Stretching their signature sound to its abstract extremes, the Montreal doomers construct chilly, majestic settings for classic poetry and original lyrics.
With Flora Ocean Tiger Bloom, Ubovich offers a resounding reaffirmation that psych-rock is forever, even if the escape it provides from our cruel world is ultimately temporary.
The Toronto jangle-pop duo doesn’t attempt to upset the winning formula established on its 2021 debut; it just executes the same bittersweet moves with even more militaristic precision.
The garage rock auteur’s latest is a mid-career standout full of gunky riffs and tender love.
Swervedriver’s Adam Franklin reintroduces his solo project’s backing band as an amorphous collective; their largely instrumental album pairs psychedelic instincts with cinematic aims.
On his third solo album, the former Foxygen player indulges his mischievous instincts while mourning dead friends.
On Slice, O. are already in the enviable position of possessing both a signature aesthetic and the confidence to stretch it out without worrying about losing their sense of identity.
Newly reissued and remastered, the Gallagher brothers’ 1998 B-sides collection remains a smartly curated, thoughtfully sequenced set that stands among their finest work.
Vancouver’s atmospheric noisemakers team up with Norwegian dream-pop artist Tuvaband, whose luminous voice brings focus to the group’s sprawling avant-prog.
The band’s imposing, precarious new album cements them in a history of North Carolina bands making thrilling indie rock.
On their first album in nearly a decade, and following a wave of viral resurgence, the NYC avant-rock vets return with their warmest, most welcoming music yet.
A new compendium of music Lou Barlow and John Davis created for the 1995 cult film Kids brings a piece of prescient indie rock experimentation—and sleeper hit “Natural One”—to streaming in full.
Dissolving three decades of music into a 17-song noise opera, this pivotal live album captures a peerless set from a band who knew its days were numbered.
The Toronto band’s debut album brightly blurs the line between ’60s psych pop and ’90s dream pop, but its lyrical preoccupations are much darker in tone.
The Wand frontman’s third solo album offers a funhouse-mirror take on classic rock, combining surreal lyrical vignettes and laid-back delivery with incendiary guitar shredding.
The Mael brothers are riding high. Their 26th album strikes the ideal Sparksian balance of madcap melody, labyrinthine arrangement, and stinging social satire.
With an unpredictable, amorphous shoegaze sound, the Indigenous Canadian musician crafts their most opaque and open-hearted work.
Over a three-night stand in London last December, the UK group evolved from rousing post-punks to an irreverent dinner-theater act. Yet the soundtrack of all-new songs feels like a natural evolution.
Working with pop architect Andrew Watt, the agelessly incendiary rocker unfurls a parade of timeless archetypes: profane punk, seedy crooner, lovable curmudgeon. It’s Iggy Pop as jukebox musical.
Changes is the most subdued and modest record of the Gizzard’s October harvest.
Even when removed from their site-specific function, the two pieces on Laminated Denim stay true to their original mission: They each make 15 minutes go by in a breeze.
Certainly, this is one of their loosest, most sprawling records, with almost every track exceeding seven minutes; on the other hand, even the most outré odysseys are less a product of improvisation than intricate arrangement.
Produced by Wolf Parade’s Dan Boeckner, the latest from the Toronto band accompanies manic, referential lyrics with neon-tinted, futurist power-pop.
Even with the help of outside songwriters and ZZ Top’s Billy Gibbons, the blues-rock duo can’t help reverting to the same old same old.
Dusting off practice-room staples and writing more new songs to go with them, the hyper-prolific Aussie rockers scrap their conceptual inclinations in favor of shredding for the sheer pleasure of it.