Ryan Gabos first cut his teeth as a music critic in 2011 with 402 Productions, for which he soon rose to the position of Editor through 2013. Since then, he has written for Good, Bad, Ugly Music Reviews, Next2Shine, and GrooveVolt. He also stays musically active, fronting the band Sotto Voce and representing one half of the punk group Hot to Trot.
Tangerine’s new EP suggests a brighter aptitude for instrumentation and arrangement than their synth pop predecessors.
Warm Drag is the authenticity yielded by a natural continuation of Paul Quattrone and Vashti Windish’s collaborative DJ sets, and the theme of this night is acid western.
Jones’s latest full-length indebts itself to his bygone friend and mentor John Fahey in a personalized sonic essay on his early teachings.
On their twenty-first record, Oh Sees remain confounding in their pace and dependability.
Aside from one breezy single, this perfunctory debut is about as catch-all as a ClipArt search result for ‘indie band.’
Joy resembles not the electric freak jam of its former, adopting instead a case of perpetual nervousness and a short fuse. Segall and Presley have bottled the essence of Dr. Jekyll transforming into Mr. Hyde.
Pram’s first release in a decade is often the score to the rumpus of ghosts in the attic after their being unleashed from a dusty music box ballerina’s stimulus.
The Switch does away with the sterility of Body/Head’s debut and seeks to better represent the group’s live sound.
Joan of Arc’s latest is a patchwork of retrospective blips that fade in and out at an almost subliminal rate, not looking to drag new meaning out of the past but rather to ensure that nothing was overlooked.
Any Day is a bold expression derived from stress and change crafted from the masters in rare form, typical form, and most importantly, new form.
Almost two years after they teased its title track, Jaala’s sophomore LP Joonya Spirit is well worth the wait.
Bewilderment over Hop Along’s latest cannot be indebted to any defined science—they just know how to wow by the cleverest and most economic means.
Beyond XXXL is made for those who love Iggy Pop’s The Idiot, but would specifically like a 45-minute reflection of “Nightclubbing.”
Revisiting Sleepyhead’s tenure on Homestead Records is as much of a trip down memory lane as it is an acid test for just how widely the gumption was spread to the more unknown sects of alternative circles at the time.
Featuring an array of guest musicians and a wide berth of ideas and styles, MoM’s latest plays out like a series of bite-sized In the Fishtank performances, each touting its own brand of curiosity.
GBV’s 25th album ensures that the frequency of their output isn’t due to phoning it in but rather the miracle of dedication.
The complicated time signatures and Matt Flegel’s snarl are still intact on the band’s third LP, yet the lack of a centerpiece may leave fans unsated.
This debut of a supergroup featuring members of Fugazi gets too caught up in the jamming aspect of band practice.
Now Only is a more focused and musically satisfying second chapter in the ongoing chronicle of Geneviève’s postmortem.
It’s 2018 and there’s a riot going on. As much as they opined, “This is it for all we know,” on last record Fade, it’s still too early to punch in their cards.
NYC indie rock veterans Sleepyhead debut a new single from the past, combining blistering drums with pleasantly fuzzed out guitars… and a slide whistle!
All at Once builds on the pop flirtations of their previous record while matching the length and bevy of ideas found on Ugly, marrying the two in a mettlesome, swaggering although humbled ultra-album.
On their third album in four years, Ought continue to be one of the most inventive bands of late, operating on the sheer ingenuity of its proprietors.
What a Time to Be Alive is a far more apt address than the one Donald Trump issued in January; it’s a State of the Union of the people, by the people, for the people.
Anna Burch’s solo debut proves that if you plug in a guitar and apply a noticeable amount of reverb somewhere within the process of recording, indie pop can indeed be quickly reduced to something anyone can do.
Jad Fair remains an overflowing fountain of wide-eyed, childlike poetry and his bandmates all craft the dependable art rock stylings that have become associated with the name over the years. “One word for it: Wow.”
Our aggressively dystopian present has collided with Tune-Yards, temporarily sapping them of their comedy. However, wit stays safely intact on their latest, and they’ve traded in their jesting aptitude for a beefed up dance engine, destined to get every last woke one of us on the floor.
Chad VanGaalen chats about his new record, balancing the roles of father and bandleader, future artistic aspirations, and why one should never Tarboz themselves.
The Wichita Flag earns much more than it sets out to achieve, and across its felicitous 15-minute runtime, Les Easterby crafts a clever riposte in the face of blindly homogenized moralism.
The first of Wichita wunderkind Les Easterby’s Black Friday EPs stems from his longstanding World Palestine outfit. It features his wonderfully typical subtle poetry and guitar-centric, asymmetrically divine compositions.
For Dwyer and company’s 20th release (and Castle Face’s 100th title overall), they’ve changed the instrumental environs and even tweaked the project name to better resemble their humble beginnings.
Stephen Wilkinson’s latest outing as Bibio is over an hour’s worth of ambient music that is sometimes somber, other times uplifting, and always sans-vocals.
Needle Paw fulfills any Hiatus Kaiyote fan’s dream of hearing an MTV Unplugged set from the foursome’s mastermind, accompanied by an autobiographical music diary.
The tortured self-searching gloom Deradoorian applies to this collection of meditative pieces prove too unsettling to be filed under “easy listening.”
The Detroit post-punk quartet’s latest LP is largely indistinguishable from its predecessors for the best reasons.
The Clientele’s first record in seven years proves that they are still inarguably capable of elegance, but occasionally lapse into obscurity, or even worse, a retreading of old ground, playing into a law of diminishing returns.
Save for a few moments of mastery, Electric Trim is a frustratingly uneven LP from modern guitar curator Lee Ranaldo.
If you’re willing – in a profoundly strange but fun way, Mountain Moves is the kind of album America needs now to begin the healing process, if that’s at all feasible.
With his sixth solo outing, VanGaalen mines his haunting production values to yield the same goofy brand of surreal yarns we know him for.
Alvvays have raised the stakes, brushing up on the handbook of pop and making the competent, forward-thinking, deceptively saccharine album they’ve been studying for.
Following several LP and song names that could double as entries in the Dungeons & Dragons Monster Manual, they now fittingly bring us Orc.
Painted Ruins is such a reversal of Shields’ instant accessibility that although genius, its palette may appear alienating to some. To quote the lyrics of member Daniel Rossen, “It’s chaos but it works.”
Just short of 11 years have passed since the last proper full-length from Keigo Oyamada’s Cornelius outfit, and after such a long gap, it’s difficult to determine whether or not his latest effort invokes more than it originates.
Melvins’ first ever double LP combines an eerie film score with a record of their traditional song-based (and naturally heavy) standard fare.
Chaz Bear’s acuity for pop showmanship hasn’t ditched out on this record, but along with the themes, the compositions sound vastly darker and more contemplative than ever before.
Tim Kinsella talks about his writing process, the decisions that go into the latest iteration of Joan of Arc’s touring setlists, and how being in a band after 20 years is becoming increasingly more manageable.
Like staring at the clock and waiting for your ninth period class to come to an end, Jason Loewenstein’s latest effort is a tight, fast assortment of controlled chaos that rings that bell to set you loose.
Ti Amo is the aural equivalent of a by all means successful – and at times particularly elating – booze cruise.
Coffman’s debut strips itself of any self-pity, granting universal empathy and a countering effect to the notion that it’s a breakup album and nothing more.
Now fourteen albums deep, Andrew Rieger, Laura Carter, and company are still endlessly dedicated to crafting power pop via fuzzy, chugging powerhouse or wistful, shimmering acoustic number.