After a few releases that have left me cold, I was beginning to lose heart with the many variants of Acid Mothers Temple as they failed to replicate their capabilities as a live band in the studio. This sequel to 2001’s awesome In C album piqued my interest when it was first announced and I am very pleased to report that it represents a return to form for the collective. Despite the titular connection with In C, this album is a completely different kettle of fish; four pieces each blasting off in totally different directions like rockets trying to cover as much of the universe as possible.

For his first album without founding band mate Stephen Malkmus, David Berman opted to abandon the band’s signature drawling slacker-rock for something totally different: stripped-down and drawling slacker-country. Given that the best things about the Jews have always been Berman’s singularly excellent lyrics and endearingly deadpan delivery, increased intimacy could not be anything other than a great idea (especially since these are some of Silver Jews' most dark and personal songs). The Natural Bridge is David Berman's Nebraska.

Lisa Germano’s first proper album for 4AD is a rare thing: a transitional album that stands as a career highlight. Somewhere midway between the jangling folk-rock of Happiness and the woozy, melancholy piano ballads of her more current work lies this uncomfortably autobiographical and disturbing examination of disillusionment and the dark side of sexuality. While she certainly continued to write great songs after this album, she would never again be edgy, sharp-focused, or harrowing (or experimental). Of course, that is no surprise, as this sort of wrenching catharsis can only come from a dark psychological place that no one could possibly want to regularly inhabit.

The world of "electronica" arguably moves quicker than any other genre of modern music. Subgenres like trip-hop, drum n bass, grime, dubstep, IDM, are just as quickly dismissed as they are embraced. When an album like this comes along (which avoids all subgenre pigeonholing) it can easily be passed over by critical purists, but, in the long run, this characteristic can make it have an exponentially longer shelf life. Fourteen months after its release I am still—actually even more—addicted to it. This is one of my favorite albums of 2009 and possibly one of my favorite electronic albums of the last decade.

The pairing of Will Oldham and Emmett Kelly is not a new one. Kelly, as well as releasing music under the pseudonym The Cairo Gang, has been an active member of Oldham’s creative stable for a few years both on record and in his live band. Here, Kelly moves from his more background role into the spotlight as he provides the bulk of the music for this album much like Matt Sweeney’s contribution to Superwolf. Like that album, The Wonder Show of the World sits awkwardly next to Oldham’s other works; both belonging and standing apart at the same time.

Purported to be Ireland’s first noise 12" (send any refutations on a postcard to anyone but me), this EP is at least going to be one of the best even if it is not the only one. The duo of Gavin Prior and Andrew Fogarty conjure up four stellar pieces, each one covering a different aspect of noise as an expansive genre without resorting to just pushing up all the dials and leaving the microphones recording.

This Chapel Hill five piece is at least superficially crafting big, noisy rock songs, with more than a passing nod to classic grunge, but with an approach that is closer in spirit to the free jazz configurations of Ornette Coleman than any traditional metal group. With hard panned dual drums, and bass and guitar segregated to left and right channels, respectively, the result is a highly structured racket that runs the gamut of rapid fire hardcore to slow, lugubrious sludge.

Ashley Hutchings and John Kirkpatrick caused a rumpus of sorts with Morris On, an audacious electric folk treatment of Morris dancing tunes. Next they created this treasure, a project spanning about seven centuries of dance music in England. They broadened the folk-rock palate by focusing more on traditional instruments such as crumhorn, spinet and viol, and linked musical pieces with historically relevant spoken word passages read by actors such as Sarah Badel, Michael Horden and Ian Ogilvy.

This split single presents two very different takes on art damaged rhythm music. While both cuts are rooted in popular dance idioms (Dub, Afro-Beat, Drum & Bass), Urick and Willet seem more interested in demolishing genre conventions than cultivating them. They share a penchant for wobbly, amorphous productions that incite more head-scratching than ass-shaking.

Pianist Espen Eriksen’s debut album with his trio stands out but not in a good way. The insipid compositions are more at home in the background of an expensive restaurant or bar rather than on my stereo. Monotonous and emotionally detached, this collection of instrumental jazz fades into the background far too easily. The term "audio wallpaper" gets thrown about far too freely but You Had Me At Goodbye certainly deserves this classification.

This album has been sitting on a shelf for 15 years but it sounds as vital today as it would have had it seen the light of day back then. Featuring the kind of rhythm section that can be charted on the Richter scale and pose the danger of serious structural damage, this is one of the best "lost" albums to surface in recent years.

Tucked within the psychedelic and synthetic lo-fi of Shawn Reed's Night People label is an album that is as much an anomaly to the label as it is a sibling to it in its reimagining of classic sounds. Broken Water, a trio from Olympia, Washington, tap into their region's roots to dig up the blue collar crunch of a past as quickly forgotten as it was widely embraced. Whet touches every stepping stone of grunge without falling into the tar pit of predictability, not only proving rock and roll is still a powerful genre but that it can be as weird and untamed as the bands that call Night People home.

Beginnings are sacred, even for punk rockers. Whatever path they may follow later, musicians carry their formative experiences with them like a talisman. The Endtables carry that kind of sacrosanct aura. Their influence trumps any concern about style, recognition, or even competence. For a few freaks in Louisville, Kentucky circa 1979, they were the most important band on earth.

Galaktika is an album full of welcome surprises. A miasmic mish-mash of otherworldly electronica it ranges free form through a whole gamut of seductive sound. A narrative arc can be traced through the way the songs unfold sequentially while still brimming with unpredictable squelches, pitter-patter, and bizarre vapor trails. Richly layered and tightly woven it never feels too dense, but is rather evocative of the ever changing astral imagery of a serialized dream, each sound expertly placed to tantalizing effect.

Pat Maherr, the man behind this project, has assembled a large, intensely atmospheric collage exclusively from old recordings of Richard Wagner’s works. Weighed down with history, it is sometimes hard to separate Wagner’s music from the man and the events which occurred after him to which he has become linked (the rise of anti-Semitism, in case it needed spelling out). Maherr has reclaimed and reduced Wagner’s music into its barest form, only the faintest whisper of recognition remains. Yet, like the composer’s original works, this album seems to go on for an eternity.

This music was inspired by the words of Italian poet Alda Merini, institutionalized away from her family for much of her life, renowned for the unflinching honesty of her work. Years into this project, when copyright problems forced Silvia Tarozzi to create lyrics of her own, she followed Merini’s example and drew upon her own experiences and relationships mainly from 2008-2019. During this period, Tarozzi married, had a child, lost family members, and moved to another country, all of which inform this rich, varied, and deeply personal work finely balanced between firm structure and breezy abstraction.

As a longtime and somewhat obsessive fan, I am always eager to hear any new Richard Skelton project, but it is fair to say that his discography has become an increasingly varied, unpredictable, and prolifically expanding world to navigate in recent years. While I would hesitate to describe this latest release as "back to basics" or a return to form of any kind, These Charms May Be Sung Over A Wound is nevertheless an unambiguously significant album for Skelton, as it is both his first vinyl release in roughly a decade and an extremely rare departure from his own Aeolian/Corbel Stone Press imprints. As befits such an auspicious event, the album unveils yet another new stage in Skelton's restless creative evolution, expanding upon the epic scope of his recent heavy drones towards both increasingly industrial textures and a more melodic and harmonically complex sensibility than usual. While I personally welcome the latter more than the former, These Charms is easily the most ambitious and substantial stand-alone opus that Skelton has released in years.

The German language has words for nearly every complex emotion imaginable. "Weltschmerz" translates to "world-weariness" or, literally, "world pain." Einstürzende Neubauten have touched on many aspects of it throughout their multiple manifestations, but never quite as deeply and consistently as on their 40th anniversary release Alles in Allem (All in All). Formed around insights on their home city of Berlin, the album’s "schwung" expands beyond the German capital city’s borders, achieving weltschmerz twofold: the album was a collaboration for and with worldwide fans, allowing them to contribute lyrically to the album by answering questions posed by Blixa Bargeld, resulting in an album that — while retaining a presence of their home city — maintains no lyrical patriotism to any specific geographic location. Filled with edgy sounds blended with poetry, Bargeld's rich baritone, and traditional sound elements, Alles in Allem showcases their most mature compositions to date whilst maintaining their unique approach to songwriting.

This solo project from Max Ravitz has long fascinated me, as he has proven himself to be a fitfully brilliant techno producer over the years, yet his formal albums do not always play to his strengths. As a result, there is no telling where and when a brilliant new song will surface or whether that particular aesthetic will ever be revisited. And then there are occasional surprises like this latest release, wherein Ravitz unabashedly devotes himself to crafting woozy, hook-heavy dance music that will unavoidably be described as "AFX-style acid techno." Obviously, it would be hard to pick a more obvious influence than Richard James, but the idea of a non-willfully difficult Richard James who is perfectly content with crafting conventionally enjoyable hooks and grooves admittedly holds quite a lot of appeal. And it would be a mistake to paint Ravitz as an unimaginative or derivative artist: Maxyboy just happens to catch him in an atypically nostalgic and synth-centric mood (which certainly befits his recent relocation to North Carolina to work for Moog). Whether or not this poppier throwback side of Ravitz's vision sticks around is anybody’s guess, but there is no denying that he is very good at what he does and Maxyboy is an unusually strong and varied collection of songs.

Jason Molina's discography is littered with unique albums and unexpected approaches; his constant re-invention and willingness to experiment practically defines his career. But, one of my favorites is one of his cockiest and most unadorned records. Ostensibly devoted to the subject of unrequited love and its many ins and outs, Jason's third album explores a topic most writers rightfully avoid for fear of foolish sentiment and awkward cliché.