderness

Sure, they cling to the proverbial post-rock patterns: the piecemeal pacing, the serene silkiness segueing into optimistic alleviation escalating into thunderous intimidation or some other amalgam of vice-versas. But for a sensibly configured 9 tracks in 46 minutes, this does pack in alotta intricate proteanism and satisfying shift-work, sidestepping undue lulls and readily tiptoeing movement-to-movement without wilting towards pure precision. Not that it's without many-a slack or stagy section, but many-a poignant ones and a primarily peachy overall package make for adequate amends. And though it seems they're chiefly used as an apparatus for stability, some xtra exertion on the drums would be nice: "Tangle Formations", I'm lookin' at you. 6/10

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Father - I'm a Piece of Shit

I'd argue that guest-crony ILoveMakonnen is the real piece of shit when it gets down to the shitty-nitty-gritty, but Father's certainly got a point: evidently he's self-aware at least, though it doesn't stop him from threatening to put a bitch outside if she talks to him wrong or droppin' her at lost-n-found after he dicks her down. Right, not too freakish for hip-hop -- but what really seals the spurn is that unlike his comrade, he's got nothin' in the way of croon-clout; usually settling for torpid murmuring or gibber-groans or sleaze-stuffed sniveling. When torpidity is at its worst, I question if he's even conscious; when sleaze equals redundant sex-n-drugs raunch and porno-moans and "that sweat that funk that nasty", it's barely bearable. Sniveling at its most pitiful, however, is when he turns endearing: "I wanna die a little, cry a little, get a little high right now", "Started capping pills but I can't get my dick to stay hard". Always helps when chauvinistic lechery slowly reveals itself as jaded loneliness. ~*~meh~*~

Fear of Men - Fall Forever

For the irrefutable irresistibles check "Island" and "Trauma", but on the whole they carry quite the clout considering the skimpy+secretive setup of plain-n-pleasant femme vox/mech-drums/stringent mood-synths and guitar wringin'. Dark and stark enough to curtail cuteness, too poppy and pretty for morosity, but they do nail an in-between fusion that's consistent and concise to boot. 7/10

Bernardino Femminielli - Plaisirs Américains

Though he initiates as a warped-n-muttering whoever with a penchant for kraut-punk and strident amp squeals, the prevalent persona unexpectedly ends up a breathy+enigmatic French Seducer Man who whispers over soundtrack possibilities for 70s street-crime flicks/foreign art films. "Hooks" that emit murmurings of "taxi" and "the police" sound straight from the steamy shadows of the night and I just assume all that other stuff I don't understand is pensive poetry or attempts at wooing. No-bullshit electro bumpin' and the casual coating of industrial/droning/psychedelia beef things up and give it cred, but most commendable may just be how sincere the schmaltz is: the balladry and pianos, the extended wailing solos and squeaky saxes, the misty melodrama wrapped in nighttime swank. Not to say it doesn't sound ridiculous, indeed it does -- they just do ridiculous pretty damn well. 7/10

James Ferraro - Human Story 3

For the most part I get a kick out of the classical-style midi-piano hypermania -- these laborious and noodling symphonies are sprightly and silly enough to charm if not outright oppress, and as a whole it manages to achieve a sense of grandeur while in the format of resolute goofball abstraction. Grows toilsome all too promptly as well tho, especially with the detached CPU-voices offering up social commentary via overt catchword. Lattes, smart-cars, Starbucks, Ikea, fay-tay-lities, yes yes this is like the consumerist world we live in, man. But cred for holding down the whole bold-n-visionary classical-madman thing. 5.5/10

Floorplan - Victorious

Titanic+tenacious techno jams that entrance with ease and go hard as fuck every time, deep-rooted and stringent while maintaining that dense dance-party mindset and still dishing out the nuances. Almost all of 'em venture past the 6-minute mark, but with grooves this fluent and textures this enveloping and arrangements this accurate-n-astir it's rare for one to get tedious. The varying cast-o-voices helps fo sho -- "spin it" sounding like "square-dance", the chaotic combo of a convo and a scuffle up against the invincible orderliness that is The Beat, "mmm hmm" sounding like "mmm hmm", the chutzpa of this planet's reckoned creation and sermon-esque religious fervor somehow upheld by the surrounding grandeur. The disco-drift near the end almost seems inevitable but comes off as a jarring peculiarity -- doesn't stop it from continuing to "push on, push on, push on" however. 7.5/10

Frankie Cosmos - Next Thing

With a mild modesty that's heartrending as it is heartwarming and the scanty-n-pure in-a-room instrumentation there to correspond, the charm of low-key personable perspicuity and tenderness that doesn't nauseate works wonders. Can't say it doesn't leave these cozily terse tunes a bit lacking and/or overly meek at times, though. I can say that said scanty instrumentation does elevate the enjoyment of distant dream-synths when those decide to pop up, however. Also relished is the 20-year old sell-out with the corporation's pen and the composed glee over that friends+touring lyfe: the latter of which enables her to not only "embody all the grace and lightness", but also "warm my vocals, sing a song / sit in cars, read a book." Ah, best of both worlds. 6.5/10

Freakwater - Scheherazade

Vet-status ragged-n-sensitive female alt-country-but-quite-country duo that's been active beside a varying cast of fellas since '89 or so -- and though it's their first album in over a decade, it conveys what vet-country damn well should, that is to say they're casually earnest, genuine, down-n-out-n-proud of it, prone to provocative diction and pilfering nursery rhymes for addiction metaphors. Their voice-weave is an uber-gripping and seemingly-sporadic force of beautiful disparity on its own, and the partaking ensemble dispenses just the right amount of schooled swagger-accompaniment for their slurrin' and croonin', whether it be fury-infused rock that wouldn't dare blow its top or the prevailing broken-ache dismay and eerie intimacy. Effortlessly exudes elegance, but never without some tinge of rusty suffering. Usually a solid go-to elegance-buffer, if you ask me. 7/10

French Montana - Wave Gods

Having seemingly seized an upsurge from his Max B-camaraderie/Kanye's recent wave-based wrangling and resultant consensual-call-as-intermission via the incarcerated B-man himself, French Montana's bailiwick remains quite rooted in the aesthetics and persons of yesteryear (i.e. ~a decade ago) -- chipmunk-beats run rampant, he wonders why street rap ain't sellin' like Kendrick, "old men" Puff+Jadakiss join forces for some wildin' while almost-as-old men Kanye+Nas dispense particularly-substantial hook-n-verse work. But due to the presumable desire for relevance and bodacious-for-a-mixtape budget, there's also your conventional Future+Travis Scott spots and grime-steeped auto-tune slathers and handful of beats-n-choruses to absolutely die for. So sure, French lets others do alot of the work, and um, listening to the Silver Surfer babble from a prison-phone is becoming painful, and yeah, there's an inordinate amount of track-skipping going on; but at the very least the highlights are well worth the jaunt: the angelic Kingdom Hearts 2-exploiting shelter-seeker with an amazing/awful hook, a rippin'-remix finale that boasts unswerving flows and fancy vehicular zooms, and French's trismic back-n-forth with young-buck Kodak Black; the latter of whom I hereby declare chief cake-taker. Not bad for being barely legal/conscious. 7/10

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G.L.O.S.S. - Trans Day of Revenge [EP]

Can't claim this ain't unlike a thousand-and-one other hasty hardcore EPs before it, or that the majority of those k+unos will ever see a smidgen of the spotlight these Girls Living Outside Society's Shit have seized from gender-bend topicality and being the prey of some tactless Whirr-hurled scurrilities -- but their ire is formidably tangible and even sanguinary; the downtrodden+rancor-ridden call-to-arms urgent, madcap, and presently pertinent enough to seem pretty much obligatory. And the tunes, right -- five songs, seven minutes, a few shout-along opportunities, succinct shredding -- hasty hardcore linchpins indeed. 7/10

Toby Gale - DNA Party [EP]

Short-lived electro-shindig whose super-sparkly bustle is sure to lure and yield a smile, or at the very least create a shrill and unobligatory diversion. 6/10

Gap Dream - This is Gap Dream

If you possess a general fondness towards the whole 70s proto-punk thing or that there 90s lo-fi stuff or hey why not 60s girl pop and primitive electro pulsations, you're bound to be at least a little charmed fo sho. And if you happen to like it vague&lax and jumblingly hosted by a one-man kinda-awk amateur, this may be your Gap Dream indeed. Catchy, bit-o-weird and warm-toned, innocuous enough -- notable for delivering highlights while in hiding-in-the-basement hush mode. Hush Mode Matters: feeling separated from the world and no longer looking forward to tomorrow, rock n roll, death rock. 7/10

Kevin Gates - Islah

Generally known in the public eye as an infamous chest-booter and unabashed booty-eater, K-Gates' official full-length debut seeks to add trap&b crossover-crooner extraordinaire to that list -- a potentiality that thus far has acted like more of a side-sweetener to his ardent ruffneck flows; which when grouped with a flair for hooks/crackerjack rappin'/an endearing-yet-questionable personality, struck quite a honey-mud harmony between tough, tender, and catchy, with a good touch of goofball nasty-nast. All traits that still stand for the most part, but seemingly in favor of carving out a somewhat-contrived path towards hooks-n-glory it's the blazing aggression that takes a hit: adrenaline jack-ups in the vein of "Luca Brasi Intro" and fierce song-long non-stop verses a la "Khaza" are sorely missed in the midst of this hard-but-not mid-range medley. But the soft stuff does shine more than ever, and the deadly rap&sing combo of vivid rhymes and irresistible choruses can be a hard thing to come upon these days -- even harder if they confess erection-reliance over exotic-island pop or make tending to multiple phones sound glamorous as fuck -- and that is the speciality Gates revels in. Right along with, er ya know, making love to the pussy. 6.5/10

Kevin Gates - Murder For Hire 2 [EP]

Checkup EP one year after the original and four months after a mixed-bag major label debut -- welcome return of emphasizing da rough stuff and rappin' over pop propensities and romancin', a self-comparison to Kurt Cobain, still puking via depression and pining for privacy despite his swelling success, notable hooks crafted from goin' stupid and a "fuck it" chant, Muslim flava, proof that his excess offerings are more stalwart than most of his peers, sustained stagnation avoidance yet not particularly pressing. 6.5/10

Laura Gibson - Empire Builder

A commendable crew of multifaceted folkies, yes, commendable indeed -- can't say commendable creeps near really-remarkable at any time here, but it does rest rather comfortably in really-quite-pleasant. Starts strong/strongest? with the one-two friendly handshake of "The Cause" and "Damn Sure", but soon after begins to fall into sleep-mode a bit too often. But hey, kudos on the percussive nuances and the percussion in general and the capable lyricism and the striking slow-churn string-swells. The title-track also lives up to its name by building an empire impressive enough to not be eclipsed for the remainder of the album, at song #4 outta 10. But very likable, really. 5.5/10

Glitterbust - Glitterbust

Amps hazily hum, amps squeal a bit, guitars lackadaisically strummed, guitars sporadically poked -- the dearth of cohesion during these dubious meander-jams is one thing, but truly dumbfounding is the deficiency of just about any form of fruition. Might make for a dece atmospheric smog to wallow in if it wasn't so bunglin' and draggin', and oh right those infrequent vocals: refer to what the amps do again and toss in some vacantly-stated poetry. ~*~meh~*~

Gucci Mane - Everybody Looking

Dude's flows are middling, tired, permanently slow-to-mid-paced; not to mention he's barely likable as a person to boot -- but with Zaytoven+Mike Will Made It commanding a bulk of the beats and a steadfast sense of artistic solidity throughout, he ain't quite a schlockmeister. His clarity is refreshing, his hooks catchy and understated, and by the near-end when he's claiming "all-a these rappers" as his offspring it's not hard to concur that he's been an impactful fellow in hip-hop's trajectory. Plus there's something to be said about a guy who spits "fuck the feds, fuck the cops, fuck the DEA" on record hours after being released from prison early, or can promptly call upon Kanye to help compare his cash-stuffed pockets to a "pussy print" and have it come off no-nonsense momentous. Noteworthiest moments occur after the guests depart, however: the so-cocky-it's-funny "Gucci Please", the nightmarish jail-cell fx and back-turning mama of "1st Day Out tha Feds", the teasingly wealthy "At Least a M", the one where he reminisces about the day he got robbed but never quite reminisces about the day he got robbed, etc. 6/10

Guided by Voices - Please Be Honest

K. 5/10

Steve Gunn - Eyes on the Lines

I'll grant Gunn this: his guitar work is genial and hard to outright loathe, his songwriting courteous and humble, his backing band attitudinally aligned and well-meaning. But why-o-why does laid-back have to sound this neutralized, this tepid? It's pleasant+passable turned perilless yawn-prompter, befitting background breeziness for those who wanna "look around and waste the day" or "feel like the ocean". Nothin' wrong with some normalcy, but maybe just take those eyes off the lines from time to time. Look around elsewhere, see where it gets ya. ~*~meh~*~

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Haken - Affinity

After they boot up via ominous .exe file and promptly delve into initiatory off-kilter stiff-chug riffs+emotional falsetto whines, you get the feeling there's some clear-cut cheese in sto fo sho -- an assumption confirmed by the spasmodic 9-minute followup "1985" with its sudden swerve into a sprightly shmup soundtrack from the year in question and all-out beach-biker solo-fuck-wankery. Which winds up precisely the sort of proficient polished-prog-robot+sweetly-silly-jocundity intermingle that keeps me atingle through the inevitable noodling/dragging: sober heavy-lite with transitions aplenty they do fine, but when the soft-n-soaring stuff/fun-n-flashy solos approach stunning they do alot finer. Guest throat Einar Solberg brings a much appreciated and refreshing scream-section to the table, it ends on an empyreal wind-in-your-hair note and .exe reprise/shutdown -- and is there anything more exhilarating than when the sinuous 16-minute centerpiece is succeeded by the almost-hilariously epic-n-tender "Earthrise"? 7/10

Tim Hecker - Love Streams

While the floaty flow and sinister-shroud/cozy-heaven conjugality are fairly fetching, so much of it is a flustered clutter of non-action and nonsense. Which is sorta-kinda worth wading in for when the sublime church-choir vox loom or the glitches rip on through to the other side. An appealing atmosphere as far as minced-up synth-somethings and meandering go, but some cohesion is cool too tho. 5.5/10

Benji Hughes - Songs in the Key of Animals

Complaints concerning the overt corniness, justifiable as they may be, seem like targets too easy -- though he certainly has it comin' what with the ah-fuck-it zoological thematics and boom-shocka-locks and unrestrained use of exclamation points and cupcake-citing and his entire selfhood in general, it's egregious enough to assume there's at least a mondo quantity of self-awareness at hand to back it up. You don't just pen a tune like "Girls Love Shoes" in 2016 or rhyme 'monkey' with 'donkey' in the first stanza without claspin' some serious tongue-in-cheek tendencies, right? Besides, the contrast of panicked screams-n-chatter with a mild-mannered sugar-hook is a-ok in my book, faceless studio-female voice-appendages provide a generic-yet-essential foil, and once the perpetual gag that is this album's first half has passed, far-more-endurable legitimacies are the norm: "Magic Summertime" is actually a bit magical, "Picnic" a mild lovey-dovey pleasure, "Song For Nancy" on auto-pilot ride-out from the get-go but a rather rational and touching instrumental. Then again, anything can seem sensible after good-time peacockery and zebra-saddle yearning I s'pose. 5/10

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Immune - Breathless

Commences with a play-it-cool litmus test of garden-variety ambience-lean and atypical 10-minute understatement, then advances as an ever-flowing murky electro-river where coarse workaday dream-fog and soft-scratch shufflin' does its damnedest to muck up/enhance the buoyant dance-trance and psych-pensive roving. Smudgy layers are there for the pickin', and the more-than-serviceable beats that waft you through seem to gain cryptic appeal from their semi-concealment -- its Burial is buried, Avalanches avalanched, voices all drowned and now in phantom form. 7/10

Into It. Over It. - Standards

Intrigued/enervated maestro/multi-instrumentalist Evan Weiss is observant, articulate, tolerably sensitive, collectedly perturbed; hell, downright palsy-walsy. That, along with the charming lil off-kilter guitar hooks and partiality for lithesome drumming, gets 'em by fine without ever necessarily wowing or mesmerizing -- it certainly gets slumberous on the tail-end once the weeping-string "anesthetic" starts coursing its way through your veins, but the fluctuation of peppy punk tunes and levelheaded emo semi-sobbers throughout flows righteously and keeps things compelling. And the convincingly bleak canyon-isms of center-ish-piece "Your Lasting Image", never treading too far over the whine-line, a surprise double-bass incursion; well those are nice too. 6/10

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Jealousy - Paid For It

Spry moments are driven by a basal garage-rock bass-line and/or eldritch psych-auras, stagnant moments are corroded by pococurante performances and wretched rambling, the majority of it is far too languid+way too reliant on reverberations+plain ol' lacking in derivable substance. Which is all by design, I'm sure. But to quote 'em: "I don't feel anything at all." ~*~meh~*~

JK Flesh - Rise Above

Does the trick if the itch that needs scratchin' involves thick+reliable 4/4 thumps and a comprehensive industrial pummeling. Static and scrunches are scrupulous, bass earthshaking, blunt as all hell but doesn't skimp on submerged grooves and subtleties; its depth and masterly marriage of doomsday muck and heavy house are appreciated. But oof, that relentless denseness and same-tempo stomp over-n-over tho. Got me feeling like a soulless nothin' working an assembly line in hell -- which I could see getting sucked into, honestly. 5.5/10

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James K - PET

Inaugural demands for kowtow fall kinda flat when it yields to disregardable drafty driftin' and glitchin', and even through the generally angelic vocal-soars and mysterious misty-dream tranquility and occasional peppy pop pulses it's that same drafty driftin' that ends up prime deterrent. Too floaty for fun, too airy to care, too illegible to assume there's a whole lot to care about anyway, too sleepy to ever really "sokit to me". ~*~meh~*~

Kablam - Furiosa [EP]

Preternatural electro portrayal of that time you trailed those little creepy-crawly somethings deep down into the basement, only to come upon the writhing chained-up robot creature who proceeded to send y'all sailin' through the vigorous vortexes of phantasmal choirs and clocks galore. Then those same little creepy-crawly somethings ate you alive, or the basement caught fire and caved in, or something. Surreal and turbulent and fun, only took like 17 minutes, a lion showed up? You know the time. 7.5/10

Kamaiyah - A Good Night in the Ghetto

Rather than target mere nineties nostalgia, Kamaiyah trajects something more along the lines of assured nineties make-believe: rockin' brick phones+beepers+Guess gear, an N64-flaunting music video, interludial landline phone-rings, the 'hoochie-hoo's and 'woopty-woop's, tunes titled "Mo Money Mo Problems" and "One Love". But despite the well-touted throwback traits, this is a straight-up hip-hop refresher -- not just cuz this unapologetic freaky-freak hoyden-queen crushes most of her peers in frequently fluent verse-work and can absolutely rock a hook besides, or from the beats not being produced by Trap-Dude-X for once -- but for seemingly evading violence in favor of rags-to-success euphoria/living every damn day like it's Friday/fuckin' up the club, from the advocacy of a girl looking to 'break down' the guy for a change while declining to become his tied-down steady, cuz "Come Back" is a lush r&b request for an ex to stay put rather than return. And just when you think it's all one ginormous sex-gala, in swoops a tearjerker finale; wherein her cancer-stricken dawg is movingly/somberly serenaded and the possibility of drinkin' out the bottle getting outta hand is professed. For someone claiming to have been doin' her own thang since like '94, not bad: theoretically, she would've just begun learning how to talk. 8/10

Matt Karmil - IDLE033

Combating garishness all the way via understated bass-murk submergence and not being in a rush to get somewhere, this gamut of electro-instrumentals skulks its way through chopped-n-crackly ambience, lumpy slow-churnin' chill-outs, reticent-n-loopy hip-hop, ominous+oscillating specter ensembles, and for the terminal twosome, a revitalizing superimposition into surprisingly snappy techno. In a sea of slackened adequacies that are agreeable but never astounding, the principal-persuader award goes to "Freeform"; whose multitudinous incessancy at least comes close. 6/10

Kayo Dot - Plastic House on Base of Sky

Synth layers upon sumptuous synth layers and semi-shrouded vagabond drumming are enough to spawn an immersive spacemosphere that's enthralling as it is jittery, and prevailing to the point where one may forget they ever tread in metal. Sounds great, sure; terrifyingly technical, totally -- also often compositionally unstable to a fault, sporting less sections of inspiration and solidity and more moments that seem indifferent+cluttered. Vividity that begs to get lost in but becomes tiresome and disorderly; though the whole 'woah space maaan' thing definitely deserves partial blame for any yawnin' that may occur. 6.5/10

Kaytranada - 99.9%

A qualified and versatile enough house-hop-r&b producer undoubtedly -- exceptional kindler and sparer of guest-extent overkill, however, I've got my doubts. Cuz for a beat-master's beat-boaster bevy there's quite the heap of ho-hum, then there's the many-an instance of unnecessary track-protraction and marring by means of bass muddlement. And the visitors ain't much help neither, oft-opting for the sterile or obnoxious ("The young girls wanna love me long time / But then you gotta listen to 'em talk", laments Phonte). Good for moderate funky groovin' and and occasional instrumental notables, but beyond that perhaps the sampled interviewee within is the most accurate descriptor of its remarkable traits: "..the musicality, meaning the beats, um, you know, from the chords and the bass-lines and, um, the rhythms, uh the you know?" 5/10

Kerridge - Fatal Light Attraction

The difference between your ol' run-of-the-mill industrialized brazen-faced buzz-work and this is the buzz-work here is markedly high-par -- it still beats up the brain and punishes the psyche but the causticity is brimming with clarity and texture-centric rectitude, its ruthless poundin' and churnin' oft-concocting a techno-esque momentum and its static detonations+wanderings/dead air as extended halts/shrouded mutterings consistently catching the ear. It still gets redundant and whittles you down to nothingness, too, but does so pretty damn kindly and luxuriantly.6.5/10

KING - We Are KING

Invariably wafting in a subdued dream-in-the-sky electro-r&b euphoria -- which is intoxicating and intricate as it is fragile and subtle, but does become rather snoozy and rather redundant rather quickly. Bound to happen when all-sounds-concerned are routinely lighter than air and melt before you, I suppose. But their mellow ethereality never isn't pleasant as hell (er or heaven), 6+minute extended mixes allow for structure-play and the chance to get even driftier, and though the capacity for could-be easy hooky hit-making is evident, this self-made trio is duly diligent 'bout bestowing priority to silky-steady trance above all. Refresher in both attitude and execution. 6/10

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - Nonagon Infinity

The mucho-mentioned album-as-undisturbed-loop is novel and nice, but a plain ol' propensity for breakneck psych-drenched propulsion is nicer -- they straddle the line between firm and feral, goofy and gung-ho, fun and formidable; convincingly conjuring up images of fig wasps+people vultures and continuing to command attention through the flashes of deja vu and jerky-groove change-ups that serve as calm-downs from all that buzzy racket. Oh right, the hooks and the howling; very vital as well. 7.5/10

Kodak Black - Lil B.I.G. Pac

A languorous letdown -- maybe I was just anticipating a moment that lived up to his cake-taking guest-work on French Montana's "Lockjaw", or the fact that it's now realized that yes, he legit sounds barely conscious on the regz, and no, its allure ain't lasting. More of the latter I'd say, as his soporific+sloppy slurring almost always exasperates and the words don't really help much neither, attributes amplified by lotsa double-tracked flows (like, why?). But the beats generally catch the ear, he plays the dazed-n-down-n-out role decisively, second-to-last "Letter" is an innovative perk-up about a penning to a prisoner that's heartwarming, sincere, and far too short. Other worth-its are the guest assists/takeovers: Boosie showing a leanin' youngin how it's done and PNB Rock with a ginormous miracle hook; even if said hook seems suspiciously celebratory for the lamentation of mates stuck in slammers and cemeteries. 5.5/10

Krallice - Hyperion [EP]

Scuzz-prog gurus ring in the New Year with an EP recorded 30 months prior that is not only more pronounceable than 2015's Ygg Huur, but more pronounced as well -- a comparable lack of superfluous meandering makes 'em more graspable; and no that's not a bad thing, especially not if they're cranking the anguished-black-metal-brutality knob up a notch in return. Other preferable perks include riffs you can dive into, feedback-wash standstills and, sure, the brevity too. 7/10

Kvelertak - Nattesferd

Parched production is rather beseeming for their old-school rock/metal homaging -- as is the could-be-an-NES-game-case album art -- but I can't help but hunger for the punchier 'oomph' these riffs-n-anthemics deserve. Still, they gotz a fair flair for summoning the fun and the forceful, the past and the present: their sound can oft-channel parties+motorcycles, they're partial towards a good trebly+jovial singalong and not opposed to grandstanding a la Kiss; but the black-n-thrash tinging is rife, the snarled Nordic vox are permanent, and considerably complex ~5+ minute songs are the ushe. Also apt at gracefully driving a riff home ("Ondskapens Galaske"), brutal berserker breakdowns (ahem, "Berserkr"), and acoustic coloration when applicable. 7/10

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Kendrick Lamar - untitled unmastered. 

Rocks half the tracks/less than half the length/barely a wisp of the pampering dispatched on last year's unassailable do-I-even-have-to-say-it hip-hop smash, but I'll be damned if this isn't nearly as indispensable. The creepin' slow-burn jazz-hop understatements are fresh in their reserve, particularly showcasing Thundercat's uber-resonant bass-work and encouraging flows to come gleam on through the demo-ish dust; the xtra-doses of fervor and clarity accentuated without any abandonment of lexical density. Of course there's also the prolonged+hissy passage of behind-the-scenes badinage/tune-planning, perhaps superfluously consummating the whole 'unmastered' slant. But it makes for some pretty warm waste, I gotta say. Whereas the rest is more like world-class waste. 8/10

Ray Lamontagne - Ouroboros

Atmospherically, tone-wise, flow-wise, it's attentive and winsome: fragile+pensive acoustic+piano sounds like a bliss-float dream-state, slinkin' strut cool-guy repeato guitar hooks are soaked in brittle-crunch distortion, forays into mountainous psych-rock and slowed-to-a-crawl holy om-choirs show initiative. The songs themselves, however; adequate but not exactly the epic riveters able to prop up all the sonic treatments, or justify Pink Floyd-esque melodrama and a sluggish pace -- something established once the second half ups the listlessness and generic-realm spout-outs. That is; starlings and their apparent murmurations, spending the day in his own nondescript lethargic way and having the sleepy tune to match, nature-scene rhapsodizing and correctly assessing that he doesn't have much to say on this other day, etc. And though instrumental focus certainly lies elsewhere, does the drummer really have to sound bored evermore? And though "hey, no pressure" doesn't make for the most absorbing mantra, it beats the pants off the conclusive "never gonna hear this song on the radio". Like, yeah, but do they want it tho? 6/10


Lampgod - God Shit [EP]
Convokes charm with its unusual beats and disheveled amateurism, gets better as it goes on too -- but the coulda-been-made-in-a-day laxness and ad-lib talks/samples nearly outweighing the rhymes and sub-15-minute runtime leave something to be desired and present a rather ambiguous persona in the end. Until the coming-soon full-length, we know this: he wants to eat and wants everyone else to eat too, he's not out to impress or care about production levels, he bleeps out his own "bitch" and has a sample scold him for saying it. 5.5/10

Mary Lattimore - At the Dam

I mean hey, consider me down with improvised plain-ol-echoey-harp layerings that occasionally metamorphose into reverse-zip electro-manipulations and bleary conceptual works as much as the next guy -- but this is some of the most languorous music to ever un-grace my ears with its presence. Pretty and dreamlike collaging, sure, but also longwinded, ponderous, and hypnagogic to the point of frustration through-n-through. Always be wary of the impromptu visionary.~*~meh~*~

Klara Lewis - Too

Its tenebrous subtleties render this most effective while lying down in a dark room, or perhaps seated in a corner facing the wall while wearing a blank expression. Bookended by blatancies with a kindly curt in-between that goes somewhat hard+bold for creepin' ambient synth-drone -- a sorta-tune at hand on occasion, uber-covert itty bitty details, static-ridden dialogue fragments, oppressively opaque atmosphere -- but ah, just so much of a muted float-by bore on the whole. It is, however, a murky drifter that'll color that corner at least, and provide a light at the end-o-the-tunnel to boot. ~*~meh~*~

LNS - Maligne Range [EP]

6-track/sub-half hour techno-house-ambient concoction that soothes and ensnares with its clean refinement and calm complexity -- mood is oft-ominous but never onerous, it's insistent but stays outta your face, preferring to remain unfussy and understated. The studious no-frills no-filler disposition here is nifty, no doubt -- but those particularly-crispy cymbal-hits, vibrant surface-scrapes, and subterranean goo-gurgles make for some pretty gratifying perks as well. 7/10

Lone - Levitate

Incessant hyperactivity and luminous melodies and sparkling spacy joviality make this an immediate grabber, and a vibe-filled breeze-out starring a heartbroken semi-stalker as an interludial breath-of-air is always a charmer too. Admirable beat-layering meticulosity and mood-swelling capabilities no doubt, but digging past the swiftness-n-swooshes tends to expose a sense of vapidity obscured by all that benevolent and dancy birr. Could just be skilled+smooth treading into sterile, or that sampled hook stating "our style is the craziest" when it kinda just sounds old hat -- but eh, why dig? 6.5/10

LSDXOXO - Fuck Marry Kill

If you're under the assumption a project called 'Fuck Marry Kill' by an artist named LSDXOXO is an explicit novelty, well, you right. The beats are brash and blatant to the point of bizarro, minced-up vocal loops are gruntin' somethings and poppin' pussy more often than not and persistent to the point of hyped-up hypnosis, a Kanye remix gets tossed in for kicks. Stalwart and forceful as fuck but always bringing on the bubbly+kooky, these are sexually-charged club bangers rendered ridiculous and playful. Opening track embodies it well: rubber bands, water drops, steel-door slams, soothing soul-croon vs. moaning and booties, etc. 7/10

Lucius - Good Grief

Wafts of ho-hum melodrama and grandiosity and overdone pep do permeate throughout, but the ones most afflicted are over with rather quickly -- that is, the supposedly-special-someone who she can't describe so just kinda doesn't and all those lofty landscape-ridden fidelities. Personally, I enjoy 'em most when they clinch the preliminary possibility of being driven to madness and writhingly become the ones who are going insane over some clocky tick-tocks. Then comes the bubblegum parade-float of "Born Again Teen", the glitch-lite electro-flourishes+wacky instrument whackin', the yearned-for rain gently comin' 'round after culpability forms from feelin' good and a pause. So right, their traces of emotional realness and adept aspiration towards diversity are bolsters, and also prolly why the sad ballads are as winning as they are. Parting statement: "Everyone's around right now and I'm still alone." In other words, they're not plastic pop quite yet. 6/10


Lustmord - Dark Matter
There's bound to be heaps of deep dark drone that transmit staring into the void, but I bet few have ya full-on free-floating in it. Of course not everyone is able to employ a decade's worth of honest-to-god space sound, much less sprawl three 20+minute tracks into the immense yet ignorable dread-vacuum that ol solar system deserves. This would be suitable for sci-fi soundtrack fodder yet its instillment and creepy factor are pretty impeccable, and if the right mood strikes you could drown in it. Try too hard and you may just feel dull+sullen, understandably so. 6.5/10

Luxury Elite - Noir  

Twenty instrumental compositions that meld together to form a sort of soundtrack for a nighttime city-strut. It "Arrival"s in style and stays that way -- sleek and austere, simplistic and hypnotic, staggering between frolicsome+groovy and pensive+breathtaking. Thanks to an average track-time somewhere around the 2-minute mark, not-a-one overstays its welcome, each often opting to vaguely convey its title before moving onto whatever act comes next -- all-the-while of course utilizing auras and aesthetics pulled from what one can only imagine as PS1-era cutscenes, hazy late night television, winning a car via gameshow circa 1985, that sorta thing. Just as it shamelessly rips out the swankiest of saxes and absurdly wanky gee-tar note-bends while suggesting Pink Panther walking down an alley at 3 a.m., it also adheres to admiring skyline scenery from an advantageous height, dreamin' and desirin', and perpetual dips into big ol' fountains of soothe. 8/10

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M83 - Junk

Tempting as it is, I vowed to not use the word 'junk' while describing 'Junk'. Cuz one, a bit easy+evident, and cuz two, this isn't "anything that is regarded as worthless, meaningless, or contemptible; trash." Really. It's pretty much full-time corny and at-times horrendously ho-hum, draggingly tottering from obnox to mopey to quizzical, toting bilingual schmaltz and maladroit vocal pitch-shifts and 'tis overlong to boot, but it's not junk (oops). Gonzalez is just too capable a mood-synth/electro interlayer to not allow some amenities to emanate. As for the schmaltz, I'll take Susanne Sundfor's lass-laced plain ol' sappy ballad over any of the Mai Lan features, the so-called Beck feature, heck most of the remainder; call that a positive or negative. Never made any vows about the cover art, however -- rather relevant, in a way. ~*~meh~*~

M.E.S.H. - Damaged Merc [EP]

A kinda eh-why-not lil' spurt of grimy electro, combining the clubby and the erratic with a disheveled+scurrying mix of repeat-o vocal blurts, rapidly rotating percussive 'what the's, cryptic car-start ambiance, etc. Doesn't have the span or flow that made last year's Piteous Gate LP sufficiently engaging, the crammin' going on here too-oft irritates or leaves me shrugging. 5/10

Peder Mannerfelt - Controlling Body

Exploiter of euphonious voice-drones and a speech-repeater button, Mannerfelt's yak-mods manage to both spellbind and assault: "Limits to Growth" starts like an art-installation cliche and but literally seems to "cr-cr-create bre-bre-breath" as it builds into the fascinating fixedness of something akin to a cyborg-brought-to-life simulation, "Perspectives" revels in turning "subject" into "sub-ject", "Her Move" gradually dwindles "crucified" into "fine art" into "er", the first one just kinda goes "eeee". For the instrumentals flip-side he's commonly creepin' on the cryptic-electro DL, which makes for some welcome caesural contrast but more-oft tend to drag. See the ender and only the ender if you want your vox non-chopped and vaguely Bjork-ish. 6.5/10

Terrace Martin - Velvet Portraits

Prominent Pimped-Butterfly producer puts together a hybrid hodgepodge of r&b-jazz-soul-funk: roughly in that order when it comes to genre-tilt with a modicum of hip-hop/electro-dream extract, boasts a laundry list of erudite guest features, and smoothly interlaces instrumentals with the non-. And considering its 14-track tally/nearly 70 minutes/inordinate collaborating, caliber and consistency really run rampant -- many lay it down so smooth-n-mellow as to epitomize 'chill' or driving into a Cali sunset, some superbly scratch that itch to get up and get down, others revel in nowhere-to-go jam-outs and fat-n-farty bass blurts. But, er, that nearly 70 minutes tho, that much-appreciated stylistic traditionalism at times translating to starched and slack. See the ender-revision of Kendrick's "Mortal Man" for an extended example of artfully fusing past+present, see nondescript-yet-empathetic lyrics for themes passable in the past but prosaic in the present: coming together now, being together forever, waiting for someone to come back, funking you up, etc. 6/10

Matmos - Ultimate Care II

All spin-cycle and AWOL-sock jokes aside, this makes quite the mercurially labyrinthine romp out of exclusively washer-derived sounds; transmitting a sort of exorbitant cut-up reconstruction of what the super-DUPER-wash setting might be like. Thus its format as a single 38-minute composition, in all of its cumbersome delight -- of course one consistently fluctuating with ups+downs, vigor+lulls, pure meandering, alien+domestic. The alien being that many-a-sound could be construed as just about anything other than a washing machine, having been mutated into whatever-the-fuck fits; the domestic being the reality-reminders of knob-cranks and soapy aqua-shuffles that seemingly cleanse the mind. And when they just flat-out rhythmically beat the shit out of the thing, that's cool too. Always nice to see object-technicians that acknowledge both mad manipulation and plain ol plainness. Is it just me or does that buzzer-click closure absolutely epitomize a domestic reality-reminder? 6/10

Anna Meredith - Varmints

A dizzyingly incessant opening salvo that could be used as an exuberant-yet-terrifying rally-theme for medieval plunderers is followed by cordial-n-cute dual-vocal clicker-pop, midway shmup-plug "R-Type" allows formidable gee-tar wail fireworks to blossom from an elegant techno escalation only to succeed it with the plain-n-true brilliant-n-beautiful pop song "Dowager" in all of its weeping and semi-extended glory. So yeah; between the instrumentals and non-, the 'lectronic and organic, meandering and diligent classical propensities vs. complex and cunning candy-pop, it's a jumble and a bit exhausting to boot. But there is a melding of discipline, delicacy, and weirdo cartoonish pomp that consistently captivates throughout, plus space-soaring and seemingly always having something ticking or ringing the night away helps too. 7/10

Mock Orange - Put the Kid on the Sleepy Horse

Going on 20 years versed and bearing that congenital era's fuzzy+melodic rockin' proudly and prosperously -- paired with Ryan Grisham's trebly-n-wounded vox they promptly prompt suggestions of FlamingDinoChunkJuniorSuperLipsIndieness; but with gee-tar licks aplenty alongside pedals that peddle both dirty fire and dreamy elegance, lithe drumming and bass that don't slack neither, buzzy keybs and kept-in-check psych-outs as bonuses, and the willingness+finesse to interrupt a clattery grunge verse with a beautiful banjo-glazed chorus, it's safe to say they've carved their own niche. Unassertive catchiness always helps too, as does having a quintuplet of genuine hits out of ten tracks; even if at least four of 'em are in the first half. 7.5/10

Moonsorrow - Jamalten Aika

Can't say they (like most) are able to wind through a 5-track 67-minute metal-epic without growing at least a wee bit burdensome, but oof do they wind through. From the broad and never-vagabond ebb-n-flow to the earnest-as-fuck chanting to the seamless transitioning in and outta heavy+roaring riffery/incantational in-a-storm fossil-folk/boingy-boing breakdowns, this is a masterstroke in the commixing of savage, seasoned, triumphant, traditional. An odyssey where gremlin-esque zoogenic snarls and direly dusty shouts of anguish are as imperative as the call-n-response fragile wizard and larger-than-life group-gods, the crushing+furious as riveting as the tender acoustics and ominous outdoorsy atmospherics of rope-creaks and bubblin' streams. See memorabilia-of-masterstroke "Mimisbrunn" for an adept sum-up of these fine traits, but plz refer to entire masterstroke for the masterstroke. 8/10

Kevin Morby - Singing Saw

Morby's well-promulgated Dylanflection doesn't carry over word-wise, prompting his sorta-sagely demeanor to come off rickety, nebulous; and perhaps the least felicitous for sorta-sageness, pedestrian. Not so much to become bothersome, but rather kinda conducive to further savoring the substantial deployment of a femme-vox triad and the oft-lovely instrumental implementation. Slow-n-sparse strings-toting echo-folk suits him fine, but the doses of behavioral breakouts are vital: psych+dub fuzz and piano-trance amid mountaineering and singing saws cutting down trees, actual singing saws weepin' and wailin', a sexy sax slink-in during "Destroyer", the oh-so-essential dirty rosy medial romp of "Dorothy". Would be good to see his singing become as seductive as all the saws-n-stuff tho. 7/10

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Nails - You Will Never Be One of Us

So preposterously pummeling and heavy and pissed that it don't matter much when it begins to blur some five minutes/four tracks in -- even for a genre where that's the norm, the accelerated aural assault they administer awes and appalls every time, making good on the get-the-fuck-outta-the-room inclination their prohibitive album title+prefatory mutterings hint towards. In fact, the production is instrumentally powerful to the point where the vox seem satisfied back-sat and comparably kinda stagnant, and the tunes drift toward middle-of-the-road after that aforementioned blur. But "they come crawling back" for the finale indeed; an 8+minute monster that sees 'em gettin' their sludge on while segueing into demon-ridden squall-pits and lasers-on-foil breakdowns. 7/10

Nao - For All We Know

As if to deliberately defy my disappointment in the brevity of their EP last year, they clock in almost an hour here; tossin' in behind-the-scenes studio scraps as intervalic unnecessaries and an intro and an appreciated alternate take on an old one ("Inhale Exhale") and still thirteen songs besides. Thing is tho that other gripe is still a thing, i.e. they really don't seem to churn out anything extraordinary, and despite lil dreamy ventures into space and "sloooow motioooon", don't dare go above-n-beyond. Certainly capable of bringin' that deep+amiable electro-funk throughout and impressively consistent considering the mass trax, but there's maybe a handful of tunes that don't seem interchangeable. Isn't best when a good singer gets stuck in by-the-books banal r&b mode and ultimately grates, neither. Nice as a fine and dandy electro-friendly funk/r&b blur. 6/10

Nisennenmondai - #N/A

I adore+applaud their scarily-strict minimalist chug-offs of ticks-n-bumps-n-squeaks -- enough to shrug off the exhaustion they inflict and restrictions they require, even enough to kinda-tolerate the ceaseless+colorless grime-churn gyrating through the entirety of a 16-minute slow-build beast also known as "#2". With post-production peppering in light-fare muffled-mystery noise and panning/echo-psych shenanigans, this 3-piece "rock" outfit comes on more like a sole neurotic techno techie with a drum-kit -- and as much as caution and rigor and endurance are their bread and knife and butter, they oft-manage to project a sense of perkiness; the unshakable tension-upkeep that never-ever lets loose helping stamp out sterility while keeping the listener perpetually on edge to boot. Also keen at keeping the listener's brain feeling something akin to an overworked assembly belt. 7/10

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O'Brother - Endless Light

Their steadily leaden swirl of partly-proggy post-rock crunchin' is atmospherically appealing, and though overall overcast inching is pretty much intrinsic, they stir up an adequate amount to chaw on -- opaques, acoustics, shimmers+squeals, slo-mo agility, strikingly sharp group-vox harmonizing, a conclusive stretch of ambiance. But whereas the dismal drag is manageable, the melodramatic non-group angst-vox have me rolling my eyes and muttering the band name typically throughout. Indubitable smh moments include when he wants to watch it all burn and that part about the brain-dead infant. 5/10

Frank Ocean - Blonde

The super-sparse instrumentation often sounds like a prodigy's humble bedroom experimenting and demeanor-wise he's rather lax, leaving those anticipating accommodation via assertive beats-n-bangers in the dust. Fortunately, Frankie O knows his soft-selling; and the muscle of mysticism -- the musical understatements are almost always angelic and heighten the intimacy while the couple-a loud ones provide curveballs, words wade in offhand generalities but will gladly toss out telling tidbits and scraps of brilliance, skit-inclusions of a worried mother's archived drug-debarring and a flabbergasted man's Facebook-focused breakup are forever open to interpretation as is the squall-soaked questioning hidden on the tail-end. But maybe most of all he knows the efficacy of his own voice, even when he's skirting its full capacity or locked in computerized-chipmunk mode -- which isn't to say he won't step aside for a much-needed minute-or-so of rapid Andre 3000 perfection. 8.5/10

OG Maco - The Lord of Rage [EP]

More than just another trite trapper automaton who's an avid yeller and yeah-er -- first and foremost is this lord's rage, the passionate foam-at-the-mouth aggression of which is so blood-pumping and flagrant and gruff that it could put some hardcore vocalists to shame. I wish he didn't save its extremest forms for exclusively "Ape Shit" and "Talk to Em", but it does help for the sake of coherence+tolerance, plus a few decent sing-song hooks and flip-flopping to a close+personal murmur for the ender ain't bad asides. Second yet more consistent is the sketchy-n-expansive trap-fury production, a dizzying and mammoth swirl of piano loops and echo-chamber screams and perscussion drive-bys and bottomless-pit bass and ad-libs of madness. Altogether it's a merging that conjures up one more non-trite trap-trait: this shit actually gets intimidating. 7/10

Angel Olsen - My Woman

Acknowledged by Angel as having implemented a polar-opposite rift between first-n-second halves -- which oh-so-artistic as that may be, really just ain't that advantageous here. Not that her and backup comrades aren't versatilely versed+competently commanding on both the direct rockin' A-side and placidly prolonged B, but the inaugural switch-off from the wonderful wailing of "Not Gonna Kill You" into said placidly prolonged B is quite the drastic drop in energy and excellence; and barring a moment-or-two it never fully recovers. When ya don't spread that slow it seems really damn slow. Especially when it rarely matches the trembling heartache throb of "Intern" or the basic be-mine urgency of "Shut Up Kiss Me". The wailing's great wherever, though. 6/10

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Parquet Courts - Human Performance

With anxiety slightly demoted and speed-punk frenzies progressively perishing, this set of scuzzy-yet-ripe divergencies shuffle forth; showcasing their versatility, upping the song-craft a bit, and standing firm in the face of some sorta semi-composure. I mean, they still oft-sing in the coalescent realm of deadpan/sarcastic/bewildered and stick 'round the garage and throw down "I Was Just Here" and envisage how much dust is actually all up in our grill at any given time, but this is for sure maturation. Which I'll take over the smoke-screen Monastic Living EP any day, but the freak in me does yearn for that ol' furor now and again. O and I'll take the bonus/untraditionally-meditative "Already Dead" as album ender over the standard/somnolent sufficiency of "It's Gonna Happen" any day too, thanx very much. 7/10

PartyNextDoor - PartyNextDoor 3

Honestly did have semi-high hopes after the comatose kickoff "High Hopes" -- shameful singing and a definite dragger sure, but its spacey slo-mo spookiness and sink drips and random Blackstreet borrow hinted at striking soundscapes to come. Plus its position as opener disclosed audacity -- so when the followup promptly croaked out "Send a message to my Instagram / You's a vegan but you goin' ham", it was at least a swift gesture to cut back on the optimism a bit. And after an hour more of said shameful singing+definite dragging continuing on as mainstays and prosaic portrayals of the same ol same ol tired themes ("girl" this, "baby" that, fucking this, taking that, come see me in Toronto, etc.) and truly struggling to tolerate the somnolence, optimism had just about vanished and I actually began to be appreciative of Drake's 'Views'. ~*~meh~*~

Payroll Givoanni - Big Bossin' Vol. 1

Giovanni and sole producer Cardo Got Wings's take on smooth-ass g-funk is uber-versed flow-wise and very rarely insufficient when it comes to doze beats -- very articulate and on-point and a purveyor of many-an unforeseen rhyme, instrumentals decently fresh+distinct for evident throwbacks and, well, pretty goddamn smooth. But, man: money money money money. Hustling hustling hustling. Being on top of women and the world. Genuine and thorough sure, but oof does it get monotonous and thematically bore before ya know it, nevermind after an hour plus. O Papa Payroll, is it wrong that I maybe empathize with you only during the paranoid snafus in "Day in the Life"? Though I suppose fuckin' on a pile of money has always been on the bucket list. 6/10

Pinegrove - Cardinal

With their half-hour of emo-ish yearnin' and woes wrapped up in ragged-n-laggard countrified aesthetics, they pull off a nonchalant just-rolled-outta-bed feel that is amiable and intimate -- Evan Hall's erratic and downtrodden whimper-wails serve as a catalyst for instability, and much like his fellow bandmates, doesn't think twice about shrouding brilliance with laxity. Hopefully he takes comfort in the fact that somewhere between the loss of old friends through fuck-ups and resolving to make some new ones, he's got quite the supportive troupe in the meantime. 8/10

Pop. 1280 - Paradise

Their uber-goth disposition leans towards comical, but the industria-synth sci-fi multiplex they invoke is capacious and persuasive -- textural reliability whether it's noisy punk propulsion or nearly-dance-floor-friendly or creepy-crawly bath-house atmospherics or whatever-in-between, rejecting languor on the regz, sovereign 'tude backed by a mien of doomful-yet-playful intrigue. A circuitous dystopian diapason wrapped up in ~40 minutes, not bad. 7/10

Porches - Pool

Sure, I too initially scoffed at the unshakable aching, the scant and mild electro, the near-stagnation via wounded-falsetto uniformity -- but then each-n-every piece-of-cake hook revealed itself to be distinctive and enduring, and soon after emerged the certitude that porticos-pacemaker Aaron Maine uses these attributes to rightfully bolster his aura of affection. The tunes are cushy-smooth and clear-cut enough to make a quick sax-spew and willful keyb-flub protrude like cute lil' anomalies; and for this security-seeking clean-shaven approval-addict who spends his loner/stoner hours in a twin bed floatin'+wonderin' about "her" and admires cars cuz they can get him the hell outta dodge, they leave plenty of room for rudimentary words and aboveboard alienation. Femme-harmony backups for xtra-tender support, occasional auto-tune inflections because why not? 7/10

Roly Porter - Third Law

Sumptuous industria-tinged ambience whose free-drifting formidability sprouts from the remote nether-regions of the galaxy and hovers above like a smoldering fireball, eternally portending an imminent space-pocalypse. It regularly broods and occasionally bursts; and though the ominous low-end tremors and aerial glitch-grit are rich+dense+dandy, I do wish it did more of the latter -- like the anguished-wail churn-outs that surface from the furor in opener "4101", or when "Mass" bouncily nails electro-parallels into your skull while the world around you deteriorates. But spiking terrorization with riveting repose does seem to increase the sinisterly aspect: never underestimate the meditative unknown or the blazing unexpected. 6.5/10

Preoccupations - Preoccupations

Stripped of their controversial-yet-hollow appellation, the mentally afflicted brooders formerly known as Viet Cong have cut back on the dark-n-dirty in favor of pretty synth patches, drafty ambient segues, and a more subdued+by-the-numbers take on post-punk in general. Not necessarily a negative thing; they're still stewin' in shadowy depths and spewin' out some striking stuff fo sho, and arguably they're hookier this time around -- but the whole numbed new-wave thing has 'em sounding a bit stiff and slack compared to last year's effort, or as they put it: "We're all reluctantly engaged." Lines that are hard to sell when reluctantly engaged: "The persistence of monotony is blowing out the sun / This repetition's killing you, it's killing everyone", "There's nothing to do cuz we're all dead inside / All gonna die". 6.5/10

Prins Thomas - Principe Del Morte 

Sporting 9 compositions over nearly 90 minutes, the unhurried pace and conscientious composure of these lean-n-subtle electro-behemoths are concurrently hindrance and highlight: uber-gradual escalations+tear-downs compel without ever approaching overly overt and he consistently does alot with a little; whether it's continuing to command attention during extended sections of glaringly sparse rigidity or reluctantly slithering its way towards a fundamental funk-groove. Any likelihood of mucking up the mix outside of your ol' token spacey synth-play is renounced in favor for simple mucking about, bringing about an endearing aura of expertly vigilance turned lax and content to ramble. I endorse the ample space supplied here for such a thing, and acknowledge that it's just as (if not more) ignorable as it is mesmerizing. But at a dilatory and reiterative hour-and-a-half, ramble it can, and will. 6.5/10

Puce Mary - The Spiral

After provoking just a bit more than a shrug following a live performance in a Brooklyn dive and conspiring to create one of the dullest albums of 2015 alongside fellow-droner Loke Rahbek, I slunk towards this salmon spirality skeptical-yet-hopeful. And maybe I've since grown more masochistic, or her aesthetic has become more efficacious -- most likely a lil bit of this and a lil bit of that -- but this time around she has spawned a screech-n-thud stew that is not only sincerely frightening, but ups the vigor and variance. The all-out bleakness is torturous and engulfing, but its inundation of the digitally damned is quite the riveter: suitability for horror-score material is sealed when a xerox of Hellraiser's Chatterer rattles on through, strident screamin' comes off equal parts abused machine/garbled human/dinosaur in the distance, and it still engages amid lowdown creepin'; staving off inertia and keeping mystery a-flowing. Motifs for deadpan+barely audible spoken word: the marriage of sperm and blood, the scratching and peeling of skin, you know. 7/10

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Radiohead - A Moon Shaped Pool

Delicate+divine+creeping+cryptic in a way only this band can do, an atmospheric+"rock band"+electronic+strings-n-piano commixture savviness few could claim -- in what tends to be procedure, the words wielded within Yorke's yakkin' aren't nearly as necessary as his fragile-gone-broken delivery in itself and the falsetto moanings/murmurs/mantras. And while a witch-wither opener teases at some semblance of liveliness, it's the frequently-following subtleties and sorrow and textures that find 'em fertile as fuck; them getting their kraut on during "Ful Stop" perhaps being the kinda-peppy still-exceptional exception. Stunner of a soft soundscape it may be, it's also overall a bit too subdued+shadowy for its own good: but if a track like "Daydreaming" doesn't trap ya in its gloomy grasp, terminator "True Love Waits" is there a-waitin'. 7.5/10

Corinne Bailey Rae - The Heart Speaks in Whispers

The heart speaks in whispers, perhaps; along with many of the tunes presented here -- nothin' wrong with that per se, however too often they simply speak in winces and whimpers. Much of the semi-oomph is stuffed up front and still squats in the sphere of generic, the clubby electro-pop coming off ungainly in the midst of the serenely silky soul and leisurely balladry. The definite highlight/melodically strong+soaring "Stop Where You Are" has the power to make me do just that, the soft stuff can pleasantly befit a mope-n-chill sesh and/or sitting by a window on a rainy Sunday morning -- though by the time the final third's particularly dire drag comes rollin' 'round, it transmits moreso as tepid fodder for mall-store speakers. 5/10

Raime - Tooth

Now hey, I dig straightforward sinisterness and detached scream snippets as much as the next guy, but the unceasing scant creepin' here gets monotonous fast and doesn't offer much beyond its modest evolutions and through-n-through cogent chill. But the cogent chill is chill, and it does excel as an eerie+easy exercise for beat-construction dissection: stern and simple booming bass pulse here, picayune percussion/scratches for contrast there, maybe throw in some clarion drones, in comes the repetitive two-note guitar part. I dig a repetitive two-note guitar part too, and they've got 'em in spades -- if only they varied from song to song. 5.5/10

The Range - Potential

The opening one-two punch of portentous make-or-break cliffhanger and stately dance-floor euphoria perseveres as a gratifying trend throughout -- it's consistently urgent, gripping, inspirative; and when it comes down to most overarching, celebratory. From surreptitiously championing the voices of uncharted commoners via molding barely-viewed Youtubers into majestic hook-meisters and reappropriated ramblers to clenching clean-n-classy with no forfeiture of detail-n-potency to the utilization of many-a sparkly piano and feather-flutter cymbal with no lapse of sizable significance, he blends catchy immediacy and valuable instrumentals like no one's business -- and has a hell of a time doing it. Perceived commerciality and dramatic pop-leanings may scare off some of the die-hard electro-dudes: oh just submit already. If all else fails, the guy can really champion a voice. 8.5/10

Dawn Richard - Infrared [EP]

A steamy electro-r&b short-play that's all-too-apropos for summer and quick-fix-bliss -- 4 simmering tracks in just over 14 minutes, each an unobtrusive banger with a killer hook and bewitching atmosphere; thick with the smaze of spliffs and indecisive pining with a dash-o-defiance for good measure. Ender refreshes with plashes and purification, i.e. a bid for baptizement and "water coming down like ooo ooo". 7/10

Richie Brains - Who is Richie Brains?

The title's self-questioning has apparently been answered with the unveiling of a seven-piece electronic supergroup who are particularly proficient in the domain of drum&bass; so when it feels jumbled perhaps therein lies a reason, but when they customarily cook up quality compositions that are dynamic+frantic+exploratory it comes as no surprise and everything's gonna be alright. Pop-ups spots from thick-Brit-accented MCs are accommodated awesomely, it generally encourages bustin' a move (albeit quite the accelerated bustin') yet the spacier dabbles are worthy as well, plus heavy and/or wacky intricacy kinda never ceases. As anticipated from the introductory robot-in-sunglasses funk and pitched-down catchphrases, they undoubtedly tote a knack for tongue-in-cheek muck-ups of the tilts toward trite: ominous synth hums and ghastly gunshots segueing into a munchkin's "get ya hands up", echo chambers/space launchings/a dizzying 500 mph beat saving "Heartbreaker" from becoming too legit, etc. 7/10

Rihanna - ANTI

Scrappiness leaves this helplessly disjointed, which is okay cuz so is Rihanna kinda -- sensual swagger shining all-the-while, she prefers her love-tangles scabrous if not outright destructive and to resemble the feeling of crack, the let-loose whiskey slurs and semi-edgy electronic twiddling threatening to overshadow the epic balladry and mushy Drake guest-spot. Both sides of that coin deliver: "Kiss It Better" and "Close to You" are plain-ol' beautiful with their respective thunderous drill-synth geetar-wails and piano-strings subtlety, "Woo" sees her as a defiant mech-ghoul cooer for Travis Scott's stridulant auto-tune-max waltz, "Work" makes a Billboard-smash incantation from a hook that progressively twists into nonchalant gibberish. And despite the discernibly fractional moments and some half-hearted performances, the momentous waste of time here goes to the utterly weak and imitative Tame Impala cover; an instance of indie-exploit if I've ever seen it and one that nears the 7-minute mark to boot. Aw, but what about all those sub-3-minute coulda-beens? 7/10

Ritual Chamber - Obscurations (To Feast on the Seraphim)

Opens with a bestirred beast and ominous drum-march+bell-tolls, ends with ambiguous chanting and an approximation of being swallowed by Satan complete with a slimy slide through his gullet-n-guts -- and though what's in between is fittingly chock full of substantial low-end grime-riffs and exclusively-low-growl vox to match, this is quite the protracted and dispiriting trudge on the whole. Which may be par for the course perhaps, but when coupled with a lack of memorability and range, it makes for a rather tolling and eventually exhaustive listen. Further fusion of the freakishness found in the bookends throughout woulda been just dandy. 5.5/10

RLYR - Delayer

Admittedly, the first two tracks had me thrilled: an opener which boasts par-for-the-course steady post-rock patterns sure, but is loud, bright, and inspirative all the way with an electrifying crunchiness and nada dawdling; and a followup that's simply soaring+shrieky shoegaze squall. But then they reconduct themselves with a rather uneventful 8-minute chug-fest that portends a comely climax but never really delivers and a bit-by-bit descension into a pretty-gone-pleasant-gone-sluggish 23-minute protraction. All their boisterous buzzin' is highly appreciated however, and the guitar tones? To die for, true. 6.5/10

Jeff Rosenstock - Worry.

Welcome novel structure, certified current-controversy canvassing and squalid-living confessions, lotsa ambition and substance for a sub-40-minute undertaking -- but between the second half's flurry of fun forgettables and the first's more time-taking tolerables, this can feel like a rush-job jumble where not a whole lot sticks. Topics that make me cringe a bit and miss the straightforward stinky senior-feeling sad-sack from 'We Cool?': making out in vehicles, still somehow not fathoming working/babies/promotions, dejectedly accepting appearances in hashtags+memes as the sole modes of recognition. 5.5/10

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Huerco S. - For Those of You Who Have Never (And Also Those Who Have)

Its warm and scratchy ambiance is sweet to soak in, pretty much no complaints about obscured-n-shuffling dub-beats or glimmering keys, the murky and oft-childlike aqua-dream aura is somehow enigmatic+rigid yet affectionate+bouncy; but seldom does a track seem worthy of its usual 6+minutes or steer clear of eventual stagnation. Maybe the most splendid cut is perhaps also the most simplistic: "Promises of Fertility", which is reassuring as its title and prime RPG-house material to boot. 6/10

Omar-S - The Best!

Total traditionalist house down to a T -- the mid-pace no-frills dance-or-nah manner of which doesn't conform to the consummate cockiness of the album title nor the exclamatory eccentricities of the song titles, but is sturdy+simmering+sagacious for days; and considering the platform, sufficiently sundry. Also true to house ritual, just about every piece is overlong; and guest-voice bestowals are a toss-up: "Seen Was Set" a narrated standout surge of bittersweet club-nostalgia that truly sets the 'seen' of a Detroit dance floor and its devotees circa 1988, "Ah'Revolution" a long-winded and dare I say even embarrassing ad-lib with hand-drum backin' to boot, finale dyad featuring Diviniti and John F.M. both prosaic but pleasant. 6.5/10

Santigold - 99¢

She bursts out her curio-crammed airtight chamber and promptly gets you bobbin' head and yelpin' incoherence with a one-two punch of sunny-island busy-n-bubbly pop greatness; laying on thick+cheeky the exotica cocksure jauntiness that triumphantly emanates throughout and rhyming 'sycophant' with 'elephant' while she's at it. And sure, just about every arrangement here churns out concordance, but it's ol Santi's invincible chorus-belting and forever-pleasing potpourri of enunciations that keep on keepin' on -- even during dives into the dramaturgy of circle-strolls/ran races/pre-fires and a bumbling-per-ushe ILoveMakonnen feature, she always makes singing along a wildly obligatory hoot. For my money however, it's the straight-n-steady joyride finale of "Who I Thought You Were" that takes the elation-cake, while also showcasing her punk-fronter roots. Barely comprehensible message for the man who's been modified by money: "I like you more when you poorer / Your new ID is a borer." 7/10

Savages - Adore Life

Admittedly never was the hugest touter of their debut, but it had its enduring moments and grit-soaked everything and apparitional atmosphere and oft-vicious momentum -- all traits that are in short supply on the followup. Which doesn't need to be a bad thing, not at all in fact, but this just this lacks so much bite: the enduring are now satisfactory moderates stuffed up front, the grit-n-grooves just about relinquished, vox are overly exhausting or plain unenthused, momentum rendered to awkward spurts too caught up in the tangle of dry mid-range draggage and dour 'tude to keep up anything of intense worth. ~*~meh~*~

ScHoolboy Q - Blank Face LP

As a whole it's pointlessly prolonged as are at least a handful of singular tracks, there's a ginormous glut of guest-spots including an inevitable prank-waste Kanye feature, there's the despicable deviation that is "Overtime". But when it hits it hits hard: two-part "Groovy Tony/Eddie Kane" more-than-warrants its 6+ minutes, "Dope Dealer" dispenses a classically criminal chorus alongside a bifocal-bumpin' E-40 verse, Tyler the Creator's production unexpectedly contributes a big ol' jolt-o-vigor a la "Big Body", "Str8 Ballin'" is all sortsa stunning and sports a breathtakingly boastful bush-2-kush hook from Jesse Rankins. And despite the hodgepodge of visitor-n-virtue variance, Q's persona still firmly prevails -- a snarl that's mostly sinister and slightly wise and isn't shy towards slow jamz; a guy who callously dons a Blank Face when he's letting shots ring and giving your mama condolences yet candidly calls his Crip-dad a bitch for leaving him "where hope just don't exist". And he would prefer to fuck right now, as opposed to sometime later. 7/10

Travis Scott - Birds in the Trap Sing McKnight

Further confirmation that he's got a big ol' ear for auto-tune-slathered extraterrestrial affectations, boomy+groggy after-hours atmospheres, crazy catchy everythang -- but also that he's indeed a bit of a biter and in need of an assistant wordsmith, or at least a passable personality. Between guiding you like a pilot, getting his cactus stroked, "Sweet Sweet" blatantly ripping off "CoCo", "Beibs in the Trap" basically being Drake's "Madonna" except oh-so-blatantly about coco; it can be lame or laughable or both. But like predecessor Rodeo, production and irresistibility quash most of the vacuous qualities, not to mention the laundry list of guest-spots: Bryson Tiller takes the cake for most surprising/affectionate, hearing 3K+Kendrick get the Travis-treatment is particularly thrilling, and Kid Cudi mimicking a muppet takes the second cake for most awesome/awful. 7/10

Secret Boyfriend - Memory Care Unit

Skulks things off with an immovable 7-minute simmer-slab that indeed could be likened to warbling umbrage, and each act of patience-testing crust-dream hypnosis that follows seems to be progressively more evocative, enigmatic, and dammit, downright despondent -- the kind of electro-moan VHS-scum melancholia that gradually sucks you into its turtles-pace vortex and instills an unabated state of cogitative concern. Its version of sweetening is the aptly-titled "Little Jammy Centre", which actually rocks a beat (albeit the world's most archaic) and vox (albeit the world's most unintelligible) alongside beatific twinkle-keys/low-key sparkler bursts/glitchy rumblings; and stabs at ultimate bittersweet ascendancy are the terminal twosome of "Stripping at the Nail" and "Memorize Them Well" -- the former an arguably fully-formed and legit stunner, the latter able to pass for a steadily-beating heart sluggishly soaring towards a sketchy-n-staticky heaven. Never underestimate the power of an uber-rudimentary keyb-note pattern. 7/10

Sepalcure - Folding Time

Starts sleek and sprightly with its lush sway between techno-backed straight-up r&b and chopped-voice-collage garage thump, undoubtedly grooves in both, but never quite gets past seeming somewhat safe and subdued. As pretty and tricky and bouncy as these beats get, they don't really bear that mesmeric mind-grasp or whip out an aberration for kicks; and when vox get less prevalent they don't make for the most riveting of reinforcers, neither. Soothes more than it stirs, if you will -- albeit a considerably peppy and graceful soothe. 6.5/10

Seratones - Get Gone

When it comes to ruckus-rock that would read well in either a roadside blues-bar full-a boogieing+swaying or a packed-tight garage full-a shoving+sudor, constitutionally they're a bit by-the-numbers -- they get dirty but never filthy in spite of the initial allusion to choking on spit, instances of xtra zing and memorability are seldom compared to ones that kinda just blur on by. But they don't quite tread into Dullsville either, the couple of calm-downs are convincing and exhibit ambidexterity, and if all else fails frontwoman AJ Haynes always manages to grab ears a la bestowal of earnest-n-elastic spunk; or for the calm-downs, a bonus side of comforting coos and good ol' fashioned longing. 6/10

Ben Seretan - Bowl of Plums

Just so happened that my introductory listen was on the gray-n-hazy morning after Election Day -- and despite personally possessing no particular political affiliation nor detecting any surety on the subject from Seretan, revved up mantras like "you came and took my blues away" and "I'm getting out" couldn't help but resonate, a legitimate "I'm so happy I could cry" went and turned sardonic, his synthesis of serene+sensitive folkie and trebly guitar mangler expressing a felicitous fusion of pensiveness for the past and warranted turbulence-bursts. But his aforementioned could-cry delight and shameless squeakiness scores one for purity, hope, and built-up combustions: his blues actually DID get taken away, he thanks his lucky stars for his family loud-n-proud, he quivers with flowers and pianos over visions of you on the water, "Cottonwood Tree" is a true-blue indie-slop classic in 2016. And just when you thought it was gettin' too pretty: "Put a cigarette out in the eye of bad vibes", from the one entitled "Blood in the Muzzle". 7.5/10

Shura - Nothing's Real

The two titles that ask questions are truly magical specimens of big+bouncy emotional dream-pop, mosta da rest is merely mildly memorable but persistently pleasant throughout -- a bit on that blandly familiar front but never quite treads into obnox -- dancy and easy as it may be, it retains a certain modest charm. The subtly soaring ballads bout the distraught dumpee who thought they were bout to "get married and have kidz n stuff" and the 2-shy-2-talk-2-u headphoned cig-smoker, the interspersed lo-fi domestic discussions and airy atmospheric stretches. Attaching bonus ender scrap collection "The Space Tapes" also signifies a sense of individualism. Would be more fittingly called "The Take Up Space Tapes", however. 6/10

Sia - This is Acting

Salient voc-cords that'll rope in rooters for radio-friendly skyrocket showboating with toss-in tinges of weird in the form of bellower-vibratos and willingness to crack-n-strain -- the inevitable handful of alluring hooks ("Cheap Thrills", "Reaper", and "House on Fire" make for a notable triadic chunk) being no match for the brashly generic club-cliches and exorbitant vociferous schmaltz. Then there's all the nondescript against-the-odds triumph and self-assuring redundancies, oh and the self-sacrificial metaphors: she'd take one million bullets for you babe, she's a house on fire that wants to keep burning baby, etc. On one hand I admire her audacious pluck, but the other has me craving a less-hackneyed tone-down. 5.5/10

Sturgill Simpson - A Sailor's Guide to Earth

Much of the material between the album-welcoming luscious+heartfelt strings-turned-swagger world-welcoming for his beloved pre-bullfrog progeny and the so-damn-real frantic fuck-the-bullshit finale can feel a bit deficient comparably -- be it the hints of hokey during "as I say" life lectures or simply a propensity for more mid-range temperaments. But his tender+softened hits as hard as/if not harder than his rowdy rocker struttin', world-travel soldier-spins have him reminiscing bout "king cobras fighting in boxing rings" and playing Goldeneye high "on that old 64" but reckoning that it's all a ploy/we're all screwed/fucking off beats participating in war anyway, and when a cover of Nirvana's "In Bloom" creeps in for the centerpiece an eye don't bat -- a selection Simpson apparently hoped to be a "very beautiful and pure homage to Kurt". And yes, mission accomplished. 7/10

Skee Mask - Shred

Eloquently shifts between/skillfully marries floaty atmospherics and zippy microcosmic beat-work, consistently hits a junctional sweet-spot of driving+elaborate+reflective while remaining sufficiently subdued -- the expanse and expertise of it is admirable, and though I dig some tossed-in hand-drum+spoon-clack percussion and possible skateboard references and complicated-chill-beats as much as the next guy, the whole of it feels so drawn-out; and ultimately i.e. maybe halfway through, rooted predictability settles in. Driving as it may be at times, scarcely do I get through a track-or-two without gettin' at least a lil snoozy. Not a bad thing obviously, especially when it's imaginably somehow beneficial to the brain and momentarily wondrous -- would like a bit more moxie in its tatterin' is all. 6.5/10

Elza Soares - A Mulher do Fim do Mundo (2015 original/2016 international release)

Just the fact that a hardshipped 79-year old Brazilian samba legend was the driving vocal force behind an album called 'The Woman at the End of the World' intrigued in itself, then they go ahead and destroy all expectations with ease. A band altogether funkier, post-punkier, more soulful, and certainly more trained than most; which amidst dual guitar clash-duels and percussion aplenty lies quite the predilection for cacophony-n-exploration along with wild horn/somber string sections when needed. Bookended with a-cappellas for potency and overall really the kind of rich+raw intricacy a voice and persona like Soares's deserves, what with her hair-raising poignancy and tough-as-nails snarls and desert-dry gasps and speedy sputterin' and gravel garglin' and and loogie hawkin'. Absorbing enough for these oft-wonderful Portuguese words to fall on deaf American ears and not have it be bothersome, but a translation is recommended no doubt. What a woman who's been in it some 60 years now promises during what just may be The End Of The World: "I will sing until the end." What she sputters during "Pra Fuder": "To fuck." 8/10

Sorority Noise - It Kindly Stopped For Me [EP]

Resolutely depressive pop-punkers deliver a diminutive followup to last year's bipolar vice-and-anxiety-fueled magnum-opus; gutting the punk, the pop, most of the band, and any temperament that's not mournful. The resultant stripped-down hush-fest reads as a wearied breather aftermath from the high-strung oscillations of Joy, Departed; and under the scant guise of principally acoustic plucks+lonesome piano, the palpability of frontman Cameron Boucher's downtrodden despondence is endearing-going-on-excruciating. Begins on what seems like a hopeful fresh-start note, which lasts all of two minutes: then friends die, "A Will" is as funereal as it implies, Boucher drunkenly tramps through the woods and can't bare/bother to keep a tune; poor guy even fucks up his hoodie and rips through his hypothetically black jeans in the process. 7/10

Esperanza Spalding - Emily's D+Evolution

"Watch this pretty girl flow", her initiatory magma-coated declaration, comes off as both sassy standpoint and open challenge: Spalding's jazz-bass whiz-skillz fused with a consummate clan of choral harmonizers forge fluxes beauteous+knotty enough to melt your heart and dazzle the senses; and when fellow Berklee-affiliated gitaroo-man and decisive drummer-dudes are feelin' spunky, we get whiffs of wildness in the form of mathy-metal flourishes and lionhearted jerk-funk, the peaks of which leave your face chillin' in the same puddle as your ticker. Though some digging is required, lyrical acumen is also there for the taking -- the profoundest perhaps contained/cached in the sections of mile-a-minute spoken word and the plainest coming from the playful Willy Wonka-borrowed ender "I Want It Now", the latter's adamant demanding and conclusive guttural yelp presumably clues that she's seeking musical domination. Or normal ol world domination, either way. 8/10

Britney Spears - Glory

Rarely does Glory not occupy the bedroom, and Britney's certainly got the gizmos -- blindfolds, curtains, cameras, allegorical apple pie, a better mattress -- which at nine albums deep she's seasoned at selling, albeit still somewhat generically. So if/when the easy cheesy pop and club-hype boom-drops and strident sensual swagger start to feel shallow, bask in the beats: particularly the 'do-do-do's/clacking for the privy back room and dreamy sparkle robot moans/pressing power-chord stabs for come hither invites. Or just enjoy the hell outta that easy pop and acknowledge that straddling steamy-n-silly alongside some bangin' production brings out the diva that dwells in her. Or let the casual "that was fun" as conclusion remind ya this really ain't no thang for a diva. Or just bite the bullet and report to the pole for some full circle workin' and twerkin'. 7.5/10

Vince Staples - Prima Donna [EP]

Its ~22 minutes is an endorsed beeline after his overstuffed opus Summertime '06, especially when it's altogether punchier than most anything on said opus anyway. Beats have upped their bustling/bizarro game and Staples has no shortage of fire flows to match, an ample hook-per-track cert-don't-hurt none, "War Ready" is a proper presentation of the prevailing 'tude and also here presently on Election Eve. And there for discomforting counteraction are his bare-bones barely-able tape-player confessions and of course The Most Startling Gunshot in a Song Ever -- a condensed+eerie ebb and flow, if you will. 7.5/10

Andy Stott - Too Many Voices

Semi-intriguing skewed electro that fiddles in both the weird and the genteel, the overblown deformities and the airy twinkles, the disquieting and the quiet -- and as semi-intriguing skewed electro oft-tends to, the bulk of it feels bumbling, cobbled together with its stitches showing, going out of its way to evade the groove. Sections of stimulation seem lost in all this staggering+stagnation and any sense of solid connectivity is out the window, pitch-shifts encumber far more than they enhance, and those huntin' for plenteous melodies should go hunt elsewhere. Just in case you were curious, no there isn't too many voices; an adequate amount actually -- but in concurrence with the "tunes", they don't really accomplish much. 5.5/10

Sumac - What One Becomes

At their best when razing everything in sight, which is admittedly often. The low-end riffage is more sickeningly crushing than most but certainly no crutch -- they groove hard no matter the speed and care a bit about melodies, whip out lotsa twists-n-turns, bassin' and drummin' are particularly superb, Aaron Turner's renowned roaring is righteous. But all the fidgeting, the breaks to seemingly just stand there for a moment, the momentum-maiming paths towards Whereverville, kinda just plugging stuff in for a minute or so? Concision obvz ain't their predilection at 5 tracks in nearly an hour, but a number of these traipsing detours are just plain excess, if not cumbersome. Their peak of solidifying the ol' groove+melody admixture is the 5-minute shutdown of the massive "Blackout", which eventually moves on to razing everything in sight. But how we got there, I'm not quite sure. 6.5/10


Superficie - Hélices [EP]
Thumpin' electro terseness that consists chiefly of percussion and secondly of monosyllabic grunts+gasps, with the occasional wisp/whoosh/jab of synth sound and some broken glass for good measure. File this under the increasingly intriguing intermixture of bustling kinda-bizarro club jams and stripped back jungle-esque primitivity. Pair-o-remixes also available for those aching for an increase in synth sound or fire alarms. 7/10

Swans - The Glowing Man

Part familiar rehash, part lenient wrap-up, but ultimately still chock full-a transcendental gravity and cultivated formidability -- while they strip away much of the harsh looniness that was present in the pair of predecessors and tend to linger in lulls perhaps a bit too regularly, the considerable tilt towards composed clamor-chants and portentous rock-hypnotism-as-ceremony continues to bewitch and groove on a plane that only this embodiment of Swans can reach. Notable anchors include passages of punk-esque pep, Jennifer Gira's defiant+despondent depiction of her true-story ordeal with a stinking pig-man rapist, and a comprehensive sense of artistic closure. Fitting final track-title for the group who have released 6 hours of original material in 4 years whilst touring extensively and spittin' out monstrous live albums all the while: "Finally, Peace". 8/10

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Teen Suicide - It's the Big Joyous Celebration, Let's Stir the Honeypot

Album Title Interpretation: Teen Suicide Suicides Name and Go Out With Big Sprawling Bang. By Big I mean 26 tracks in an eternity-seeming 68 minutes, and by Sprawling I mean winding barrage of sketchy+washed out lo-fi-rock that's charming in its let-it-all-hang-out grandeur but oh so overtly overkill. It's defiantly dense, warmth and melancholy and awkwardness and dollops of psychedelia and incoherence run amuck amid the bedroom acoustics+pianos and choral-cooer lullabies and cozy electronix, doses of fuzz-n-scuzz are fairly forcible and depraved, respectively -- but the ratio of solid standout tunes and seemingly one-off/kinda forgettable inconsequentials is excessively lopsided, and like, not in the good way. And outta this whole ungodly-sized mass, the apex might just be the opener. 5.5/10

Tegan and Sara - Love You to Death

Hoppin' back on the ol T&S train for the first time since 2007's The Con and hmm -- ya skip a couple albums and suddenly find these once rock-centric-yet-eclectic bedraggled-book-insert-sporting titan-indie-twins have gone full-on gaudy glittery synth-pop, the enormous choruses crying lines like "when it's love it's tough" and "you're fuel to my fire". But "just let me into your heart", "you can't stop desire", some good points there: can't help but slightly scoff at the comparative gloss and transformative transparency, but damn if they don't sell it well. Emotionally genuine even if simplified and stiff, vivacious arrangements and performances though broadly by-the-books, fun as hell at its peak but can get its sad on too. Ten-track concision is a good thing; especially when near all of 'em rock driving multi-hooks that'll stick around fo sho -- albeit some more annoyingly/emptily than others. 6.5/10

Thank You Scientist - Stranger Heads Prevail 

Between the clarion vox and histrionics and burnish and questionable collision of horns+strings+prog, the mighty forces of obnox are strong with this one -- it'd be super-superfluous to cite the skill and silly to say it's free of stirring moments, but also damn difficult to declare this ain't an overrefined+overstuffed corn-fest whose fusion is usually unwieldy. Speaking of corn, an excerpt from the (blech) epilogue: "We have so many songs still left to sing / Too many notes for normal folks to understand". From a normal folk to y'all, nah I think I'm good, thanx tho. 5/10

The Thermals - We Disappear 

Fuzzy power-chord-pop on autopilot is one thing, but how bout palpable vacuity in both production and performance? They come across clocked in and cursory, fulfilling a duty rather than exerting some oomph -- the squeal+scuzz bookends on the opening track may be the edgiest juncture here, the admittedly magnetic guitar-hook on "If We Don't Die Today" for sure most ear-grabbing, and most of the remaining bulk squeaks by through semi-competent+semi-catchy formalities. Not often do 'oh-oh-oh's and 'alright, okay's and 'woah-woah's sound so bubbly-yet-blank -- and before you know it/barely a half-hour in, they do indeed disappear. But, like, were they ever even really there, man? 5/10

Told Slant - Going By

Felix Walworth's delivery isn't just pitiful, it's painful -- so when backup co-collectivists summon 90s Modest Mouse via note-bends to help seize the vibe of mundane suburban blues or grant reassurance by grabbing face+pointing out that sadness is silly and ol' drummer-director Walworth is beautiful, it's a warmhearted and complementary comfort. Playin' it soft and slow and desolate for the majority is becoming too; not just cuz moments of magnificence burst through all the better but also the loadsa room it leaves for every trembling detail, both humdrum happenings and telling tidbits: feet in creeks, going to dinner then going to bed, waking up next to someone who's unhappy and dejectedly walking to the deli, "I don't know how to talk to you without a can in my hands / or without a can in your hands", "You got a new sweater but I didn't know till I saw it in a picture / My life stayed the same but you wouldn't know cuz I never take pictures." And for a direly discouraged drummer-director, a lotta labor. Self-Assuring Slogan: "You can battering ram this life." 8/10

Torn Hawk - Union and Return

One can't help but be swept away at least a smidgen by this broken bird's elegant ethereality; the cleanly commingling of strings+keys/easy-going electro/silky guitar/bogus brass marked with fitful femme-blurts and reverb aplenty is palatial+playful and steadily sails+soothes. But what initially warms the heart and apprehends the ears so effortlessly ends up blurring into tolerable tepidity and meandering just as handily. Alluring atmosphere, impressive intricacies, verve-sucking mellow mannerisms. 5.5/10

Trim - 1-800-Dinosaur Presents Trim

Defensive+dramatic Brit MC curated by minimalist-weirdo-electro production posse featuring the likes of Airhead, Bullion, James Blake -- skilled-n-stalwart guy assuredly, distinct style, good for a cutting quip here and a tangled ramble there, but uptight enough to suck the fun out of a room. Despite being a bit of a non-meshin' mixed bag, the production posse does aight. The adventurous blending of Trim+Blake, however, is really rather painful. 5.5/10

Two Inch Astronaut - Personal Life

Straddling the line between wacky-tinged 90's-alt-angst and gawky math-rock inclinations with variable prosperity/tolerability; where sex-n-school grumblin' seems inevitable and cello is employed for sleepy time. 5/10

William Tyler - Modern Country

Titled perhaps as a knowing wink towards what just about anyone considers to be the majority of modern country, Tyler+troupe bypass words and corn and airwaves for sprawling-n-spotless instrumentals that combine the alfresco atmospheres of finespun folk and the pacific pensiveness of post-rock. Certainly comely, no doubt all-around dexterous and detailed, rarely gives way to abeyance, but the constant composure has 'em gravitating a bit too close to congenial background music -- see the climactic great unwind's seamless segue in-n-out of Birdville for verification. 6/10

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Umberto - Alienation

Fits all too suitably for the coming of fall -- sad, haunting, conjures up images of old rainy forests+video game dungeons when flutes are flourished and traveling towards a black hole when it goes techno, etc. It oft opts for lingering and repetition but is permanently stirring, attaining a kind of grandness when taken as a whole: pacific piano and omg earnestly epic melodies make for some seriously serene comedowns from the space-synth savagery and driving creepy-crawly beats, and the flow not only balances out tru-2-lyfe horror with utter placidity but retains such a compellingly remote aura throughout. Oh and the he-and-she spectral operatic bellowing as sole+only-sometimes vocal inhabitants? Enchanting whenever wherever, duh. 8/10

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Various Artists - Erelitha (Staycore Records compilation)

Electro label's assemblage of who's-that producers wherein they each lay down a track while imagining "the lightest light" -- which, for this rambunctious roster, doesn't equal gettin' full-time soft+airy; instead just coating all with lush luminosity and clarion everythang. Each club-caterer works in their own distinct touches, but as a compiled crew the vibe is quite unanimous: chipper and complex, catchy and dance-floor ready, hybridizing the heavy and atmospheric with the sharp and high-pitched. And it's not without aggressive peculiarities that cut through the pretty and serve as propulsive pump-ups -- chipmunk garble, prolonged sirens, gunshots+girl screams; and in Toxe's justly-titled "Bite", a chained demon's dander. 7.5/10

Vektor - Terminal Redux

Just for disclosure, yeah I skipped out on that whole story-concept thing: chiefly cuz sci-fi sagas, especially in album form, aren't really my bag/who has the time?; but particularly because the poundage and propulsion of this shrill-hawk snarlin' light-speed rip-roarin' technical precision-fest is sustenance enough to make a tale all-too-ignorable if you so choose. Not too long after they give in to a track-4 interlude is approximately when things begin to blur a bit, but even then it's quite the on-the-ball blur -- the birr alone is a furious force to be reckoned with, the cohesion still ceaseless, the catchiness still convincing, their prog never usurping their thrash. A track-8 pedestal-o-granules brings 'em back to top form and paves the way for some unforeseen cleans and the epic/even soulful 13-minute ender they deserve. And I get restricting the fantastic femme-vox to the bookended charging+recharging of voids, but ooo it would've been nice to see that wealth get spread. Some contrast for the fury, ya know? 8/10

Leon Vynehall - Rojus

Ah yes, good deep house that doesn't dip too much into the minimal and strays fruitfully far from the sterile -- oft-optimistic without surrendering its heavy trance-bass-thump and totes a whole boatload-a-busyness without approaching extravagant. Save for the atypical ambient-lean soother intro, the grooves are robust, buildups and tear-downs are judicious as fuck, the soundscape wields melodies-aplenty and voice flashes; but more importantly, percussion-sounds-aplenty and everyday etceteras and voices going ahhhh or woahhhh. Do just about all of 'em go on a wee-bit too long? Do the voices going "your love" and "energy" feel a trace trite? Sure. That parade-through-a-jungle-rave beat at "Kiburu's" tho. 7/10

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Weaves - Weaves

No, not some magical mixture of Weezer and Wavves -- rather, a kinda punky femme-fronted on-the-fringe exercise in squirrely squeaking and bitter bending, combining clamorous+cute+coarse into a cultured and catchy package. Certainly a bit heavy on the piercing pep, but zany and turbulent and loose enough to enamor; and when quieting things down they remain prosperous and quaint: "Coo Coo" is cute-cute as it sounds til sour chords are (un)accordingly struck, "I wanna live stress free" is the theme behind the closer, a calm-ish crawler after the ruckus-dust has settled. Elsewhere, "Candy" and "Shithole" appear back-to-back, which may or may not be a metaphor for their mien. 6.5/10

Weezer - Weezer (The White Album)

Solely eying titles like "California Kids", "Thank God For Girls", "Do You Wanna Get High?", "Jacked Up" -- hell, kinda all of 'em, really -- may lead to some rash conjectures involving the patented Weezer corn being carted on this here ivory-hued+self-proclaimed glory-dayz recrudescence. With their alt-rooted power-pop pioneer-isms in full and facile effect, a filler-free and to-the-point complexion, and let's face it; just an all 'round wondrous knack for writing songs that are sunny and catchy as fuck and quaint to boot, it don't really matter what they're goin' on about too much. But then again -- the whole contrived-seeming naivete and fantastical puerility and general outmodedness and lotsa questionable lines thing remains quite the polarizing quaint. It's a nice thought, but in 2016 am I to believe "the California Kids" are gonna solve all my woes and take care of lil ol' me? The 'woo's are great, though. Not wince at the "If I was king of the world, you'd be my girl" chorus? I mean, it's very well-meaning, sure. Same well-meaner that tells L.A. Girlz to act their age and sweeten up their lemonade yet frets over leaving his headphones in a car and "trying not to stare at her chest." "L.A. Girlz": hangs with the best of 'em. 6.5/10

Kanye West - The Life of Pablo

Swish, er wait, Waves, er no, The Life of Pablo, yeah, but uh, the first version: as in the pre-month-afterward-addition-of-"Frank's Song"-and-other-play-obsessive-trivial-tinkerings edition, aka the 18-track one rather than that once-projected 12-track one (or was it 11?). So yeah, it's accordingly disheveled and erratic to the point where it may literally still be unfinished, scrappy scraps rub shoulders with some of Ye's most cogent-n-genuine production-n-bars yet, hyped emergence-from-the-shadows cameos from Andre 3K and Frank Ocean seem intentionally wasted via mere titular murmur and deserted+dejected finis-fragment, respectively. And while haters bitch the day away about the glaring lack of focus and perfectionism, I'm left a) wondering why that was ever expected given the loony development of this patchwork from the get-go, and b) charmed and stimulated by its instability.

The oh-so-Kanye synthesis of celebratory playfulness, staid introspection, questionable quirk and whacked-out 'what the's is in full and radiant effect compared to the detached try-hard tantrum that was Yeezus -- and as suggested from the initiatory sermonizing small-fry/r&b cooers/gospel-ridden God-dreams/beautiful-morning proclamations being gaily undercut by the potential peril of a model's bleached asshole tarnishing his t-shirt mid-fuck, this sees outright trolling being added to that list. He utilizes intermissions for uber-self-aware a-cappella hilarity and told-you-so phone-call consent from an imprisoned wave-man, elatedly mistreats a lengthy portion of an elite beat via stammerin' and ad-libs, formulates an invasive wake-up call out of sharp+squealin' feedback and titles it "Feedback". 

And while the multifarious curves and crevices leave plenty to puzzle over -- zombie-eyed ghost girls and impulsive beat-cripplings serving as cryptic outro-chunks, b-movie wolf-cries portraying bothersome fam-hounders, Street Fighter II voice-borrows promulgating perfection, a fanatical ghetto-Oprah poppin' in to offer prizes for no reason whatsoever -- unadulterated surface-level satisfaction still runs rampant: "Waves" busting down the comparably-beefed up second half's door with turnt-up heaven's-gate squawk-pop, the feel-good congregational free-for-all of "Highlights", Rihanna's hook-magic and "Bam Bam"-sample divulgence of "Famous" leading you out of a pseudo-pious beam-light trio and into the ensuing driftless depths.

The iPhone ringtone/answered phone call that (thankfully?) interrupts the meandering of "30 Hours" speaks volumes: sure, he willingly cements a guaranteed-to-become-dated piece of contempo annoyance fluke into his self-touted opulent opus, but it's also slyly prefaced with the utterance of "the media be at me like…". Indecisive and mischievous as this album comes off, deep down the guy knows what he's doing; and when it's on top of a beat that could actually go on for 30 hours without a hitch, meandering ain't too bad either. Not that I'd listen to the album for 30 hours, but one certainly does me fine. 8.5/10

White Lung - Paradise

Continued concretion of their now-distinct and much-entrenched sound, no doubt -- between Way's vehement vox and William's high-string-centric ninja-riffs and Vassiliou's dogged drummin', they have taken a somewhat sapped style and developed their own unmistakable rendition of it. But damn me if this isn't yet another near-carbon copy of their previous albums: okay yeah there's a bit more semi-polish applied, this clocks in at 28 minutes instead of the ushe ~20, "Below" is an even-more conspicuous+spectacular tone-down than "In Your Home" was, and from a technical standpoint, they've improved as a group. How bout that creative growth tho? How bout that taking 2 years to make a 10-track sub-half-hour record (again) only to transmit a touched-up reiteration? Speaking of "In Your Home": now that was a laudable closer. 6/10

Whitney - Light Upon the Lake

The fixed falsettos and soft-boy civility and 'na-na-na's get red flags a-rising, but through warm folk-pop-venerability and instrumentation that's classy+cultivated but never highflown their charm is rather unavoidable. Effortlessly stuffing a 10-song half-hour this full-a soul and flow and sensibilities, well hey that's pretty nice too. 6.5/10

Wilco - Schmilco

As somewhat suspected from the comical cover art and celerity of completion, this seems like a spiritual sequel to a-year-ago's 'Star Wars'. A soberer softie one, sure, but one that sees these confirmed-adept rockers humbly exhibit their acoustic+brush-drum chops with the same laid-back 'tude that charmed on its predecessor. And since they're Wilco we get guitar layering both lush+tight and whiny+rusty, all-around pleasant proficiency except when purposely mucking it up and then it's still aight, an assortment of nice lil touches such as stick-hits and scuzz jams and keyb flourishes. And since they're in nonchalant mellow mode we get a sense of routine passivity, a few true standouts and a few true inessentials, a handful of lines that fall dead flat and a bunch more that do nothin'. Or is that usually just Wilco anyway and the restraint here simply starts to drag? 6.5/10

Wreck and Reference - Indifference Rivers Romance End

This tortured pair of drone-experi-metal sonnetists follow wounded ravens into abstraction, face the direction that flowers droop ("down"), reiterate "within a jail" four times and an unhinged "that's fine" twelve, alternate/amalgamate hoarse screams of unembellished anguish with soft-spoken straight-up talking. So yeah, their dramaturgy can drain+bug -- but between the outrageous emotion and complete lack thereof and almost operatic flow of tumult/tension/explosions/chilly stills/stone-faced spoken word, it's ultimately quite arresting and makes for some bitter-n-breathtaking grandeur. Shove feelings down my facehole and gimme moments of comparable mansuetude for reflection and a few eyerolls, sure that works. 7/10

Wussy - Forever Sounds

In the (admittedly dissipating) sea of shoegazin' guitar-rokk torchbearers, Wussy's flame flickers with remarkable finesse: the he-and-she vocal turn-taking/occasional collabing from axe-slingers Chuck Cleaver and Lisa Walker promptly prompts comparisons to Yo La Tengo/MBV/Sonic Youth/Pixies; but rather than clone it up via flaccid rehash, they seem set on aligning themselves with that almighty legacy -- especially given that this is their churn-out seven albums deep. The symmetry of dense hum+wail+sparkle feedback and fetching tunefulness is frequently superb -- not to propose that it's perfect through-n-through, but you positively get your pick of peaks: weeper-beauties ("Donny's Death Scene", "Better Days"), assertive anthemics ("Gone" "Hello, I'm a Ghost"), and perhaps my claimed fave, earth-stopping majesty that's aptly titled to boot ("Majestic-12"). 7.5/10

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YG - Still Brazy

What YG may lack in a discrete identity and novel ideas he makes up for with clear-cut and compact tunes through-n-through, blending humor+dread in a candid depiction of Bompton-Blood lyfe -- a realm where Gimme gets popped for demanding handouts and our narrator ponders bout who popped him in the studio, a vibe that Drake seems utterly unseemly in, a disposition that somehow someway endorses the ugly-ass misogyny of "She Wish She Was." True persuasion however comes when 'fuck's start flying and shit gets real during the topical terminal triad: "Fuck Donald Trump" is the bluntest and maybe most imperative out of all the winning hooks this album drops, Sad Boy comes through with a defiant cockcrow declaration straight outta Mexico, and second bluntest "Police Get Away Wit Murder" is incensed enough to incite the riots its title calls for; or at the very least a bustling mosh pit. That last one also sees YG reading off the names and dates of innocent youngins killed by cops, discovering aloud that Kimani Gray's death falls on his birthday -- it's the most resentful he sounds on the entire record. 7/10

Young Thug - Slime Season 3

Cleanliness+consistency uber-upped from the preceding pair of this slimy series -- as confirmed by the right-away gag-hook of a sky-high fellator being labeled an airhead, cleanliness pertains to production only -- but most notable by far in this installment is the benevolent brevity, second most is the resultant consolidated horsepower. Perhaps he got the "Memo" that 8 tracks in 28 minutes is infinitely more viable than yet another half-good 70+minute hodgepodge, 'specially when all 8 tote a hook that kills, a beat that really tries, and an explosion of personality. And in the midst of the aforementioned airhead and the slime bitch and the tatted+pierced bitch, there's the bonafide ballad for the bitch who's "Worth It", i.e. his fiancee. The Cunning Come-on? "I need a deep throat baby, swallow me." 7/10

Young Thug - Jeffery

A gem in Thugger's cluttered discography fo sho, for the vivacious versatility if nothing else -- not just in his everlastingly elastic flows, but the ability to tote stylistic identities and a bag-o-tricks that are as colorful as his song-titled idols. We see him rockin' reggae on "Wyclef Jean", rapid-fire-spitting during the enhanced-Future impersonation of "Future Swag", breaking out the earnest creaks+pleads for "RiRi", going all choked-up gorilla on "Harambe", pursuing pop-man possibilities harder than ever alongside Idol #1 for the fascinating finale "Kanye West". It's the kind of artistic turning point that further cements the chance of "Jeffery" making it onto a few deity lists. 8/10

Youth Code - Commitment to Complications

Though it'd be nice to see the vox fixate on variance as half-much as they do malignity, the agonized she+he venom-spitting sprinkled with samplings of antisocial sentiments are frequently vehement and dare I say deliciously diabolical. For industria-beats so mechanical+aggressive+minatory they'd sound at home on the killing floor of a futuristic terrorist compound, suitable supplements indeed. Not to say it's absolute thickheaded carnage -- floating-ghost-synths help channel celestiality, plenty of intricacies and subtleties are there for the pickin', they're not opposed to churnin' out some catchy+melodic, and occasional plunges into slowed-down sparsity grant the listener some breathing room while our vocalists get their decrepit-elder on. Pretty positive that a gagged woman is getting whipped at one point, though. 7/10

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Alcest - Kodama 6.5/10

Big Thief - Masterpiece 6/10

Peter Broderick - Partners ~*~meh~*~
Dance Gavin Dance - Mothership 7/10

Dengue Dengue Dengue - Siete Raices 6.5/10

Katie Dey - Flood Network 5.5/10

Elucid - Save Yourself 7/10

Equiknoxx - Bird Sound Power 6/10

Every Time I Die - Low Teens 5.5/10

Factory Floor - 2525 5.5/10
Carla dal Forno - You Know What It's Like 5/10

French Montana - MC4 6/10

Robbie Fulks - Upland Stories 6.5/10

Future - Purple Reign 5.5/10

Future - EVOL 6.5/10

Guts Club - Shit Bug 8/10

Jenny Hval - Blood Bitch 7/10

Nicolas Jaar - Sirens 6/10

Ka - Honor Killed the Samurai 7/10

Katatonia - The Fall of Hearts ~*~meh~*~

Kowton - Utility 6/10

Lexxi - 5TARB01 [EP] 7/10

Martha - Blisters in the Pit of My Heart 6.5/10

Metallica - Hardwired...to Self-Destruct 6.5/10

Mitski - Puberty 2 7/10

Kacey Musgraves - A Very Kacey Christmas 6/10

Noname - Telefone 7/10 

Numenorean - Home 7/10
Oathbreaker - Rheia 8/10

Obscura - Akroasis 6.5/10

Owen - The King of Whys 7/10

Dawn Richard - Redemption 5/10

Rival Consoles - Night Melody 6.5/10

serpentwithfeet - Blisters [EP] 7/10

Slow Club - One Day All of This Won't Matter Anymore 5/10

Kaitlyn Aurelia Smith - Ears 6.5/10

Street Sects - End Position 6.5/10

Ulcerate - Shrines of Paralysis 6/10
Wormrot - Voices 7/10

YPY - Zurhyrethm 5.5/10