Daniel Lopatin’s most evocative record to date is also his most delightfully absurd.
Claire Boucher isn’t trying to save music. She’s trying to get lost in it.
The Detroit band’s third album in four years is a much deserved encore.
It’s remarkable that the San Francisco group could turn on a dime like this.
The English veterans deliver a rare late era LP that blossoms with life.
Virginia quintet deliver a minor masterpiece and the year’s finest doom metal offering so far.
An audacious, 93-minute rock opera that wants to be read as a text — and deserves to be.
Australian rockers’ latest sets up as a self-aware saunter of R&B grooves for the downtown club.
A year after Benji, Mark Kozelek struggles through love and loss in the present tense.
A phenomenally poised and universally approachable solo debut.
Mackenzie Scott’s second album as Torres threatens to swallow you whole with its conviction.
The band that once lived in your television now lives on vinyl.
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