At its best, Pop Monster injects plenty of fresh ideas into the Broods' repertoire, offering a handful of confident and polished gems that could have made for a stunning album if they had just sharpened their focus. Otherwise, lackluster inclusions that echo Lorde's sophomore shift dull the effort, which distracts from the excitement that occasionally shines through.

While Deer Tick enthusiasts will smile at alternate versions, fun covers, and the spare track or two of credibly considered new originals, the casual listener should begin anywhere else in the band's storied (and often great) catalog.

Best of the lot is "Isn't That Enough," built on a loping riddim in the mold of Sly & Robbie's work on Grace Jones' cover of "Nightclubbing," though Khan is uninhibited and impassioned, as always. Even when a surplus of synthesizers, organs, and flame-throwing guitars threaten to overtake her elsewhere, she cuts straight through with full-tilt, life-affirming power.

While Father of 4 is still far more interesting and better constructed than most other Migos-related solo offerings, it re-enforces the notion that the group's chemistry is a stronger force than any one of its individual members' talents.

Snapped Ankles' wild eyed formula is better taken in one song at a time, as sitting through the entire album can quickly exhaust the senses. Even though Stunning Luxury is an overwhelming blur at times, small doses of its feral excitement can be infectious and even catchy in their own surreal way.

Abandoning sculpted hooks for rambling poetry that surges as much for punctuation as emotion is a canny move by Palmer: it forces attention on the lyrics, since the rest of the record feels deliberately amelodic. As such, There Will Be No Intermission is an album designed to demand attention, even if it doesn't necessarily command it-it's too obtuse and willful for that.

Less immediate than its predecessor, Let's Try the After still manages to engage the listener with its innovative instrumentation and serpentine melodies, and as a bite-sized sampler of where the band is headed, it more than suffices.

In shifting gears to stoke their creative flames, Within Temptation have created an immersive--if not wholly original-sounding--set of songs that play to both their strengths and weaknesses.

Appealing ideas and sounds, but the songs tend to be rather blah, suggesting that the LP's cancellation had more to do with the fact that Gaye had yet to find an album within his sessions than anything to do with it being too controversial for its time. Still, it's worth a listen to hear Gaye stretch out and figure out how to move forward: surrounded by Detroit and L.A. studio pros, he's making supple soul, even if it's not especially deep.

It's a record filled with good intentions but pitched squarely at the faithful converted.

Every track seems to hint at a grander version than what was delivered, but the loose ends and modest scale are alluring, since they appear to offer an insight into how this fiercely imaginative, quietly fearless singer/songwriter challenges herself.

They don't expand their horizons, preferring to stick to the hyper-charged British indie they minted with their 2014 debut, The Balcony.

While it's doubtful anyone is looking to Giuda for their depth of content, there is a bit of déjà vu to these ten songs which, thematic setting aside, sound very much like the band's first three albums.

Offenders and highlights aside, Here Comes the Cowboy might have been trimmed down to a solid EP or mini-album, but as a whole it just doesn't live up to the standards DeMarco set on his first three albums.

Pike's solo material is loose, scattered, and unpredictable, and while it isn't quite as focused or engrossing as his work as part of groups like Szun Waves or Triosk, the unmistakable sense of mystery makes it worth checking out.

A Fine Mess is quintessentially Interpol, almost to a fault. While it's a little undercooked compared to the songs that appeared on Marauder, the EP may still please fans wanting more of that album's vibe.

His talents as a rapper and lyricist are still stunning, and much of the production is solid, but the album ultimately feels like a one-sided conversation with an insecure friend. You love them, but kinda wish they'd just go to therapy and get back to you once they've worked some of those issues out.

Of the production teams, Vincent Pontare and Salem Al Fakir (aka Vargas & Lagola) deliver the best product, elevating "Peace of Mind," "Tough Love," and "Excuse Me Mr Sir" above the pack. A generic middle stretch is bookended by Tim's other highlights, which benefit from a group of high-profile guest stars, of which there are two clear standouts.

While the experiment works, for the most part, in tandem with Devine and Hull's always thoughtful and occasionally profound words, the album becomes formulaic as songs reliably start as acoustic song, then gradually ascend into the atmosphere.

This retro vibe is appealing and it also helps undercut whatever lingering sense of fatality hangs over the album, since it suggests that Ride Me Back Home isn't a statement, but rather just another enjoyable record in a long line of enjoyable records.

A sequel to the comparatively energized Snax, this charmingly disjointed EP of sorts--14 tracks, 25 minutes--functions as another intermediary release between Bodywash and its proper follow-up, planned for 2020

There are enough hooks in this bouquet of confusing-if-passable genre-hopping tracks to keep him on the path to future hits, but nothing comes remotely close to the lightning in a bottle of "Old Town Road"'s accidental perfection.

A substantial portion of the album is either reverential or referential to a degree that it can sound more like an exercise in homage or a licensing tactic than a distinctive work.

Return to Center can feel like a bit of a lark, but it's administered with enough gravitas that it's easy to dial into the flow.

If Down to the River isn't as adventurous or hungry or exploratory as any Allman Brothers Band album, there's nevertheless a deliberately cultivated warmth that's designed to appeal to Allman fans-and, given a shot, Down to the River may well appeal to that audience.

At times, his contemplation gets a little too meandering, and some songs fall on the wrong side of the fine line between anthemic and clichéd. Nevertheless, The Soft Cavalry is a promising debut that's held together by the emotional commitment Clarke and Goswell bring to each of its songs.

Its glassy, placid groove isn't a reflection of his blandness, but how Sheeran knows that this is the sound that defines global pop in 2019.

The band surely meant for this to be a stopgap until their next album, but rather than giving this a spin it would be more rewarding to go back to Con Todo el Mundo and enjoy its many charms instead. The ways they explore the outer reaches of dub on that album are truly exciting, while this comes off like a school assignment in comparison.

The sad country warmth of "Play the Game" and the starkly fingerpicked front half of "Soon" are soothing in their implied heartache, inviting listeners to lean in and try to untangle McMahon's lyrics through her downcast mumbling. Sadly, those same mumbled vocals sometimes become a hindrance during the slower sections of the album, distracting from the otherwise well-written songs. Still, delivery affectations aside, Salt serves as a solid introduction to this sensitive and engaging artist.

Para Mi renders some of the best elements of his songwriting into more accessible forms. Removing the layers of fuzz leaves Cuco's multi-colored songwriting in clear view, revealing an artist still finding his way. This can make for moments of awkwardness, but it also brings his endearing vulnerabilities to the forefront.

Although it elevates the value of the underrated and divisive Stay Together and houses a handful of strong earworms, Duck ranks as one of Kaiser Chiefs' weaker overall efforts.

Immunity is nothing if not consistent in providing Clairo's confessional lyrics and seemingly thematically detached vocals with a cushiony-soft landing. What she loses here in charm, she makes up for in lyrical depth and an enveloping sense of comfort, if drowsy melodies tend to waft by rather than stick around.

Nothing is as distinctive as past delights like "I Will Come Back," "Wait & See," and "Okay," but it's all sturdy and even-keeled, programmed for start-to-finish listening.

The quick changes can be jarring, but by the middle of Aokohio, the staggered flow begins to normalize and the album becomes an environment of short attention spans and choppy reflections. Rather than the sometimes-crushing statements of earlier albums, the weight of Wolf's heavy lyrics is softened by how quickly one idea blurs into the next.

Mixed results notwithstanding, This Is Not a Safe Place is further proof that these four musicians belong beside one another. They won't make the long-list for the Patrick Fitzgerald Shoegaze Poet Award, but they still create quite a sighing racket.

ICONOLOGY is a good placeholder while fans wait for the next chapter of Elliott's brilliance, but overall seems truncated and undercooked.

They fare better as a dancey new wave party band than they did emulating Joy Division on their album before this, but for all its energy and drive, Spirit World is light on truly striking songs.

The band have never made music that's sounded so modern and disconcertingly eager to please. It's a sea change that's hard to swallow, and despite the presence of some decent tracks, Wallop is the band's weakest album to date.

While lyrics stick better than hooks here, the album is not without a handful of low-key anthems (including the latter track's high-flying, Auto-Tuned "it's gonna be okay"), and the atmosphere manages to be consistently warm and inviting despite its mechanical veneer.

As a Belle & Sebastian album, Days Of The Bagold Summer may be a bit slight, but as a soundtrack it is considerably more cohesive and alluring than Storytelling, all due to the group's increased mastery of texture and feel.

Although Robertson's delivery often veers toward the hammy -- he relishes the B-movie gangsters on "Shanghai Blues" and hisses out “hardwired for sex” as if was a snake lying in the grass -- there are pleasures to be had in this upscale affair.

The musicians find a common ground within the eerie mysteries of old folk tunes and turn those strange sounds into something reassuring, if not quite comforting.

Spirit Counsel is an ambitious but focused masterwork of Moore's expansive and specific approach to experimental instrumental music.

When it's good and the band comes across as confident and focused, it feels like they made the right choice to head off into the pillowy dreamland. Other times, when a duff synth sound or a tinny drum machine lets them down, it's hard not to miss the traditional Moon Duo approach.

The record gets better when the sci-fi murk lifts and a song comes into focus, which happens more often on the second half, when Simpson relaxes enough to offer up a bit of good ZZ Top funk ("Best Clockmaker on Mars") and a blues shuffle ("Mercury in Retrograde"). But songs aren't the point of Sound & Fury. As the title makes plain, it's all about the sound and fury, noise that grabs hard and eventually softens its grip.

Love & Evol is an uneven whole. Some of it sounds more tinkered with, more assembled than played. While there is plenty of imagination woven into these tracks, one wishes for more organic cohesion between the set's independent halves.

Similarly to how grungy Gen-Xers both co-opted and rejected the music and aesthetics of their boomer parents, on Emerald Classics Swim Deep conversely embrace and slough off the remaining dust of '90s Brit-pop nostalgia. They may have been inspired by the music that was at its peak around the time they were born, but they aren't going to drown in its wake.

Starcrawler seem less like they want to lead you astray and more like they're acting out in hopes of getting their parents' attention, which isn't always good for these songs. But the music on Devour You is just raw and sweaty enough to conjure up some forgotten after-school special about falling in with the wrong crowd, and if that isn't hitting a bull's-eye for them, it's at least somewhere on the target.

It all adds up to a solid record, one that will surely appeal to Crowes fans who have no patience for Deadhead flourishes, but one that could use a little bit of flair on the edges.

Aside from a few monochromatic shades, there's not a lot of variance here and each track arrives at its four- or five-minute terminus at roughly the same languorous pace. For a project based on amorous and sensual pleasures, Cigarettes After Sex feels a little too one-dimensional.

Often, his good cheer comes across as corny, a situation accentuated by the big, bright surfaces -- it's the work of pros who are working at home, seeking only to please themselves. As the spirits are sunny and the songs tuneful, it's hard not to find What's My Name ingratiating, even though much of the album is so good-intentioned, it's silly.

The tracks do an excellent job at establishing a mood, but a lot of them don't particularly go anywhere. Leaving meaning. is a decent album, but ultimately it sounds like a sort of reset or palate cleanser that will hopefully lead up to something greater.

A sleepier song like "Blue Spring," which features pedal steel and sparse, strummed guitar, only provides contrast within a very narrow range of expression here, like when eyes adjust to dim nocturnal lighting, then notice the shadow of a stray moth.

As elegant as they are, the melodies don't easily lodge in the subconscious, but the bigger problem is that the production -- by Lynne, who plays virtually every note on the record -- is airless and precise. This dryness is a remnant of the digital age, where every element in a recording is exactly in the right place, and if it's not quite a drawback, it does mean From out of Nowhere can be a bit of an uncanny valley: it's close enough to a genuine item to satisfy, yet different enough to disarm.

Altogether is perhaps the lightest and most pop-oriented release in the band's canon, doubling down on bright guitar tones and jazzy chord voicings, and relying even more heavily on lush synth parts to augment their sound. While its feather-soft tone flirts with the smooth banality of easy listening, parts of the album are far more clever and well-structured than first impressions might suggest.

Stitched together as it is, One of the Best Yet is a priceless benefaction. Premier was no doubt compelled to see it through for himself and the memory of his deteriorated union with Guru. That regard for the Gang Starr legacy is felt throughout the set, a gratifying listen for anyone who can get past Guru's incapacity to authorize it.

There are quite a few moments where they come close to a meaningful hybrid of their past and present, some that are truly wonderful. Unfortunately, there aren't enough of these, and it's just as easy to remember Girl's misfires, questionable choices and half-baked lyrics as its successes.

Like the online living some of the rappers rail against, the album can be fatiguing with extended periods of exposure, and there's an excess of information to process.

There's a slight de-emphasis on his lyrical genius, but that's fine. It's clear that Ronnie Wood & His Wild Five love playing this music and that palpable joy makes Mad Lad a fine time.

The mood here is much bleaker than the previous album, and there's more of a feeling a desperation in Jason Molina's vocals.

Springsteen's earthy phrasing helps ground these songs and makes for an intriguing, occasionally moving complement to the main album.

The Order of Nature is a good showcase for the individual talents of Jim James and Teddy Abrams, but somehow the two halves don't always make an ideal fit, though all parties concerned certainly deserve a tip of the hat for ambition and audacity.

Williams may like to act like a bad boy but at his heart he's a sentimental cornball and, ultimately, he winds up making mawkishness seem merry on The Christmas Present.

Front-loaded with mostly forgettable trifles, the album is saved by this bountiful back-end, which plays like an early prediction of a potential greatest-hits collection.

Strictly speaking, there aren't many unheard tracks here. Everything from the Spying Through a Keyhole, Clareville Grove Demos, and The "Mercury" Demos sets are here, along with a brand-new mix of the Space Oddity album by Tony Visconti, one that restores "Conversation Piece" as part of its sequence. Setting aside the new mix of Space Oddity, that leaves 11 tracks out of 75 that are making their debut here, including several that have never been bootlegged and a couple that weren't even known to exist.

He certainly talks like he wants to make music that stands the test of time and really matters to people; if that's ever going to happen, he'll need to make records go beyond pleasant and enjoyable. Despite the handful of songs that touch of his potential for greatness, Fine Line isn't quite there yet.

For the most part, this approach works about as well as it did on their early releases, resulting in a warm but weary amalgam of the Everly Brothers' innate musicality and the Avett Brothers' homespun approachability with a touch of Elliott Smith's downcast ruminations tossed in for good measure.

R.Y.C. is scattered and uneasy, but considering its subject matter and the emotions it expresses, it seems like it couldn't have turned out any other way, so it sounds undeniably genuine.

Music to Be Murdered By sees Eminem pulling himself out of Kamikaze's wreckage somewhat, though he still falls victim to moments of willful dumbness and a tedious self-obsession that's become par for the course. On the album's best tracks, there are still hints of the fire that made Eminem a rap legend.

Bonny Light Horseman resembles a somewhat above-average indie folk effort, not at all bad but not of lasting impact. Maybe they should have messed with this stuff a bit more.

Even if the songs on Walls aren't the most distinct or memorable, they come from a place of authenticity that's genuinely heartwarming and enjoyable. Like any other settled adult, he's perfectly content to stick to the reliable and Walls winds up being the most mature and natural of the ex-1D bunch.

Delayed for over a year, Treat Myself lacks some of the effortless charm of her debut as Trainor trades her breezy singer/songwriter energy in favor of a sophisticated production style that sometimes threatens to lose her in the mix. Still, there are plenty of fun moments.

Ultimately, the outcome is similar to Drift: while the band's anything-goes spirit is admirable and their passion is unmistakable, they simply sound much better when they're rocking out, and the other songs are just not as interesting.

Landreth and Field bring out the best in one another. They are symbiotic in their restless energies and experimental visions, and have consistently delivered excellence together; Blacktop Run is no exception.

Taken together, Thumb World is the type of album that should make for an entertaining, weekend-afternoon diversion with a timely world view. Recommended for playlisting: "Bad Algebra."

An album that requires patience and willing immersion despite its relatively short length, it succeeds in transporting if not transforming.

Ultimately, Put the Shine On is a very CocoRosie album -- while it's not totally satisfying, it's another example of how they always challenge themselves and their audience.

Of the two, Ghosts V: Together is the one to help lift spirits and calm the soul, a welcome escape from the tension and paranoia of the real world.

A fluid continuation of 2018's appropriately titled No Sounds Are Out of Bounds.

Recalling names like Tomberlin and especially Julien Baker, Ellis' melodies are much less memorable than her plaintive sentiments, likely limiting Born Again's appeal to the heavyhearted.

At times it almost feels like an alternate-history tendril of pre-Kid A Radiohead that kept its groove going into the coming decades. While those layered textures, pulsing beats, and unfolding guitar loops are fine, it's EOB as a reflective acoustic singer/songwriter that provides Earth's most authentic moments.

As fine as that is, it comes from someone who is capable of better work, and though this is still recommended to fans, it's ultimately a good album from someone who has been consistently great in the past.

Where Stevens and Peel Dream go wrong is by not adding anything distinctive or interesting to the mix. All that's left is a nostalgia trip that comes across like the Rutles minus the jokes or Beatlemania minus the mania. Somehow Agitprop Alterna is even more pleasantly derivative than their first album, and that's saying a lot!

The Mother Stone falls into a busy and confusing tangle of parts that becomes exhausting after a while.

This collection is a nice gift for fans who wanted all these stray tracks gathered up in one easily accessible place and shows that Drake's cast-offs aren't far from his keepers and his minor moves are still worth following just in case he comes up with something genius. Nothing here quite rises to that level, but overall, it's a solid entry in his ever-growing catalog.

The tracks that follow are, simply put, eclectic. At times, almost frustratingly so.

While his observations on anxiety are astute, much of the record is given over to the kind of harmless romantic synth pop that does little to distinguish itself among the deluge of similarly smooth pillow talk scattered across the genre. Not quite as left-field as it wants to be, Salvat's follow-up still offers a reasonable amount of pop appeal.

The songs are carried with energy and control, and even while the influences can be glaring, Gentle Grip is so well constructed -- and so fun -- that it stands on its own.

Good Intentions is redeemed slightly by its incrementally improved production choices and impressive list of guest artists. The strongest songs on the lengthy album are those when NAV's juvenile lyrics and generic performances are enlivened by more talented artists dropping in to collaborate.

While WUNNA deserves points for its cohesiveness and impressive highs, its padding proves its downfall: the album's closing run means it remains a pick-and-mix affair, rather than a definitive statement.

Headroom's biggest strengths lie in its juxtaposition of relaxing grooves and unpredictable textures rather than in its core songwriting, but it delivers just enough of all the above to make for both compelling headphone listening or urban-afternoon ambiance.

Those days are far enough in the past to make this entire MTV Unplugged an exercise in nostalgia, a sentiment underscored by the rose-colored solo song "Once," but Liam is still in fine form, making this record an endearing and entertaining listen for anybody who shares fond memories of the glory days of Cool Britannia.

Yachty's progress mostly shows up in his drive to push his music to new places, but he takes steps backwards by overpadding Lil Boat 3 with too many similar, unnecessary tracks.

Civic Jams is comforting in a way, but it generally conveys a sense of wanting to get back into the real world and feel the thrill of discovery and the excitement of shared experiences once again.

It's not an ambitious album, nor one of Hayman's best, but it's as cozy and welcoming as its title suggests.

In attempting to strike a balance between the raw, emo-punk approach of their debut with the more streamlined indie rock of Natural, Everyday Degradation, they've revealed that their biggest problem isn't settling on an identifiable sound, it's their inability to write a truly memorable song.

First Rose of Spring is sweet and elegiac, a record that sways gently in the breeze, only picking up its pace when it's time to swing through a cover of Jimmy Dean's "Just Bummin' Around." Original songs are few and far between here.

"In Your Eyes" isn't quite tonally of piece with the rest of Rated PG but as it's one of Gabriel's most famous songs, it belongs here and helps put into perspective how so much of Gabriel's film work leans toward the artier side of the spectrum.