2017 ALL

(Sandy) Alex G - Rocket

Could do with less mumbling and countrified moderation, but as a homegrown indie gallimaufry it's got compact charm. A few irrefutable pop breakthroughs, more than a few undeveloped dreamlike doodles, spruce acoustics and piano aplenty, genuine back-porch warmth+longing temporarily disrupted by a dip into dank-basement darkness that casually commences with "Witch" and creepily gallops on "Horse" before industrially culminating via "Brick". Touch of goofball throughout culminates via jazzy outro. Presence of a pup all too welcome. 7/10

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Amnesia Scanner - AS Truth [EP]

Not only did I find this single but semi-segmented 15-minute journey tune preferable to their more conventionally formatted 6-track EP from last year, it made me appreciate that ol thang some more too. This further firms up their distinct rendition of warped electro-grime -- buzzy and bruising with ne'er an element going unscathed by its whacked out wrath, trouble sitting still, terrifying+incomprehensible club vox from time to time, damn catchy or near ambient when they wanna be -- and hearing 'em pull off this kind of extendo ebb-n-flow so fluidly with no lack of subtleties and extremes is endearing. Just wish they didn't blow most of their lunacy load in the first 150 seconds with all those video game motorcycles and rapid-fire alien annihilation, excellent a section as it may be. 7.5/10

Chino Amobi - Paradiso

This hell-city electro free-for-all thrill ride can seem overstuffed and unkempt and downright torturous, but so much of it is out-of-this-world electrified and massive and LOUD. Dip and dawdle and wander it may, but if anything the weirdo flow makes this journey all the more multifaceted, detailed, epic -- even after 10+ listens the shocking parts still shock me and could swear I'm hearing some of it for the very first time. Beyond the robust walls-of-sound, there's so much more to it: his very own radio DJ/Paradiso promoter confirming the holy-shit kickoff three tracks in and later returning as a funhouse attendant/Paradiso promoter, prevailing spoken word (tho sometimes buried in exploding sparkly filth or pummeled by bashing the Street Fighter button), now-n-again raps more like rabid animal yellin', slice of straight pop and sporadic segue into garage rock demo, Elysia Crampton sequel and Nkisi edit that he makes his own, stealing Amnesia Scanner's squeal. Keeps on going after the declared finale, even. Prevailing Themes: chicken feet, poop brains. 8/10

Anamai - What Mountain

Not that this breed of minimal folk and malign murk ain't eerily placid and mesmeric. The droning goes deep without dipping too much into dormant, I dig a good chain-drag, the contrast of angelic basement cooer and ghostly doom-metal drifter never hurts. But its sustained snail-pace renders it sorta samey and so soporific -- however, grant it the space to suck you in and bring you down, and it may just succeed. 5.5/10

Anohni - Paradise [EP]

Last year's scraps, perhaps -- but I dig the decreased pop-anthem approach and trickier back-n-forth between Oneohtrix Point Never's spacey stark and Hudson Mohawke's harebrained boom-bap. Melodrama and stunted political statements remain, but "you're a mean old man" and "I'm gonna hate you" and presumable earth-crumbling get the point across righteously enough; and whether buried in bass+squeals or conspicuous+quavery or a condignly choked up guest-fretter's queries as conclusion, the voxin' is defiant and haunting. Side Note: fuck transphobic Sputnikers. 7/10

Arca - Arca

Compelling to hear how provocative electro mutant Alejandro Ghersi evolves/devolves over time, this one being on-the-cusp imperative no doubt: the self-titled stamp hints at it and the induction of vox alone change the Arca game. That Bjork work stuck with him, seemingly -- not only is there this new transparence of having a bold+tender weeper-composer arise from the shadows, but also a far more restrained/refined/dare I say poppier palette to match. Not to say it ain't still an aimless-n-alien tangle or that weep can't peeve, 'tis and it can. With respect to the new direction, I kinda miss the spastic violence of releases past. May be why I like when he whips out the whips on "Whip"; followed by "Desafío", the kind of driven pop-transition perfection I wish were more prevalent here. 6/10

At the Drive-In - in•ter a•li•a

I swear, OG groupies had exceedingly high expectations or forget what made em such a force in the first place or their eagerness for non-nostalgic rackety emo just isn't there anymore. Preferring the old stuff and construing this reunion as contrived or superfluous in this case is certainly just, but not really rightful as a default assessment. Their vim ain't as spirited and they kinda rest on doze laurels but doze laurels are still complex and cutting and catchy and refreshingly riotous, vox are extra gaudy and intelligibly obscured but still chock full-a color and emotional cogency and steadfast spitting compelling ambiguities -- at the very least they don't overstay their welcome. Guillotine claps and bagged snakes for all. 7/10

Felicia Atkinson - Hand in Hand

Brutally boring, indecently ignorable, anemic and inconsequential muttering (if you're lucky), astonishingly barren blip sphere (at all times). 2015's 'A Readymade Ceremony' was arty alright; but it made noise and like, did stuff, and like, moved ya. This one just narcotizes you to tears, periodically nudging you awake so you can scoff-n-sigh just one more time. Peak is when it's finally over. ~*~meh~*~

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Banana - Live

Quartet of quirky instrumental compositions from Cate Le Bon and her Crab Day crew -- ostensibly frank+off-the-cuff stuff with its live sketch deportment and lack of tune titles, but if you're a sucker for stringent structure or uber-repetition or marimba-n-vibraphone aplenty this'll tickle a fancy. See "A" and "C" for bouncy and busy, "B" and "D" for pensive and pacific. 6/10

Big Thief - Capacity

Wouldn't quite proclaim it as the masterpiece that Masterpiece wasn't, but superb leap in a year I can certainly vouch for. Some'll fret over the comparative deficiency of distortion or polish applied to a garage-y mien, but they are infinitely more invested here, and it shows: sturdier, darker, prettier, more intimate. Guitar howlin' is craftily reserved for speeding towards guardrails and hospitals, and the splendor of their strip-back sneaks up on you slowly; quietly sightly and sad and playful with no shortage of niceties or meaningful melodies. Devotees press that there's much to be had of Adrianne Lenker's lyrics, perhaps cuz they can get obscured in murmurations -- more often tho I'm taken by her inflections through-n-through. The entirety of "Mary" however highlights both. Other standout stuff: head thrusting against temple, blood, werewolves, sharks. 8/10

Bjork - Utopia

Plays out much like a merry-meadow companion to predecessor Vulnicura; one that valiantly doubles down on scope and knots and amorphousness. And as many distinct selections there are here, it's even less about the tunes and even more about pacing and getting swallowed into that wondrous wandering whole. If you can't fall for layers of Bjork bustin' out beautiful whatever over layers of hectic-n-spacy something, it'll irk ya perhaps more than ever. If you can't fall for flutes+chirps, just forget it. If it seems too rosy, know there's custody battles spit over haunted-club glitch-work and snarls. If it starts to tire, know it should and that the latecomers are more than worthwhile -- see "Tabula Rasa", a somber sparse-string stunner that unassumingly winds up one of the most stirring stands against misbehaving men in recent memory. See "Saint", which manages to take breathtaking atmospheres up just one more heavenly notch. "Utopia / it's not elsewhere", tis true. And thus continues the kind of artistic trajectory that makes her revelations of being smitten over a mp3 swap and catching feels at a record store seem so preposterous; yet you're happy to hear it. No way she took to Tinder, though. 8/10

Black Anvil - As Was

For some aging hardcore heads, they sure do present quite the rippin' metal mixture -- pretty blackened through-n-through, but they whip up choice cleans and soaring harmonies as handily as the ol dense-n-dirty snarl&thrash; oft in the same song. A propensity for heavy metal classicism also protrudes, hence the mosh-prone stomp riffs and lengthy motorcycle-on-the-highway guitar solos that shred right on through the fade-out. 7.5/10

Bleached - Can You Deal? [EP]

With 4 tunes that are sweet-n-catchy perhaps but stiff-n-obvious fo sho and never match the magic of their last LP? Yeah, I spose. 6/10

Boliden - Surfaces

Still pumpin' out the placidity that comes with minimal-yet-moving loops warmly smothered in spectral-dub-soup ambience, still winningly meditative and rather jaunty all things considered. But really seems like a less-striking overlong reiteration of his 10-months-prior album 'Landscape and Memory'. Still eventually grows toward samey-gone-stagnant too; which the whole overlong thing certainly doesn't remedy. 6.5/10

Boss Hog - Brood X

They've got a hard bluesy swagger that would be a hit at any worthy down-n-dirty dive bar and the sort-a electrified garage scum that ain't apologetic. Led by gal-guy but-mostly-gal power couple who are into black eyes, Sunday routines, etc. Guy, adequate axe-shredder he may be, kinda just shouldn't sing. Tunes, though oft-fun, tend to lean towards generic, shrill, campy. "Rodeo Chica", just a big ol roundup of corny. 5.5/10

Brockhampton - Saturation

Formidable hip-hop collective that may initially turn heads with their blue ones or by moshing in the streets of South Central, but truly noteworthy is their ability to both go harder-n-nastier than most and soft-n-sappy so convincingly. Armed with a tight+detailed production crew and emotionally protean throat roster, each representative of this misfit-leaning boy band seems to be going out on a financial/personal limb to do this thang and that cumulative passion shines through. They're missin' Mama's kisses and chicken nuggets while out in the shadows with bullets and bad habits, taking acid and spilling brain, thumpin' in that trunk but playing some guitar too, twisting belligerence into self-improvement and pining for a sofa pal. Said roster synthetically swollen and kinda unclear due to pitch shifts and robots and flexibility for all. But off the top of my head: Kevin Abstract prolly most prevalent and the true hook maestro; Merlyn Wood a time travelin' Honda swervin' book learnin' Somali pirate lookalike who just applied for food stamps; Joba reserved for blood-curdling screams and fab falsetto; final track and only final track done by someone named "bearface." 8/10

Brother Ali - All the Beauty in This Whole Life

Emcee Ali and interminable beat-man Ant are so longwindedly straight-laced but awfully hard to hate: the articulation, the emotional earnestness, the disquietude, the persevering positivity, the soulful and live-ish crispy clean production. Go ahead n try not be touched by an attempt at teaching his son that peeps will scorn him simply cuz of skin and how to proceed if the police come 'round; try not be taken aback with how collectedly and even comically he discloses details of the heavy repercussions from rapping in Iran/procuring a 4S at the airport. 6/10

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The Caretaker - Everywhere at the End of Time (Stage 2)

Quotation from Bandcamp explanation: "Featuring the sounds from the journey The Caretaker as artist will make after being artistically diagnosed as having early onset dementia. Each stage will reveal new points of progression, loss and disintegration. Progressively falling further and further towards the abyss of complete memory loss and nothingness." This being Stage 2 of 6 to be concocted. I mean, very, er, deep-n-ominous concept ya got there, but is this not mostly just music a la the ballroom scene in The Shining maybe slowed down a tad with some soft record-skip fuzz plopped in? Which is hauntingly jaunty and overflowing with dreamy subaqueous nostalgia, sure. But moreover it's tedious and passive time warp schmaltz. Perhaps experiencing Stage 1 would lead to some insight, but nah. I'd rather dig for the stuff at Savers. ~*~meh~*~

The Chainsmokers - Memories…Do Not Open

Pretty much a given to despise em regardless if you are or aren't one of their five billion YouTube viewers -- I unabashedly are. And antipathy comes easy: palpably phony emotion, drippy+predictable+overblown electro-pop, handful of real bonehead lines commingling with a buncha bland ones, laughably hideous dubstep squelchin'. But to dub them nugatory is a bit too much. The four femme-features are all boosts in persona and performance, beats this streamlined can't help but be capable to a certain extent, "Paris"-"parents"-"terrace" proves a pretty dandy rhyme scheme, and if you can't find a few parts that hound your head well after they're over you're probably prejudicially turning a blind ear. Yet who really needs a pair of self-serving automatons who sometimes slide a swear in or fight your dad to keep things edgy? They're nice enough to provide us with an Armageddon Anthem, at least: "Last Day Alive", the unconcerned lighter-waving ball-o-hollow we all deserve. ~*~meh~*~

Charli XCX - Number 1 Angel

This half-automaton escapist-partier pop star likes her lovers to match the potency of ecstasy, and if they happen to peddle it as well then all the better. Vacuous saccharinity takes its toll eventually if not instantly, but once again PC Music's pristine booming-n-brash production paired with an infectious tude and boatload of stupidly fun hooks make for an irresistible and surprisingly intricate ride. Each of these ten tracks deliver their own distinct ridiculousness and noteworthy lil touches, but the winner has gotta be the stickiest/ickiest conclusion "Lipgloss". A chorus that somehow beats 'em all and raises the bar on sugary sweet alongside pussy-packed verses from Cupcakke, who brings some much needed+appreciated fiery rapid-fire raunch. Worth fucking around with and getting a cavity for. 7.5/10

Cloud Nothings - Life Without Sound

Seems unfair in a way to complain and claim it as tame -- overall it's a successful softening of their acerbity and an angst-punk maturation that doesn't forsake their roots or mope too much in Cheeseville. But alas, tame it does feel: oft enjoyable as it is, it also comes off a bit flat-n-formulaic; tuneful and snarly as they can be, they've done both better on projects more ambitious+arresting. 6.5/10

Code Orange - Forever

I applaud its labored-over low-end crushing heaviness and appreciate their apparent ambition for a band whose sound mostly just conveys moshing and/or breaking jaws. And guitar-n-vocal fx that sound like a cat attack or shots of static or malfunctioning electrical equipment, sure, I'm in. So given the number of awkward+unnecessary transitions and dubious dives into industrial electro/singular almost-indie-pop moment/plainspoken vox that make this quite the jumble, I suppose I'll consider ambition chief culprit. But the taxing tough-guy throat shredding, those same ol 'chug chug really high note' chestnuts, the trudges through foreseen breakdowns while gettin' called a motherfucker before 'em -- eventually and predominately, just kind of a tedious demeanor either way. 5/10

Cold Beat - Chaos by Invitation

Their last one saw 'em flingin' both clamant punk and synth-driven electro, here however they dump much of the punk -- a few great guitar-included tracks ("Don't Touch", "62 Moons", "Strawberry Moon") but they're now essentially synth-pop at heart. Which ain't a bad thing; they've certainly upped their electronix game and still excel in the cute+catchy and dark+dreamy. It does kinda dampen their distinction, though. Leaves me missing that momentum too. 6.5/10

Collin Strange - How I Creep

How Collin creeps is very much the opposite of creeping: techno thumpin' is steadily mammoth, bulk of surroundings are scuzzed+fuzzed well into the red, bombards the brain with its persistence and heady walls of sound. It can hit you like a thousand bricks, make you start seeing things, simply enthuse via texture, even get you boogieing. First three 5-minute tracks just seem like some grimy fun-n-games when compared to the precisely 16-minute fourth/ender; more alive and coarse and a head-driller than you will ever be. 7/10

Converge - The Dusk in Us

Perhaps most gratifying for the already-familiar fan is that they continue to create creative metalcore carnage this captivatingly corybantic nine albums in. For the uninitiated, it's as proper a place to start as any and gratifying for the same ol trademark traits you can always Convergely count on -- the suturing of savagery and suffering, melody and turbulence, painstaking prog and pummeling in-the-moment punk filth. Stuffing 2-to-3-minute songs with so much slammin' spry-ass substance that the seldom drawn-out soft-start slowdown is necessary even if just comparably so-so. Exceptional full-album flow. Group-effort dynamism keeping it fresh+fervid with no signs of letting up anytime soon. The Standard In Them. 8/10

Couch Slut - Contempt

Megan Osztrosits has the stupefying shriek power to send creeps running for the hills, enough female fury to stand up to the lengthy-n-lurid sludge-punk her male bandmates firmly churn out. Right, so be assured "Folk Song" is very far from one and "Summer Smiles" certainly ain't no sunbeam. My general gripes are their tendencies to meander, linger, mutilate yer head via morosity -- but the segues that lead into melodic miracles or somehow up the aggression-ante make me glad they go there. Many-a band can pound ya into the ground with competent riffs+squeals+vigor, this one's no different. That raw inescapable rage tho; there's the true riveter. 7/10

Elysia Crampton - Spots y Escupitajo

Spots=8-piece Crampton-style DJ tag sampler pack. Escupitajo=muffled muck and Crampton-style collage and verbose doomsday spoken word and a meandering lone-piano dragger; most of which are aight but clearly casual and nothin' worth droolin' over. Would've liked to see Spots breaking up that Escupitajo instead of stuffing em in at the start. Spots y Escupitajo=a decent enough offering but the epitome of gallimaufry. 5.5/10

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Damien Dubrovnik - Great Many Arrows

I still cling to the idea that straight-up drone-noise-yell such as theirs is better experienced live; the severity exhilaratingly in your face rather than eventually becoming a bore-chore while just, like, sitting somewhere. But like many-a great arrow, this soars and stabs with precision. True to form, it'll overwhelm and dawdle and force ya into being down in the dumps; but dread-n-intensity are to the nines -- and with Rahbek's jarring talk-scream being particularly indecipherable and patchy here, throw upped mystery in there too. Really providing the soar+foil tho is the startlingly gentle coalescence of epic emotivity: forlorn flute+violin, pensive ambiance, eerie lost-at-sea vibes. A pivotal balance that some may call beautiful. On a more personal level, my first go with this thang was the morning after the Las Vegas shooting. All too apt and scary as hell. 7/10

Tim Darcy - Saturday Night

As Ought's guitar-wielding frontman he's quite the piquant post-punk aggregator; enough to pique interest in this here solo path anyway. Which, despite having its moments and brandishing some bedraggled charm, is too much of a disjointed toss-together. It's a shame yet reasonable tradeoff when the tunes all but disappear at the midway point -- out with the generic garage riffs w/ good tonage and warm psychedelia, in with the whatever'd basement scraping and truly touching 2-minute piano ballad called "What'd You Release?". A good question. 5.5/10

DJ Jayhood - KING

Having just been weaned-n-sold on footwork in the last couple years via the forward-thinking and freakish figurations from the likes of Jlin and DJ TiGa, Jayhood comparably comes off conservative and quotidian. Not that's it's not loud, outrageous, loopy as hell, a powerfully blunt 100 mph party package -- tis. It's just he's got lotsa dance floor instructions and a creepily trained teen girl group; and tho fond of bullets and bein' boomin' and buttcheeks, it can feel a bit on the clean side. But the ability to sell it all and cohesive care taken is that of an OG, the stamina childlike, the brevity courteously curtailed, the Jersey hails numerous. Choice Putdown: "I'm like a red nose pit, you a mix breed". When you regret not asking that special someone to dance astride a squeaky mattress: "Way way geico"(??), "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck..". 8.5/10

DJ Orange Julius - The Grove

Can't get enough of jittery loop-head disc jockeys, apparently -- DJ OJ's form of footwork is less fiery than TiGa's, less contained than Jayhood's, and eventually more stridently relentless than either of em. It kicks off with a triad of greatness that best showcases his mingling of busy+chill mix-work; the opulent opener/A.M. drug-ingestion anthem "Still Geekin'" and smooth-as-hell jovial joyride orchestration of "Skkrtt" particularly irresistible. Then in comes the 100mph r&b, the wistful vaporwave vibez, boasts of being a motherfuckin' G awkwardly cut with abrupt opera yelps, going overboard-n-quotidian on the voice bombardment and bass vs. blip contrast. A bit of a shaky head-rush crush when it comes down to it, but ooo what feet melting fun. 7.5/10

Tica Douglas - Our Lady Star of the Sea, Help and Protect Us

Not quite the magnificent leap one might hope for on a debut followup, but evidence of evolution is everywhere: tunes once largely sticking to the two-to-three-minute range now rest comfortably at four-to-six, they stray from sounding demo-ish, acoustic less rusty, outdoor sounds minimal. And though that garage-folkie band-o-backups attain enterprise+emphasis, it's still very much Tica's show -- unadorned solo strummin' and tender huskiness remains the forte, and when she tosses in touches of electro-horns expect epic. Would like to hear more picture-painting lyrically tho, just cuz when occurring it's oft optimum. I.e., dealing with deaths, awkward run-ins at readings, everyone desiring drinks and serenity while viewing the news in bed ("Oh no oh no oh no."). 7.5/10

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Earthen Sea - An Act of Love

One part dawdling ominous ambient, four parts dawdling ordinary ambient, three parts beat-driven deep-dub submergence -- which is too tenacious+trancelike for dawdling perhaps, but uneventful enough to earn drab. ~*~meh~*~

Ecstatic Vision - Raw Rock Fury

Psych-obsessed momentum masters resting on their laurels -- 2015's 'Sonic Praise' had me indeed praising them sonically with its rigorous ruff-rocker repetition, the locked-yet-jammy jams prolonged and chock full-a swirl noise and sometimes approaching the stratosphere. Same applies here, and the smatterings of harmonica+horn are still a plus. But while these grooves are fun and rockin' and painless enough, there's just not a whole lotta evolvin' going on here. I'm willing to bet it's more effective live, but riffs and patterns get predictable, they tend toward static despite all that swirl, and it sounds like it was recorded in the back of a van that's flying down the highway; for better or worse. Decipherable words involve "babe-eh"s, the desire to boogie and trip, and something that initially sounds like a T. Swift sendup. 5.5/10

Elbow - Little Fictions

Pretty tempting to decry 'em as temperate britrock softies that have no prob flirting with some soaring-n-sappy sugar-cheese -- kids hugging the world, love and miracles, powerful hearts, fields turning gold when he gets a text from you know who. Shame their seasoned slow+steady pacing and clarity-clad instrumentals are just so pleasant: the delicate yet forceful grooves, the modestly calculated arrangements, the buncha beautiful tones, piano-only and string-things stickin' to occasional drop-in. Voicer Guy Garvey follows the whole steady and pleasant thing to a T; managing to never quite oversell or undersell yet consistently captivate. His (and maybe their) true moment in the sun is kinda like safe-Smiths and called "All Disco", wherein they preach that obsessing over songcraft just ain't worth it. Like, yeah, but we can't all sound this effortlessly charming, ya know? 8/10

Lawrence English - Cruel Optimism

::sits on apocalyptic drone:: ::adds foggy details:: ~*~meh~*~

Brian Eno - Reflection

App-fueled autopilot ambience that's pleasant enough but so stubbornly stagnant. With acknowledgment that this rumination likely exists as a why-not prototype or simple illustrative exercise -- and that Eno is eternally da man no matter what -- this is just too much of a tedious near-hour, too uneventful to reward dive-in listens. But as some innocuous background sound? No problem I spose. Something that just sits there and adjusts every so often while you just kinda sit there? Eh, certainly could be worse but most definitely could be better. Playin' it pure is cool and all, but take last year's 'The Ship' for example. Had a bit of this but also, like, did stuff. Cool stuff. ~*~meh~*~

Entrance - Book of Changes

Still not sure if Entrance here is supposta imply 'an entryway' or 'to fill with hypnotic delight', but given the instrumental elegance and sparkly softie-psych overlays I'm gonna lean towards the latter. Its adornments transmit a sort of folkie fantasy land and Guy Blakeslee's warble comes off a bit like a less clever+more corny Conor Oberst, complete with seasonal allegories aplenty and quotidian yearn and a cast of breathy dream girls to echo his sentiments and spout 'la-la-la's. But oof can that warblin' and adornin' get tiresome. Which may be why the straight-up rock-out of "Revolution Eyes" is such a rejuvenating ender -- and all he had to do was ditch Cali and find a nice gal to drag him away from the gates of hell. 6/10

Errorsmith - Superlative Fatigue

Never doubt tightly wound primal techno with a sense of humor. With grooves slim and stiff yet buoyant and bangin', what begins as disembodied pitch-shifting utterances leading the way into melodic motion-sickness gradually advances towards a deconstructed+percussive warpage of synth-funk cheese. Minimal but insistent and best of all vibrant, kooky yet composed. Included is a fitting finale that certifies it's just been his "party my party" all along -- quote as monotonous sole line, handclap as monotonous sole adornment, unabashed stretches of robot beatboxing. An elementary masterwork in making laffs outta loneliness if you ask me. 8/10

Ex Eye - Ex Eye

This metal-meets-sax instrumental quad squad is triumphant and terrifying, patient and pulverizing. They're post-y without too much draggage, fuck with the structures but still gorgonize ya groove-wise, atmospherically affecting whether on a slow+spacy stretch or blisteringly BM-squallin' the night away or an intermingling of those things. Starts off safely-n-studiously enough; but the following two 12-minute epics allow em to rave up and develop and wondrously wander into all-encompassing oblivions. Which brings me to saxman Colin Stetson's application of trademark squawks throughout: able to add a symphonic flutter, convince you Godzilla is not only present but looking in your window, and become a vital and haunting voice all on its own. 8.5/10

Expressway Yo-Yo Dieting - Undone Harmony Following

Chopped & screwed, I think they call it -- to further summarize, distant hip-hop that's scrambled, fried, melted down, sold for parts, slowed, stretched and smothered as it degrades into echoey static-slop mush. Not without its entrancing or texture-iffic factors, however. 5/10

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Father John Misty - Pure Comedy

I don't dare read through the album-associated essay and will go ahead and paraphrase a forumer cuz it's just so brilliantly spot-on: 'sounds like a philosophy major who's come round to pay too much for an eighth.' But when he's pickin' apart all of our demented monkey ways and this big ol godless rock we've inhabited, this self-affirmed 2017 fake-named speck of a white guy is so calmly eloquent-n-biting that his smug blowhard turns perceptive persuader. Commentary+candor near full-time graceful and he steadily proves himself superb at blurring sincere and not, the plain-yet-grand arrangements and track protractions and "10-verse chorusless diatribe" approach kinda drowsy but are exquisitely provocative. Blips of backward psych and internet androids help seal the cynicism, though when he turns the critique on himself or smoothly serenades his "Smoochie" the realness refreshingly cuts through. Halfway through lofty 74-minute monster and after 13-minute aforementioned chorusless diatribe: "I've got the world by the balls / Am I supposed to behave?". I'm just glad he's no longer talking about cum. 7.5/10

Fazerdaze - Morningside

Pulls off pleasant summery pop in a simplistic yet finespun fashion, delicate dream-states and and bedroom grunge and the dance-worthy fulfilled, conspicuously single-ready "Lucky Girl" early on but assuredly advances from there. But as a one-gal full band it's just so comprehensively cautious; elementary and calculable constructions lazing into the lackluster. Think bleached Bleached. 5.5/10

Fen - Winter

Surely a solid crossing of metal that's black and rock that's post, ambitious too with six massive tracks in an hour fifteen. But all those aspects come off a bit middle-of-the-road here, considerably cohesive and occasionally electrifying they may be -- an intense well-executed epic on the whole but couldn't help crave something more-often vehement; further brutality here, increased bleakness there. And this length: I know Winter's long, but dayum. 6/10

Fleet Foxes - Crack-Up

Striking me first was the ability to pass through a six-year lapse, stick by that grand folkie feel they excelled in more than most before it quickly seemed dated-n-homogenized, and still no-prob triumph with a labyrinthine piece of pastoral majesty. Striking me second was the emphasis on ambition -- lengths, structures, flow-wise, odd passages, and so forth. The second, though it no doubt spices things up, tends to make this more knotty than it needs to be. Song-by-song songwriting suffers a bit and despite its winding it can also just become a blur of vanilla lushness. Uplifting, heavyhearted, rich, vanilla lushness. 7/10

Forest Swords - Compassion

Distinguished for really setting itself apart in the electro-field without going full bizarro, and sounding, well, distinguished -- structurally spotty and sometimes draggin' yeah, but the resultant aura is a heady nonpareil. Coated in jungle dust and lil glitch-marks, orchestral yet primal, grand but nervous, foreboding but primed for whatever comes. Abruptly cut sample(?) chants boost the mystery; treading between otherworldly transmission and ancient semi-hook. Occasional operatic coo there to haunt+soar, flute-hum hybrid(?) of "Panic" there to draw swarms of evildoers out from the shadows in a snakecharmer-esque manner. Most Urgent Abruptly Cut Chant in an album that captures the consternation of 2017: "I fear something's wroOoOoOng". 7.5/10

Future - Future

This protracted platter of familiar Future fodder drops the inevitable handful of bangers and a few distinct beats-n-flows -- after all, studied grimness and catchy hooks can possess the ability to possess without much effort elsewhere. But like 2014's 'Monster', this coulda shoulda been half as long; and unlike Monster, shifts are seldom and persona is dwindling and there's a pair of insufferable radio-call-in skits. Longer than Monster, too. Feelings are saved for last per ushe and provide highlights per ushe too, unless you count the flute-sublimity unmasking around the midway mark feelings: "Percocets, molly, percocets / Chase a check, never chase a bitch" goes the chorus. A suitable summary at this point sure, but can ya at least talk about pissing em out+off again? 5/10

Future Islands - The Far Field

Their cultivated formula is too affable to abhor but routine enough to pester. Genuinely great groovage, ceaselessly creamy bass lines, invincible synths; yet oft so mechanical and mundane. That same ol back-beat every dang time is beyond conspicuous, firework choruses seem fashioned for festival fodder, word-wise they're drab as ever and vox-wise there's a real lack of remarkability; even with a frontman like Sam Herring. Certainly no lack of full-band synth-pop solidity, though. And when Debbie Harry herself comes through for the surprise near-end duet, it's something like a then-meets-now new wave miracle. 6/10

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Gang of Youths - Go Farther in Lightness

Their stagy-n-sentimental nature is a considerable red flag, the ambition overtly overstated, 5+minute loquacities the norm and broken up with stringterludes that transmit waiting for a wedding to start. Gotta hand it to da gang, though: their drive is dogged and rather gorgeous and oh how notably amiable they are in anthemic mode. Intelligent and genuinely emotionally engaging enuff to almost make ya fret that Le'aupepe is too oft-mumbly to let em meld into the rock-band mainstream. Able to tackle wrestling with religion in a mature manner and go noisy and make gripping mantras outta shopworn positivities and seamlessly cop Journey. Corny and/or steep on the whole, but hey -- he's a "heart in the gutter type" with Springsteen in mind and Flowers for posture, Gang Green's the pastor, they're seemingly gunning for a punk rock opera of sorts. Ehh give em a break. 7.5/10

The Golden Filter - Still // Alone

'Still' side thumps sharp-n-minimal artsy house with vox limited to sparse too-cool-for-school spoken phrases and some breathing, 'Alone' side allows in muck, melody, pop, flash, even bits of emotion. Mysterious yet in your face, robotic yet boogie-worthy, beatz deserving and receiving priority even though they ain't house-heads at heart. '//' is muck-starter and interludial separator. 7/10

Cameron Graves - Planetary Prince

Notably known as saxer Kamasi Washington's piano man, C-Graves has spawned a jazz behemoth of his own -- not as epic as Kamasi's Epic at a 'mere' 80 minutes, but stuffed with so much full-band virtuosity+vim that any longer would overwhelm even more than it does now. Reportedly recorded in a one day sesh, this don't got time for utilizing singers or building to splendid crescendos, instead they kinda just intricately rock the fuck out and incorporate some cool-downs for good measure. Piano is the fo sho forefront, and between racin' around and the rigid key stomps and occasional gentle grace, it erupts with character. But with this ensemble it's hard to pick a fave: amazing-as-always Thundercat bassing, big horn lines that could score a storied showdown, Ronald Bruner Jr.'s wild drumming that I always swear is bout to burst into brutal death metal mode. Ah wait, there it is at Minute 80, song entitled "The Lucifer Rebellion": a rewarding lil double bass blast. 8/10

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Hamell On Trial - Tackle Box

Ed Hamell is seasoned as a rambler-n-rhymer, acoustic thrasher, skillful storyteller, singular homespun punk-scuzzer -- and here sees him pulling together all the concerned yearnin' and unbounded wit and frank force needed to loosely capture the tumult of the Trump era. Besides being perturbed over his kid feeling apprehension rather than admiration for fuckface cops and our browbeater world leader, he fuses raunch and drollery ("She ride it like her panties on fire / She ride it like she binge watch The Wire"); adores an Australian chatterer's verbal inflections as much as her drunkenly eloquent thoughts on America; wistfully reminisces about high school ("Hiding pot in our locker until there's a raid / Getting three new albums cuz we just got paid"); discusses the life he's lived and how he'd like to die ("inevitably"). Resolute repetition guides the way, and when shit gets heavy -- i.e. regularly -- periodic quickies-for-the-kids about Froggy's picturesquely glit-edge lifespan are there to mollify. Proclamation Of One-Man Project That's All The Better For It: "You can spoil the brain broth with too many cooks / Call it Tackle Box cuz it's got so many hooks". 9/10

Hand Habits - Wildly Idle (Humble Before the Void)

Well it's not WILDLY idle per se. But once comfy inside that sunkissed sphere of slow goin' dream-folk they sure ain't hustling neither. Which is fine; hustle isn't decisive, they're comfy from the get-go and dat sphere is seemly. But ooo, quite dull-n-dozy too: maybe not from the get-go but soon enough. 5/10

Marc Houle - Sinister Mind

Pedestrian protracted techno for the most part, but its grooves are deep and prominent enough to grab ya -- tenacity that doesn't quite torment, mild patterns at least tolerable if not engaging, creepy+spacey yet funky+lively. Do I yearn for spunk and surprises? Indeed. Think it coulda used some track trims? Probably. Wish he kept it up with the colorless vox after the first two? Not really. 5/10

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Idles - Brutalism

Brit punx whose snarly sardonicism predominates enough to make their tude seem tacked on and try-hard. The resultant vigor I'll take, a protracted "motherfucker" hook so simple that it's genius and calling art-haters morons, sure; but their acrimony can be too on the nose and oft fall short of thought-provoking. So they get by on fiery execution, tight catchiness aplenty, and soopin' up the snarl: frontman Joe Talbot can summon both vicious acid-spitting animal and suave Transylvanian count, near-incessantly incensed yet can sing a tune when he tries, is good for a loutish ballad ender. Genuinely funny, even, with the "swing batta batta batta"s and boyish backup "woo!"s for when he bites his nose off. 8/10

Igorrr - Savage Sinusoid

Lots to like and lots to question in this officially oddball genre-jumble. Divinely ornamented yet chopped up mercilessly, honest to god operatics flirting with barefaced shrieks+babble, bewitching black metal beside riffs from the Life is Peachy playbook, touches of sedate piano and polka for good(?) measure. Most damning contrast-combo however is that of the highfalutin and the goofy. And while jumping from ancient castles to front seats at the symphony to pushin' in the pit to glitchin' in the club is for sure made into a twisted and tantalizing tour de force, it's hard to not hear it as novelty -- it's just not all that practical. Like having three r's in Igorrr. 7/10

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Jana Rush - Pariah

Initial impression was an obscure 90s producer suddenly breaking the silence to jump on the Jlin train. Which I wouldn't say changed much after copious consumption, but JR does carve quite the twitchy niche of her own. Constant yet contained bass throb, bare and blippy, rather ruthless during the more random and rigid endeavors. Oft so busy being barraged you don't even notice most of em are just three mins and change. True kicker however is the varietal voice choppin': reiterations break-k-k-k-king your brain, accelerated alien utterances, old-timey soul singer's sweet turned yelly at the flip of a switch, etc. But for the record my likely favorite is both voiceless and letterless -- "??? ??", where Jungle Book jazz befriends bass-pad gone punk just a BIT too swimmingly; trippy trimmings and all. 8/10

Japandroids - Near to the Wild Heart of Life

Particularly when compared to the sweat-drenched fireworks-clad singalong wingding epic that was its predecessor, this comes off a bit stale and softened and sappy -- still blaring for a guitar-drum two-piece with melodic fuzz and choruses certainly worth celebrating, still skilled at stirring up emotion and woahs+yeahs, but easing up musically tends to let the vocal rhapsodizing engulf. Then you get female barkeeps servin' up smooches and a "give em hell" upon his embarkment to somewhere far away, passionate and poetic-bout-life whiskey words cheesy-n-earnest enough to make you gag, the self-proclaimed status as a holy roller when the "cool hard beauty" starts crashing at his place. A couple too short, a couple too long; most infamous of the latter has gotta be the anomalous "Arc of Bar". Surprisingly pretty winning with its buzz-synth crush and a slowdown strut that somehow successfully sells the vision of jokers dealing cards and rooms galore full-a whores in a diamond dust fantasy land. Ah, but then there's doin' the devil (quite the) favor for her love and "those damned mosquitoes". 6.5/10

Jay Som - Everybody Works

Comes off as a conventional Cali-indie singer-songwriter patchwork: the dreamy-jangly gentle, the intimate acoustic, the crunchy power chords+dueling sour solos, the fusion of lo-fi and lush. And while none of it necessarily stuns, all of it is pretty damn amiable. The uber-warmth is steadily winsome, guitar tones are particularly terrific, you get your choice of choice choruses and mini-mantras -- my fave of which promises punctuality, lets light in through the blinds, and helps shape a beautiful finale buildup for the ages. Which, okay sure, stuns. 7/10

Jlin - Black Origami

What makes this footwork follow-up formidable isn't stock horror samples or harshin' up the soundscape, it's the rigorous refinement involved and pushing onward into the abstract. After a notably business-meaning beginning it never really peaks but also doesn't quit -- prickly twitch percussion-fests are dedicated to dizzying, voice-slices and bobbleheads more efficiently utilized, wraps you in its stark bass-laden groove and tosses sounds around like ragdolls. You may even wanna dance to it. Rarely does it not transmit the tenseness of a 'tick tick ticking time bomb time bomb'; which along with its stylistic restrictions, can get tiresome, yes. Mechanized marching bands led by rattlesnakes and gym teachers. 8/10

Joey Badass - All-Amerikkkan Bada$$

I mean I'm not sure he's got the bellicosity or sapience to braid the USA and KKK either. But his racism-charged ruminations sound potent, liberated, smooth, real; even convincingly conspirative. Listening as yet another versed verse gets more frenzied-n-incensed over time before perhaps culminating into a can't-take-it-no-more 'AHH' or just fuckin' disgust, the hopeful posi-warmth of "For My People" and pop/sad/jazz veers switching out for the timely guest-enhanced twin onslaughts "Rockabye Baby"/"Ring the Alarm" and a lengthy mic-glitch manifesto as closer. And never underestimate the power of sampling a teary-eyed kid making poignant crowd-encouraged speeches. Heavy-handed sooner or later, but then there's those beats and duh those bars. "Music is a form of expression / I'ma use mine just to teach you a lesson / Rule one: this microphone's a weapon." Damn right. 8/10

Carsten Jost - Perishable Tactics

The ominous ambience and conservative-yet-chill rainy-day house jam that kick things off ain't bad, but I'm relieved when what follows is more stark+stringent and brings on dat thump. Prolonged like most house and kinda sounding like most house too, but ooo the sturdy subdued grooves and moody doing-much-with-a-little adornments are strong with this one. A rich marriage of trance-dance-mechanical with no need to complicate things made with an ear for moving-n-meticulous-n-mysterious textures. Slight Special Touches include the feathery palm pats of "Atlantis", the "Platoon RLX" duo's cryptic and haphazardly looped dialogue, and the title track's bursts of robot breath. 7/10

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Sophia Kennedy - Sophia Kennedy

SK can kinda come off as familiar female singer/songwriter full-a quirk. Wit in the midst of detachment, dips into absurdist wordplay, assortment of vocal flourishes/complete lack of vocal flourishes, anything-goes arrangements; e.g. tense violin jabbin' joined by the boingy-boings of a mouth harp. It can feel clunky and stiff at times, but most of the material here prevails -- the unpredictable mixes of organicity with keyboard mishmash and cheap drum machine are usually wrapped around quite a winsome pop tune. Highlights include killer sorta-centerpiece "Kimono Hill", somber spoken-worder for suffering specks (i.e. you) "A Bug on a Rug in a Building", and that one where she grasps that heartache and uniqueness can go hand in hand. Which is why I like when she finds her sugar bunny at the end; tho of course it's hard to tell if she really did or is just mocking those who have. 7/10

Kesha - Rainbow

Her legal dealings with predatory producer of yore Dr. Luke invoke accomplished artistic freedom and emotional scarring gettin' tackled by a determined defiance that's silly and striking and sincere. Hence Kesha seemingly on her mettle -- it surely tips the obnox+sappy scales on occasion (intentionally and un) but there's alot to appreciate bout the range and a bulk of the tunes. Country chops, breathtaking balladry, big bright punk-pep barnburners backed by Eagles of Death Metal, a clawed bare-barring-boots rolling stoner one minute and a dittier about the double-edged sword that is dating Godzilla the next, cursing aplenty, catchy as fuck. If it sounds like a somewhat ridiculous romp with a topical twist, that's prolly cuz it kinda is. There's also the hook of "Learn to Let Go" being like a hair away from Miley's "Party in the USA"; but I was aurally swayed to let it go. 6.5/10

Allan Kingdom - Lines

For a lil while there AK comes off as another surefire Kanye producer/rapper/crooner protege-of-sorts -- like Cudi without as much mope, like Travis Scott but less twisted and facepalmy. More funky and natural than both of em, really. But despite the five could-be-hits with unescapable hooks right off the bat and sweepingly discernible space+bass beat crafting, its vacuity and novicehood are eventually if not instantly glaring. Like he says, "it's all about the vibes ooo yeah". More or less other than that: late night party, comin' up, fiddling on his phone, surrounded and astounded by fucked up bitches. Like he says, "I do not really got nothin' to say / I check my balance and order a lobster and steak". Duly noted for promise tho. 6/10

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard - Flying Microtonal Banana

Kinda miss the pure fire that was brought on by the perpetual propulsion of their loopy LP from last year, but the provided variety and perma-stellar performances and this here 'microtonal' makeup still engage to the extreme. Seeing that their grooves are tight as they are effortless and this is the first of five albums they're due to discharge in 2017, I get the feeling they can make this stuff in their sleep. And yeah the stiff glued-to-the-guitar-lick vox get old quick -- but for two-to-three fuzzy rock bands' worth of sound that employs punky-plain tunefulness and old-school dusty-desert vibes with a penchant for piano+harmonica? Sleep it is, then. Plus screaming zurnas. 7.5/10

Kendrick Lamar - DAMN.

If this is heard as a letdown it's only cuz he's spoiled us so hard with exaltedly complex concepts and nonpareil narratives. And while those are thinly tacked on here via good samaritan intro and single-word-with-period song titles and a conclusive rewind, it's the motley-n-constant killin' it and relative looseness that triumphs. Kendrick is very good and versatile and noble yes yes, let's hear it for those beatmen tho: without whom having hooks that include "sexy" and "I wanna be with you" may not be as persuasive, poppin' beside Rihanna perhaps less propulsive, bangers not so charged and NBA-adopted, "Lust." not so damn uncomfortable, the reflective ones not so damn legit, feeling like God and laughing to the bank not so damn celebratory. 8.5/10

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Lancer - Mastery

Perhaps this stuff is just getting harder to stomach for me -- so sillily shrill and triumphant -- but the more palpable problem with this particular pile of power-metal not-quite-mastery is how much it suffers from blandness via aping. Helloween+Iron Maiden bitin' is immediately overt and firmly implanted, and they get stuck in a somewhat soulless by-the-book box where they don't bother to reveal much identity of their own or attempt any exciting new extremes; plus they can go pretty hard on the sillily shrill. But as with most anything speedy and vociferous and riffy and competently catchy, it offers up an enjoyable enough ride with adequate balladry-n-cooldown skillz. Also noted as relevant was the rockin' coinage of a nickname for the leaders of our "21st century corrupted supremacy" ("Freedom Eaters") followed up by the so-cold so-sad droop of us all "going down, down, down to the world unknown". But 4 real, listen up when singer-man says "former gods" on "Iscariot", then go listen to Helloween's "Twilight of the Gods". Another track name on here: "Envy of the Gods". 5/10

Jens Lekman - Life Will See You Now

Jens progressively proves himself masterful at nonchalantly merging the droll with the touching whilst perpetually painting scenes that endure -- stories here range from rigging a carnival ride with an electrician's sister to a worried-bout pal bringing his print-tumor out for beers to a hand-hold and mouthed-out "i love you" absolving all woes to a 'how we met' yarn that starts at the beginning of time to the dilemma of male friends expressing love for each other when they usually just talk about nothin'. But blowing me away each and every listen are the arrangements: peppy, pristine, bright, bold, soft done super, really downright beautiful. Too sweet, too many horns-n-handclaps, too "disco"? Agh; cheer up, listen close, face that it's a concise pop classic. "In a world of mouths I want to be an ear", he flawlessly croons on his existential 20-year flashback opener. That's great, but whatever you do plz stay a mouth. 9/10

Ravyn Lenae - Midnight Moonlight [EP]

Solid six-song mini-slab of bedtime r&b -- beats bring space-synth soothe, fitful bass and other electro-particulars, champion clacks-n-snaps. Interlude thing/half-length track for good measure. Perhaps too subtle for hits, but for the hits see the side-closers: oodles of savory flavors and lustin' for a refill. 6.5/10

Lil Yachty - Teenage Emotions

I think it's safe to say no one buys this guy when he forces a freestyle or feigns a tough-guy tude; even his ever-loving momma. But if you get through the gaggle of gag-worthy lines-o-lechery and Migos showing him up without breaking a sweat and undeniably drawn-out duration, Yachty and his bevy of beat-men can wield quite the peculiar pop power: surprisingly pliable production, cheesy crooning, youthful yelping, an affable positivity commixing with love+longing and pitiful priorities. Contrast Of Teenage Emotions: "Sent me pictures of her coochie / She said they nicknamed her Juicy / Cuz she keeps a wet pussy", "Since a young one you've always been clever / Let's grow old, rock in chairs and play checkers". But for what it's worth, my fave just goes "Harley harley harley harley harley". 6/10

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The Magnetic Fields - 50 Song Memoir

Anyone who's been aware of dry-witted magnetic pop mastermind Stephin Merritt for more than a minute should know he's also a concept connoisseur, and in celebration of turning quinquagenarian and just-himself-in-general duh, that convention continues. With each disc representing a decade's worth of life and lasting a substantial+reasonable ~30 minutes, we get a semi-crucial and humorous peek into all age chunks: skeptical yet captivated by cockroach reincarnation as punishment for bad behavior and misconstruing protests over paedocide pre-six, up past bedtime ordering disco comps off television and forming rickety "bands" during a brutal blizzard pre-high school, cultural all-nighters at Danceteria and failing/passing ethics in fabulous fashion circa academia, broke and crammed in an apartment with pals-n-pets-n-bugs in his twenties, staying faithful to his bar and an ex in his thirties, hatin' on surfin' and being misquoted in his forties, wishing he had as many solid memories as he does songs when approaching the big 5-0. Given the towering track tally and perhaps those fadin' memories, there's also of course the etceteras and goofs with varying degrees of comparable worth and autobio-centricity -- but 1999's "Sweet Lovin' Man" turning cold-blooded for 2004 and the optimistic na-na-na's for a shall-not-be-named dead creep are highlights fo sho, while the detailed 1981 synthesizer demonstration met with the careless clatter of harebrained self-deprecation ten years later kinda sums up their shtick. As does the all-around lyrical acumen. 7.5/10

Roc Marciano - Rosebudd's Revenge

A steadily dusted deliverer with low-key beats to match, Marciano's raspy murmurs give ya lots to dig into -- full-a gifted grit and wordplay, periodically fun to follow, 'aha' lines more recurrent than the 'blech' ones. But lack of variety via maintaining this motif takes its toll. A near hour of this same ol particular flow and feel, scarce and interchangeable-anyway guest spots; his therapeutic art it may be but this just gets tiresome. As do the growls. 5.5/10

Mastodon - Emperor of Sand

Those who don't want their sludge getting too catchy or approachable will likely slam it -- the brazenly pop "Show Yourself" is the sorta song that militant metalheads love to hate but secretly hum, a handful more neighbor radio-ready, there's tambourines+shakers. But as a virtuosic heavy/straightforward singalong crossover, I say it's a success and a blast to boot. Mighta been too tame and triumphant if the performances weren't still full-time rippin' and riffy, if they didn't insert impeccable detail into the easy parts, if they didn't shamelessly soar or periodically crush or integrate detours like no one's business. But alas, they're Mastodon. 8/10

Me And That Man - Songs of Love and Death

Versed death metal yeller takes a stab at straight clean-voxed blues rock that would feel fitting at a dark-n-dingy bar deep in the woods or while drivin' down some dusty graveyard-laden trails. A surprisingly successful stab I'd say, but on the whole kinda too by the numbers; compelling moodiness eventually turning strained+silly. For the singing children see "Cross My Heart and Hope to Die", for standout softie that should've been an opening theme for The Leftovers see "One Day", for Song Of Love And Death see "Shaman Blues": "She got a black pearl in her pussy / and it'll be there til the day she dies / Then I'll stick it in her mouth, honey / and spit on her vacant eyes". 5.5/10

Meek Mill - Wins & Losses

Went from cooking ray-men noodles to chowing down lobster, status as a legitimately impassioned MC overlooked for his taste in futile feuds, left to "fuck the baddest whores" following a split with Nicki Minaj/the star he'll never be, bout to begin a two-to-four in prison for violating parole: Meek knows something about wins & losses. And sure his shouty style can get shrill, but you gotta respect his refusal to be bogged down through the mess-o-guests -- resolute yet loose as ever, tricky wordsmith and hook-man when he wants to be, grittily vivid but perhaps too often gross or greedy or generic. Overt obstacle is how overstuffed it is, undeniable are the load of lavish beats and handful of true-blue bangers. Best Of Mess-O-Guests: Rick Ross and Quavo for ensuring true-blue bangers. Worst: Chris Brown and Verse Simmonds for feigning sensuality. Honorable Mention: Young Thug for most earnest display of emotion. 6.5/10

Mega Bog - Happy Together

I swear I hear a jerky-n-raucous post-punk party in there but it's so decked out in downplayed dream-state that what emanates is more like atmospheric pop rock. Which doesn't mean they ain't dynamic and bouncy and all-around dexterous as fuck -- that they are, the airy veneer just happens to add an agreeable aura of easygoing elegance. And so lovely when horns follow suit; seamlessly shoehorned into the mix with passion+purpose rather than defaulting to squawk mode. Capable of a crew as this is, their potential as of now seems deliberately buried -- many-an unnecessarily terse tune, some slipshod instrumental sections that don't add nothin' -- and though band-head Erin Birgy's vox have their quirk+charm, it'd be nice to see some more oomph in em. But hey, the effortlessly beautiful beside some keyboard stompings, not a bad synthesis. 7.5/10

Migos - Culture

Wince and shrug your way through the kinda-generics of DJ Khaled yelling about fuckboys and an enjoyable but rather vapid hit single, and eventually you'll come upon the dark and unavoidably alluring actual-culture conqueror hit single "Bad and Boujee"; stick around some more and you'll get to official barnburner "Big On Big" which sets a heavier+preferable precedent for the remainder. Lyrically they barely reside outside the ol auto tune trap-trope bubble and rarely spit a line I'd call compelling, but their triad dynamic and hot potato ad-libs and constant catchiness make ya not care too much. Certainly nice tho that when handed the big-gone-towering beats they can toughen up to them too -- after taking on the staggering "Deadz" with a splendid "UH OOO" hook and rabid back-to-back Takeoff+Offset verses, I'd say a song called "All Ass" is permissible. Especially since they close with a sincere shoutout for all of their considerate lady friends that nears sweetheart status ("Head full of hair but the cat well-groomed": aw!). Notable guest spots include a sheisty-n-shiny Gucci Mane, a coke-liced Travis Scott, and a blue cheese lovin' Lil Uzi Vert. 7/10

Mondkopf - They Fall But You Don't

It is what it is like much minimalistic sinister synth drone, but this one shines in its precise pacing and drama-inflecting efficacy. Letting these six interconnected pieces expertly escalate before your ears can result in deep dark aural pleasure, plod though it may. Easy to drown in, possible to ignore, poised enough to spellbind. The ambient dream warmth of playful keys and angel choirs on part five+finale serve as consolation-prize refreshers. 6.5/10

Mount Eerie - A Crow Looked at Me

To write it off as excessively sad-sack or musically flagging would be missing the point; and whether you're already familiar with Phil Elverum's work or he's simply a sympathetic stranger, this arrests and lingers and troubles your guts like few other albums do. A genuine-n-recent 38-year old widower with young daughter at his side, he candidly captures a morbid moment in time; their stark shift together into a cruel and changing world. And a mumbler he is no longer, hence the mentions of dust-filled jars+fridge pics replacing a palpable person and gifts from beyond the grave and transforming dying faces being more explicit than anyone should ever hope for. The result of course is so depressing it's damn near unenjoyable -- but its boldly raw bareness is painfully powerful and all-too-befitting given the sitch, not to mention stays far far away from any form of prettying up, uglying up, or melodrama. Over the top yet so not, mechanical-n-slight percussion cuz how could it not be, humble artist going from loneliness-as-cool-concept to loneliness-as-absurdly-fucked-reality: it feels haunted with zero special effects, makes you face mortality with no buffer of beaut. "Death is real", and so is this. And if you'll allow me some humor here, out of his broad discography this may be his most 'eerie' album yet -- his most important, too. 10/10

Mr. Mitch - Devout

Blippy or blissful it may be, it's difficult not to feel kinda let down by the plenitude of scant-n-slow floating-cloud production on this thing. Especially after the gently urgent "Priority" at track two, in which grimester P Money spits sincerely endearing fire about all the feelz of newfound fatherhood -- scared with no plan to blessed and content, getting called 'Dad' now the vibe provider instead of the ol drink+smoke. Though that fire winds up being a tease, those same feelz make for a charming motif that runs throughout; what with its toylike twinkles and aura of hushed adoration and baby gurgles and romantic reminiscences. A somewhat curious structuring of instrumentals and voxed stuff, too, though I'd say they're equally guilty of inducing somnolence. 6.5/10

Mutoid Man - War Moans

Yours and my favorite Smash TV-referencing super-trio sensation return for a much anticipated full-length part two; one whose growth is gainly but with mixed results. Ultimately the songwriting is no doubt upped and they further cement their standing as bodacious blenders of hardcore, metal, speed, sludge, ridiculous melodic fun, complex+ferocious crush. But other than an omg-riff here or a stupidly good guitar-strangle solo there, I get more enjoyment and energy out of their debut's dirtier directness. Brodsky's clarion chirp goin' a bit over-cheesy at times. And I love a good guitar strangle, but I'd gladly swap out one of the extra axe-guests if Wolfe did more than whimper. 7.5/10

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Nkisi - Kill [EP]

4 trax of established electro -- percussion centric, flashily haunted club synth, hyper but trancelike, bouncy but dark, panning laser worm, bit of repeato voice for good measure. And at ~15 minutes, over before you know it. 7/10

NOCHEXXX - Planet Bangs [EP]

Ah yes another EP of categorically difficult electronic etcetera that makes cool sounds but ultimately is never gonna rock your world. Trivial seems mean, captivatingly unnecessary is more like it. Could be a suspenseful score for an alien lair gone berserk or trouble in the club, engages in both gunplay and swordplay, delves into squishy techno and minimal industrial and the box of rando sound fx, doesn't forget the girl-n-robot screams. 6.5/10

Noveller - A Pink Sunset For No One

Initially was yawning through what I perceived to be drone-float indolence, eventually tho found myself rather swept away by its sneakily deep low-key lushness. With a credentials list that also contains filmmaker and affiliate of Glenn Branca's assemblages, it's no surprise that she grasps the power of stirring score-like compositions and guitar layerin' -- what is remarkable however is her sonic contributions always amounting to much more than just a moody backdrop and not yielding to austere over-orchestration. Immersive and pretty say yeah. 7/10

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Object Collection - cheap&easy OCTOBER

Was both enthralled-n-repulsed by this hawkishly un-musical musical art-school-play mania; and upon learning this is indeed a staged performance piece that only seems to include instruments for additional anarchy, color me enlightened as well. Strident scripted discourse, semi-controlled chaos to the nth degree, savage all-out 10-person scuzz-fests merging with meandering elementary dissonance, the pomposity of politics+philosophy+such in the spoken word format -- they're bent on agitation and exasperation for sure. But oh what a cast: esteemed dialoguers bursting with personality that are smart and silly and stimulating on the regz, unforgiving violin shredders that impart frantic protest participations and a lovely description of Pac-Man and 2017 as we know it/20202025. At least they know something bout thematics and flow, noise piles don't hurt neither. 8/10

Oddisee - The Iceberg

I admire his prudent positivity and punchy soul beats, his tenacious social concerns, the care taken for both lucid flows-for-days and pro-level choruses. I chuckle when he says the gender pay gap irks him more than cargo shorts, but cringe when he tacks on "yoga pants that's worn at anything that's not a sport" as well. The poppy pep can get a bit vexatious, "Waiting Outside" is an anomalous mess; but it's around when he grouses about his not-even-girlfriend choosing those good-4-nothin 'drug dealers' with 'the locks and the beards' over his wise+intelligent self that I'm left yearning for some modesty. I bet they're cool with yoga pants worn whateverwhichway. Love the fat funk drum jam sendout btw. 6.5/10

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Palberta - Bye Bye Berta

Even the most permissive post-punk pundits may find these 20 half-songs too sour and slipshod -- not that the discordant clatter and youthful yelps and hectic harmonizing aren't fun or the "Stayin' Alive" sendup ain't a hoot. As a whole however this is just frivolous gone kinda fruitless, more goof-off than gung-ho. "It's a free space", an anomalous man muses at one point. Agh, it's a bummer when those backfire. 5/10

Pallbearer - Heartless

These coffin-carrying slow+steady heavy-riff-heads aren't the macabre maulers ya may be expecting, and they certainly ain't heartless -- their melodic chops and stretches of soft and prudent performances say otherwise. Gorgeously sprawl-n-soar-n-groove they do, graceful passages that emit emotional epicness and staidly rock your face off are provided and oft-parallel. Gets ho-hum on the whole tho -- their studied arrangements and samey-paced wanderings tend to usurp the tunes+juice. As does the bleary wail-rawk vox. 6.5/10

Perc - Bitter Music

Caustic techno sprawl that drains+disorients more than it rivets. Lotsa meandering and sporadism for better or worse -- sections full-a tough well-toned thumpage to those that just hauntingly hover and sit there, the draggy derangement of sputtering subtleties and grim glitchy grindin', the loopy go-around of a bored painter who's realized the futility of appeasing an audience's suggestions as possible empathetic ethos. Physical vocal performances include Gazelle Twin's stony monosyllabicity and Aja Ireland's sulphurous "Spit". Pharmakon should take note re the latter. 5/10

Perfume Genius - No Shape

Hadreas is still a wounded warbler that's capable of awing emotionally and atmospherically, defiant with his formidable blares and seductive sashaying. And it's revitalizin' to hear him reduce the industrialized edge+dark doom and go poppier, prettier, looser; glimmers of cheer and warm harmonies and acoustic strummin' welcome sun versus the sparse and solemnities. Arrangements are curious and cragged enough to make Weyes Blood's traditional croon-contrib sound very out of place. If only that along with the rest of the second half didn't kinda just flatly float on by when compared to the first. 7/10

Pharmakon - Contact

Seeing her live in a Brooklyn dump a couple years back was a livid treat; and even though her din-pound-shriek convolutions are frank-n-nasty by nature, she has previously managed to send 'em spiraling onto planes of trancelike tumult while conveying a coherent concept and stickin' to a short timespan. This however is very uninventive and straight grates, dragging at just over a half-hour and draining after about three minutes. I'm all for disturbing via drone, but Jurassic Park raptor squawks and leaden loops kinda render it risible. ~*~meh~*~

Pissed Jeans - Why Love Now

Having gone from playing punk and scarfing sugar to anticipating a deadly diagnosis and singing the blues, an aging Matt Korvette's rude awakening serves as sick-n-sludgy commencement. Granted, the swamp-creature delivery renders it ridiculous as is, but no Pissed Jeans record could stay forlorn for long; so in come a buncha one-to-three-minute invigorators and some more important matters -- the asininity of astrology, kneecaps becoming a deal-breaker, the encouragement of sexual exploration, playing Jumble with 'ignore', being labeled a decent person just cuz of society's sad standards. Also featured is the forever jarring and perfectly performed macho rave centerpiece "I'm a Man"; suspect until determining that the raver+writer is (slowed down?) female author Lindsay Hunter satirizing it the fuck up. Punk playing and sugar scarfing still apply, btw. 8/10

Power Trip - Nightmare Logic

Nothin' really beyond the ushe as far as crossover thrash goes, but when it's this solid+spirited who cares? Punchy production that's heavy and never overdone, all-around rippin' performances, short but substantial duration -- not only a terrific hybrid of hardcore and metal, but of fun and tough too. The most these guys go goofball is when they make a trip to the executioner sound like a real hoot and even get you to empathize with him ("Even a killer has to get paid!") -- routinely however they're more on the ol impending doom/mass slaughter/perils-of-mass-complacency train, maybe kinda trite-thrash as well but sounds rather righteous these days and considerably rousing here. And they got ya both having a blast singing along to it and trying your hardest not to run amok without one mention of a party. Also included for interludial apocalyptic reinforcement are some gurgly steamrollers and robo-synths. 7.5/10

Angaleena Presley - Wrangled

She'll never be as darling as Kacey Musgraves or the perfumy-n-cosmetic gal Mama wanted -- her thankfully-thoughtful country has rock appeal first and pop appeal second albeit compels in both, rebel status patent but striving to be more reasonable. Not to say tude has therefore subsided. Opens with a pair of what could be grim Grease b-sides, then out roll those lingeringly clear-cut well-worded matters at hand: a preacher's perishment at the hands of his suspiciously wooed wife, a phony priss's blessing resulting in a nice hard smack, the blues via merch slingin' and tour travelin', the confinement+chagrin of domesticity on the particularly phenomenal title track, a vehement hootenanny called "Country" that all at once is parodic and rowdy and fit for sports arenas and has a Yelawolf rap that shouts out Sturgill Simpson. Closest you'll get to religion is being chock full-a bourbon-n-birr and opening that motel's bedside drawer. "Suck on that", indeed. 7.5/10

Priests - Nothing Feels Natural

Each of these ten trax has its own fun lil distinction whether it's a standout surf guitar loop or a deadpan-n-driving spoken word tirade or a good Cookie Monster growl or a catchy corporate-mock mantra -- but reliance on repetitive and rudimental drum+bass patterns can leave the tunes feeling weak, and said patterns usually aren't particularly novel or notable. They never quite outdo themselves in the catharsis department after the teardown/buildup/dinning dogpile of the opener, but as a succinct set of summed up post-punk routines complete with an outta-place placid interlude it's nice on the whole. If nothing else, they've got a versatile and perturbed frontwoman and are steady as fuck. 6.5/10

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Real Estate - In Mind

Polite and pristine enough to declare em prosaic, but ooo does that pristine shine and push em into no-doubt pleasant. Guitar tones in particular are all sortsa sunny-day substantial, and when dueling they channel the warmth of flowerbeds full-a dancing fireflies and wheat fields softly wafting in the breeze. Bass bouncy and expressive, drummin' crisp, temperate boyish affectations through-n-through yet centered on clever playing and down to deviate into a gradual organ-backed patch of crunch. Just the one, though. 6/10

Run the Jewels - Run the Jewels 3

El-P is the kind-uh dude who starts a verse proclaiming each new LP is his cock in a crate and ends it with a clip-o-wifey halting him from calling said cock a unicorn horn, Killer Mike the man whose mama hurls dinnerware at him for swearin' and smokin'; perhaps rightfully so. Yet as a no-plan tag team they've dealt out heavy+hectic hip-hop that's progressively more portentous-n-incensed-n-proficient with each release despite a lack of stylistic and cover-art diversity, and on this tertiary try they feel more extensive than ever. Both the topically distressed and utterly ridic are thoughtful+biting, detail and aggression fine-tuned, quite the pickin' of prominent hooks (rapid fire spell-out, generic telecaster man, barefaced "I'm the shit bitch"), an assortment of prosperous guest spots (Kamasi Washington with some sober sax for unforgotten friends in the grave, Danny Brown for the kids and xtra zaniness, ender employment of Zach De La Rocha and Nadya Tolokonnikova for xtra politi-rage.) And as a duo that's putting this out there to kick off 2017 -- "Coming soon on a new world tour / Probably play the score for the world war / At the apocalypse play the encore" -- they may be the most feasible. Additional kudos for the packaged cute lil stickers and revealing lyric sheet. 8/10

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Sacred Paws - Strike a Match

It's apparent approaching the second half of this 10-track debut that tight jangly-twang is surely their comfort schtick, and by the time ender "Getting Old" rolls around it kinda reads your mind. But rarely is their oh-so-buoyant verve not magnetic or calmly bursting with bustle -- Rachel Aggs and Eilidh Rogers make for a team to be reckoned with, not just through guitar+drummin' finesse but vocal harmonizing/anti-harmonizing as well. Simultaneously betraying each other lyrically but usually good for merging into 'woah's and 'oh's, they honey up deadpan distress in a way that's complex, catchy, and composed. As do the ska-ish horns and obedient handclaps. 8/10

Sampha - Process

As a fragile and forward-thinking English electro r&b man, James Blake comparisons abound. But Sampha dips more into varietal vigor and fuller tunes and humanness -- it's not too bleepy bloopy or overdramatic despite the initial astro-accents, he continuously confirms having what "some people call a soul" and clinches it on a too-sweet childhood-piano centerpiece. Has the wisdom to debut with a compact 10 songs/40 minutes as well as enough beat+vox smarts and authentic coy charm to hope he doesn't go robot anytime soon. 7/10

Sega Bodega - Ess B [EP]

Sports the same sounds-n-spirit that lotsa electro-alterer's minor offerings bring to the table -- nods to the club with a predilection for collaging and the cuckoo at its core, girl screams, fair amount of formlessness, deep bass thuds fused with the buzzy+bright. But I dig the mix of mischievous and meditative that it accomplishes in a sub-20-minute timeframe, the bookended dramatic string application, Shygirl's phlegmy and echo-crammed interruption preceding the reserved and echo-crammed "Bush Baby". 7/10

Shamir - Hope

Two years after this prince of puerility pop's exceptional debut comes this impetuous ah-fuck-it protest-against-music successor. Sorely missing Nick Sylvester's big ol fun+refined house beats is missing the point, but also inescapable given the soloed lazy lumpy lo-fi rock approach taken here. "Just wanna play my own way" -- of course, do your thang, let that 4-track hiss, shear it down, stray from protocol. But why not just cultivate these tunes -- and about half of em really are tunes -- into something just a bit more steadily recorded? Smooth out that misshapen shambling into something tolerable? In the moment detachment and an artist's whim can have mixed results I spose. Props for going there, but it didn't do much for a voice I kinda love/can't stand. ~*~meh~*~

Sherwood & Pinch - Man Vs. Sofa

Sherwood & Pinch are longtime dub and dubstep producers respectively; and though they lose some steam after heading into more amorphous territory this crackerjack collab seems to be down with just seeing what sticks. Rigid and sparse and oft picking unpredictable paths, but deep hypno-techno grooves kept in gear. Lotsa squeaks and ummms and static scum, brings dat bounce and knows how to make hi-hats gyrate. Hard and haunted, yet always sprinklin' in some twinkle: beautiful plain piano increasing the mystery or the Lee Perry/sunset on a beach saxophone cameo, for instance. Sparkly Xmas respects intruded on by a sour mess. And tho that bass booms finely throughout, for the trunk-totaling building leveler check ender "Gun Law"; refreshingly shouted to boot. 7.5/10

Sleaford Mods - English Tapas

Their latest rendition of minimalist rant-punk lets up a bit on the hyper ire and colorful oddities while boosting the consonance+catchiness of their fundamental beat-box and bass-man confinement. Compelling choruses and observant Brit-grit abound, but I do miss the denser diatribes of yore that provided many-a LOL puzzler line; especially upon excavation. But an engaging cleanup nonetheless, one that includes twizzled beards and fat bastards and deadlift-induced farts to boot. 7.5/10

Slowdive - Slowdive

A capital comeback in that there's no need for em to reinvent the wheel they helped invent. Each of these eight songs are worthily hefty yet light as a feather; and none go cumbersome -- grace comes via showcasing vet-status solidity over overdoing it and dose after dose of effortless bliss. They remain titans of the crystalline tone, meld dreamy slo-mo with the catchy-n-galvanic, rove through the stars and beyond, supply hazy+unintelligible sugar for that guitar-flood pill: ~20 years and it's as if they didn't miss a beat. And maybe just to refute those who think they're reliant on gazin' comes the dignified piano-led closer. Mostly intelligible, even. 9/10

The Smith Street Band - More Scared of You Than You Are of Me

Front-fella Wil Wagner's weepy romantic zeal nearly sinks em, but gotta say it's what clinches the grandness at hand here. His Aussie ass slurs swiftly+sloppily, shouts and 'woah's with all the sincerity ever hoped for in a singalong, snarls like a grump, scolds pilot smokers, pouts like a lost punk puppy, conveys a punching bag lickspittle hung up on kissing girls and not kissing girls and writing songs about those things. And he and dat Band do it up with enough explosive melodic energy to secure myself a spot in the pit if they ever come to the States -- but I must hand it to likeminded Producer Rosentock for providing this group-in-a-room recording with frills ranging from gloriously loud guitar layers and keyb scuzz to swelling strings and somber slowdowns to the imminent gang vox and Laura Stevenson appearance. Says the 28-year old who recollects being "young once" with an impossible pining: "It's just me and Chris but he's stoned as shit and passing out / That was okay once, for some reason it's sad now". 8/10

Sorority Noise - You're Not As ____ As You Think

"Cuz I've lost too many friends / So I'll say it again and again and again.." -- and that he does indeed do and do and do. Props on the upped production successfully sprinklin' in some more pretty+polish, but combined with Boucher's frank-as-fuck mope it gets to the point where it all feels so strained. Friend-of-suicider sympathizer I am, lyrically however this is nearly insufferable -- mourning tragedies and yourself is one thing, but using a chum's self-induced overdose to challenge the existence/intentions of god? Chronic oral obits for pals who've passed yet calling your animate ones mouth-breathers and threatening to disappear? Telling a concerned party to meet him in hell and then adding "It gets pretty hot where I live"? "This is the part where I'm a marathon runner and both my ankles are sprained"? And don't get me started on what's happening in heaven. 5.5/10

Soulwax - From Deewee

Vox when applicative hover around adequate or bland or corny except for maybe when they accuse ya of spewin' bullshit, their stiff and somewhat antiquated style of electro can tread there as well. But it's obvious that they're DJs first and singers second, and vocal deficiencies simply help highlight doze big ol beats: bassy-n-spacey, fat funk and drops-o-disco, nerdy and sturdy, oh and a tireless live drummer triad. 7/10

Stabscotch - Uncanny Valley

This nightmarishly sprawling and screamy punk/noise/prog/something/sludge trudge is torturous and tantalizing. Unwieldy and wild to put it lightly, forever fidgety and frequently ferocious; but for 90something jarring-ass minutes my eyes widen in awe rather than roll in exasperation -- in full band mode they go so hard+heavy it's impossible not to be impressed-n-intimidated, yet they chase such brazenly scuzzy extremes and spread the creepy basement psych so absurdly thick that it turns comical and uninhibited. Throw in some spoken word+whimpers, some glitchy ambient dream scum, a jungle tribe thing, fuckin' around on flutes like a group of 4th grade music class nuisances; and you've got quite the spectacle on your hands. Start-to-finish listens are probably best left for masochists, but considering the complexity and ceaseless surprises and intense-bizarre-fun combo? I'm on my 6th or 7th time. 8/10

Colin Stetson - All This I Do For Glory

Colin's compositions can be hypnotic or maddening or both -- between a bizarrely handled bass sax and clunky percussion and some spectral wordless 'ooo'ing, sparse rigidity-n-repetition is a take it or leave it motif. Bound to primarily draw in the tone-centric zealots and avant-jazz admirers; but brief and manageable enough to not leave normies in the dust. Plus his particular techniques are stylistically pretty apportioned: works ya in slow and seductively, hones in on hectic+dirty, stuns with softly soaring sublimity and buildups. A 13-minute closer contains all of the above. 7/10

Suda - Hives [EP]

There comes a time in every consumer's life where these EPs of enigmatic electro experimentation begin to blur. That or this just ain't very diacritical. 5.5/10

Suicide Silence - Suicide Silence

It's not their Korn+Deftones assimilation that's total crap, it's the synthetically heavy yet flat as a board production. Personally I got a kick out of the extreme-nu blend; at least until overstated screams and miserable mosh angst wear ya down -- from the opening wank solo and grunting "fuck yeah" to the impish walk-n-whistle exit they at least bring some character and chug-chug chutzpah, crude and cringy and muddled it may be. Gotta give it up for those varietal vox too. Singing funny if not sustainable, screeches deathly and close to the mic, shouts very very tough, raw being-dragged-into-hell chorus and far from the mic incoherent hardcore guy impression authentically unhinged and a hoot. 5/10

Sun Kil Moon - Common as Light and Love Are Red Valleys of Blood

Between the sternly scant+oft sterile arrangements and ludicrous leviathan length, it's officially pretty hard to give a hoot about Kozelek's meandering minutia-mumbles -- we're talking a cat versus chameleon scene; losing boxing bets and starting to burp alot; finding a shoe store; the any-thoughts of any-day events -- idly delivered. Coulda been manageable maybe if he hadn't kept a journal or read other people's letters or gone hokey artificial-vague when he ran out of ideas, but at 2+hours this feels not so much like an adventurous accomplishment and more of an intentional annoyance. Though his rifling through worldwide newsreel negativity is altogether noble, harebrained, grumbly, defiant; certainly providing some of the more notable moments, it comes off passive in the midst of mundanities and painfully period-specific. Still, he's something to behold: old DGAF dude who beautifully serenades peeps and places, paints a distinct picture, uses cute harmonies to call Trump a "huge fucking asshole" and emphasize his bowl of gazpacho back-to-back, investigates the mysterious Elisa Lam murder case and makes up his own featuring a Clapton impersonator, etc. 5.5/10

SZA - Ctrl

Voice that's collectedly erratic and loosely luscious, tightknit production team bringing consistently seemly-n-soulful dream-funk subtlety. Gets sluggish going into the second half, but SZA's selfhood is what sells it on the whole: the cheater/cheatee/cheated on, sensitive about having nobody as she is having no booty, stuck between loyal love and cursory dick+licky, a defiant and emotive 20something who yearns to be parentally presentable but'll happily bust up your headboard. Out of/very much in ctrl. 7.5/10

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Tee Grizzley - My Moment

Tee's momentous mixtape shines in that it feels proper and purposeful and tidy too; fresh-outta-jail 23-year old showcasing savvy for both hard as nails rappin' and single-ready singin'. But between the mechanically resolute flows and so-serious permanence, oh does it exhaust. And get predictable. Grim tales and acappella opener and alotta piano are bound to equal heavy, but here it just weighs on ya hard -- it says something when the funniest lines involve having ISIS on speed dial to bomb someone; the most lovey for a girl he encourages to stay in her relationship so long as they continue to fuck. Tenderness is reserved for the deceased, and reputable to boot. Voice-wise, think Kevin Gates meets Froggy Fresh. But, you know, not very funny. 6/10

Thundercat - Drunk

Whimsical warmth and playful electronix are fetching enough, tones both sharp-n-crisp and nighttime dreamy please the ear, expected jazzy verve is there but woulda liked to see it more amply utilized. For my money, the peak of this 23-track 51-minute yuck-it-up jumble comes at what may as well be the beginning, the 2 tunes/4 minutes of "Captain Stupido" and "Uh Uh". The latter a simple speedy jazz drill that shoulda lent some of its liveliness elsewhere and the former gagger-goofy as the best of em with its flatulence and meat beatin' beard combin' Beach Boys scurry. Following that, it seems like video game/internet/cat culture is catered to more than the songwriting; too many half-songs and less-than-half-songs with a bulk not making a dent. Monotonous vox, smooth-gone-shallow, garden-variety guest spots -- except for Wiz Khalifa, tho not in a good way -- his gnarly weed and red cups take the gagger-goofy crown. 6/10

Shugo Tokumaru - Toss

To call Shugo's compositions congested or erratic wouldn't be inaccurate, but it would be doin' them a disservice. Though a trusty acoustic takes precedence overall, he's a restless multi-instrumentalist and ain't afraid to show it: and even at their busiest, the coloration of his aggregations eclipse the confusion. Probably helps that his whimsy-n-warmth are infectious as heck -- dynamic fantasy pop-rock briefly plunging into a backwoods hoedown, a circuitous and condensed could-be movie score called "Cheese Eye", a stockpile of instruments tumbling out of a closet, bricolage music called "Bricolage Music", sensitive tape-hissed bedroom ruminating -- a striking-tho-tangled compound of impish and intimate. "Bricolage Music"s bricolage: bells+whistles, raspberries+farts, rapid-fire extra etceteras. 8/10

Turinn - 18 ½ Minute Gaps

Twitchy techno at its core, cloaked in muffled muck for aesthetic, creates quite the textural cosmos within its graininess and lumpy dub -- fatiguing and not much for tunes, commendable cosmos and lo-fi filter. 6.5/10

Tyler, the Creator - Flower Boy

For Tyler followers, this is surely most striking as a rewarding sophistication-fest. And not just by rejecting the rape jokes or softie singing or comin' out the shed as the gay guy he so assiduously-n-irrelevantly insisted he wasn't -- nuance, structures, and production are on a noticeably new plane. Go back to 09's 'Bastard': flow-wise and conceptually it's dogged as hell, but almost laughable how puerile and histrionic it sounds. His raps don't relay that same up-and-coming exertion as they used to and an array of guests take on alotta duty here, but this turned leaf provides a personality portrait that's more vivid and amenable than ever before. It makes his alienation+apprehension more sympathetic, the bangers broader and more bangin', the plentiful little deets worth digging for. Not bad for a scumfuck. 7/10

Tzusing - 東方不敗

Horror-tinged techno from what I can only presume is the dark dungeons of China's creepiest clubs. Its eeriness is righteous -- coercive and stark and crawly, vox/sampled vox when employed are warped or shadowy as hell, emanates a wee slice of b-movie cheese. Which, along with huge-yet-soft bass thumps aplenty stompin' out those grooves, make this fright-fest quite fun. Maybe altogether too stiff and strange to be funky, but what the hey, funky too. 7/10

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Ulver - The Assassination of Julius Caesar

Longtime shapeshifter black metal collective goes far enough down the experimental rabbit hole to arrive at the rather accessible antilogy of all-sang synth-pop; albeit retaining the dark+heavy tone-wise and thematically. No doubt these compositions are sturdy and sumptuous, symphonic flair throughout adds an air of grandeur. But really kinda hokey throughout, too. Personal prized moments are when songs venture into extended territory over historical tragedy -- i.e. the boisterous buildup of "Rolling Stone" and the smoky space-jazz of "Coming Home". Sections that are both basically vox-less, hmm. 6.5/10

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Various Artists - Club Chai Vol. 1

Humungo electro compilation boasting 21 different producers and roughly 90 minutes of material which will without a doubt tucker out and become a blur of beat-peepz. Somewhat similar to that Staycore spread I enjoyed so much last year, but this tea-team here is denser+grittier musically and team-wise too; not as much of an inclination towards light and the club; commands plenty of choice hyperactive variety without ever sounding like your average ol house-dance-whatev. Take for instance the industria-scuzzed synth-buzz+machine-guns ontop of a spectral Armenian choir leading the way for clangin-n-bangin Rihanna and Oneohtrix Point Never remixes; or the anomalous 12-minute surreal-turned-space-groove anthem-4-womanhood whose inquiry about support goes from polite request to demonic demand. Which eventually paves the way for breathy moans and movin' hips to fellatio and big ass-n-tits; oh and an impolite pussy crushing your balls. 7/10

Vermont - II

Ah sure it's feelin' sleepy and samey well before the near-hour is up, but this is the kind of active-ish ambient that serves better as a backdrop you can tune in-n-out of anyway -- deeper listens don't make it necessarily dazzle anew and do tend to make it drag moreso. But for something all bout that subtle soothe, it stays busy, provides languid melodies and firm ~feels~ throughout, and has quite the range for a subdued synth+stuff sound-set. Plus panning as pleasure source. 7/10

Vince Staples - Big Fish Theory

Thinking back, Staples sure has been buoyed by beats and buddies. And that's very verified here. Arguably this is just as much his and hip-hop's album as it is commonplace companion Kilo Kish's and inventive electronic producers -- which ultimately does make for a pretty pithy package. But with all the best hooks being via guest and not exactly alotta charisma besides, it never fully meshes. Ya do gotta love blankly braggin' bout being boring and Kendrick on top of Sophie's jerky screeching though; and of course telling the one percent/government/president to suck it on the bodacious banger that is "BagBak". 6.5/10

Visible Cloaks - Reassemblage

A bit too formless for my plain ol beat-preferring inclinations, not smooth or emotionally enthralling enough for utter ambient envelopment -- but I do dig the rather fluky fashion that these synthblipsetc. soothingly glow, squoosh, crumble, tinkle, fidget, float, ping, moan, whathaveyou; tickling the senses and tranquilizing a room without gettin' obnox or comatose. Think erratic martian spa with just a touch-o-glitch, artificial windswept exotica, and adherence to Japanese diction. 6/10

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White Reaper - The World's Best American Band

If you couldn't tell from dat title or the introductory faux audience cheers, they still ride the bratty-n-insouciant train pretty hard. Difference is now they've earned it; the cheers part at least. Most if not all 10 trax are a small step away from stadium-status punky power-pop, swaggerin' and distinguishable to boot -- making riffs+solos+hooks really count, honed performances all around, successful spectacle of solidity packed in at just over a half-hour. Tho will admit, they still got me feeling somewhat empty at the end of the day. Maybe if Esposito's tonsil-tone wasn't so treadmill. 6.5/10

Wire - Silver/Lead

Fairly certain that post-punk icons Wire are incapable of making a record that doesn't at least SOUND good, even 40 years deep with some dubious detours. This maintains that streak, but after a bright-n-exciting first few trax this just steadily sinks into the mellow and languid. A no-frills approach was rather complementary on their last one, here unfortunately it just turns into a drag; frontmen Newman and Lewis in particular refusing to reveal much of anything in the way of ardor as voxers. Proficient in tonage and contented restraint. 5.5/10

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The xx - I See You

A bit more in the way of beat-bulk is welcomed here, finding a sweet spot in between their matter-of-course cool-pop minimalism and the more dance-club ready efforts from the beat boy's recent rainbow-clad solo record. And though they still surely showcase knacks for mood+simplicity and manage a few genuine gems, this middle ground has 'em losing some distinction; vocal dueling once seducing and tired kinda gone just tired. They never repeat the iffy generics of opener "Dangerous", but more often than not plainness eclipses their enticement. My Not of choice that's also the easiest being "I Dare You", Not of choice that's also the dreamiest being "Replica" -- so it should be no surprise when I think there's more flops amid the less lively. 6.5/10

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Young Thug - Beautiful Thugger Girls

As a stab at softie singin' it's largely a success -- the beats stylistically adhere to a sumptuous degree and it's still very much full of tried-n-true goofball Thugger flow, albeit with extra emphasis on lust-n-love (mostly lust duh). Not to say it don't drag on many-a song/as a whole or get samey sorta swiftly, both qualities that last year's catalog crux 'Jeffery' evaded in spades. And while elastic verses and giddy hooks persist, they can oft come off uninspired, particularly topically and the per ushe assortment of one-liners. Freely unintelligible and creaky as ever, a lyric-look can result in unearthed gems ("She look at him like he roadkill and I turned 'round her life like I'm Dr. Phil"), but mainly confirms shrug-worthy tedium ("I want that cat like a leopard"). 6.5/10

Your Old Droog - Packs

Funny that this ol droog was initially conjectured as Nas incognito, cuz Nas hasn't come through with this much character or conspicuous lines since Illmatic. A self-claimed rap superhero and certified cancer-stick spokesman, ex-fiend who's moved onto green tea and tangerines, loss-hater whose marked references include Charizard and Redman's MTV Cribs appearance. The skits are irrelevant and terse, but verse-work and dust-grit and otherwise guests go a long way -- a prompt yarn about an impromptu cop killer is fitted with a beat just as manic and when he wants to 'rock' everyone involved ups the ante. When the beat turns into a circus, in comes ringmaster Danny Brown. The Droog is so into skill tho. Enough to know that it should take precedence over skin in the rap game, enough to think that if you don't succeed swiftly you may as well just surrender, enough to profess he's better than all of em anyway. "I'm sick of these sycophants who want to make their idols proud / I want my hero to hear me and shit his pants". We've all got dreams. 7/10

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Zeal and Ardor - Devil is Fine

Kinda comes off as a brusque draft for an ingenious amalgam, but genuinely ingenious it surely is. And seemingly sweeping at 9 tracks in ~25 minutes -- 3 of which provide amply sacrilegious interludes -- the brevity is honestly a bolster if anything. Amalgam At Hand: black black metal, anti-god straightup spirituals, Ray Charles, glitchy electro-hype, Tom Waits, crystal-laden hidden rooms in NES games, chants+chains melding with digitized double bass+scuzzy screechin'. And yep, somehow so seamlessly and righteously rousing. 8/10

Zola Jesus - Okovi

Too frigid for pop prominence yet too cautious for the guise of goth, but surely a solid middle ground is struck. Exceptionally stirring is suicide awareness coexisting with adventure advocacy; but right, on the whole it's routinely rather breathtaking. Tho its grandness does get dampened by staying stiff to a hampering degree. It'll soar, thud, rustle, drain, suck you in, maybe even life-affirm -- but I'll be damned if it don't seem inescapably vacant. 8/10

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2 Chainz - Pretty Girls Like Trap Music 7/10

A Giant Dog - Toy 9/10

Age Coin - Performance 5/10

Alvvays - Antisocialites 8/10

Antwood - Sponsored Content 5.5/10

Artificial Brain - Infrared Horizon 6.5/10

Bibio - Phantom Brickworks 5/10

Bicep - Bicep 5.5/10

Bonobo - Migration 6/10

Boris - Dear 5/10

Daniel Brandt - Eternal Something 6.5/10

Brockhampton - Saturation II 7.5/10
Brockhampton - Saturation III 6.5/10

Broken English Club - The English Beach 6/10

Bully - Losing 6/10

Bvdub - Epilogues for the End of the Sky 7.5/10

Alex Cameron - Forced Witness 7.5/10

Jefre Cantu-Ledesma - On the Echoing Green 6.5/10
Charli XCX - Pop2 9/10

Circuit des Yeux - Reaching For Indigo 6/10

Coca Leaf - Deep Marble Sunrise 6/10
Colleen - A Flame My Love, a Frequency 6/10

Com Truise - Iteration ~*~meh~*~

Mike Cooper - Raft 5/10

Denzel Curry - 13 [EP] 7/10

Pan Daijing - Lack 5/10

Richard Dawson - Peasant 8/10

Steve Earle - So You Wannabe An Outlaw 6.5/10

Elder - Reflections of a Floating World 7/10

Emptyset - Borders ~*~meh~*~

Ennanga Vision - Ennanga Vision 6/10

Enslaved - E 6.5/10

The Fall - New Facts Emerge 5/10
Fever Ray - Plunge 8.5/10
Florist - If Blue Could Be Happiness 7.5/10

Lee Gamble - Mnestic Pressure 7/10

Garoted - Abyssal Blood Sacrifices 7/10

Girlpool - Powerplant 6.5/10

Guerilla Toss - GT Ultra 7.5/10

Haim - Something to Tell You 5.5/10

Danny L Harle - 1UL [EP] 8/10
HIRS - You Can't Kill Us [EP] 8.5/10

HKE - Dragon Soul 6.5/10

Robert Hood - Paradygm Shift 7/10

Jesca Hoop - Memories Are Now 6/10

Iglooghost - Neo Wax Bloom 6/10

Integrity - Howling, for the Nightmare Shall Consume 8/10

Japanese Breakfast - Soft Sounds From Another Planet 5.5/10

Joni Void - Selfless 6/10

Kehlani - SweetSexySavage 6/10

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - Murder of the Universe 8/10

King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - Polygondwanaland 6/10

King Krule - The OOZ 5.5/10

Lingua Ignota - All Bitches Die 8/10

Kedr Livanskiy - Ariadna 7/10

Lorde - Melodrama 8/10

Machine Girl - ...Because I'm Young Arrogant and Hate Everything You... 8/10 

Mastodon - Cold Dark Place [EP] 7/10

John Maus - Screen Memories 7/10

Mark McGuire - Ideas of Beginnings ~*~meh~*~

MIKE - May God Bless Your Hustle 6.5/10

Moire - No Future 6.5/10

Kevin Morby - City Music 5.5/10

Municipal Waste - Slime and Punishment 6/10

Randy Newman - Dark Matter 8/10

Nmesh - Pharma 7/10

Oceans Ate Alaska - Hikari ~*~meh~*~

Octo Octa - Where Are We Going? 6/10

Offa Rex - The Queen of Hearts 6.5/10

OG Maco - Children of the Rage 7/10

Oso Oso - The Yunahon Mixtape 6.5/10

Overmono - Arla II [EP] 6.5/10

Oxbow - Thin Black Duke 6.5/10

Paradise Lost - Medusa 6/10

Partner - In Search of Lost Time 5.5/10

Pere Ubu - 20 Years in a Montana Missile Silo 6/10

Porcelain Raft - Microclimate 6/10

Rancid - Trouble Maker 6/10

Rapsody - Laila's Wisdom 7/10

Red Axes - The Beach Goths 5.5/10

Rina Sawayama - RINA [EP] 6.5/10

Sheer Mag - Need to Feel Your Love 7/10

Shilpa Ray - Door Girl 7/10

Showtime Goma - Smiley Face 7.5/10

Sinai Vessel - Brokenlegged 6.5/10

Sinjin Hawke - First Opus 7/10

Slugabed - Inherit the Earth 6/10

Soen - Lykaia 6/10

Omar Souleyman - To Syria, With Love 8/10

Konrad Sprenger - Stack Music 6.5/10

Steffi - World of the Waking State 7/10

Nadia Struiwigh - Lenticular 7/10

Taylor Swift - Reputation 5/10

Craig Taborn - Daylight Ghosts 6/10

Talaboman - The Night Land 5.5/10

Tall Friend - Safely Nobody's 5/10

The Black Dahlia Murder - Nightbringers 7/10

The War On Drugs - A Deeper Understanding 6/10

The World is a Beautiful Place... - Always Foreign 6.5/10

Tofubeats - Fantasy Club 6.5/10

Tornado Wallace - Lonely Planet 7/10

Toro y Moi - Boo Boo 5.5/10

Turnover - Good Nature ~*~meh~*~

Various Artists - Dys Functional Electronic Music ~*~meh~*~

Kamasi Washington - Harmony of Difference [EP] 6.5/10

Steven Wilson - To the Bone ~*~meh~*~

Chelsea Wolfe - Hiss Spun 6.5/10

Wolves in the Throne Room - Thrice Woven 6.5/10

Billy Woods - Known Unknowns 8/10