The likes of Robert Smith, Beck, St. Vincent, Elton John, 6lack, Fatoumata Diawara, and Peter Hook help pull the album away from the realm of solipsism, suggesting that even when the world is largely isolated from itself, there is still the common language of music that binds us all.

While not an essential album for fans of Big Thief, admirers of Lenker's solo work will find another reliably solid, touching set of songs here, and the instrumentals may offer ambient comfort for late, late nights or the sequestered.

The album's numerous anime references will be lost on listeners who don't follow the art form, but nearly anyone can relate to his confusion, weariness, and desire to set things back on the right path.

Folks who were expecting Lydia Loveless to be the next savior of country music may be thrown for a loop by Daughter, but anyone who wants to hear one of America's best and boldest songwriters working at the top of her game owes it to themselves to give it a careful listen.

[The E Street Band are] playing not out of a sense of hunger, but communion. This shared warmth carries Letter to You through the moments where the younger Bruce is perhaps a bit too precious and the older Springsteen is a bit too clear, turning a record that's a meditation on mortality into a celebration of what it means to be alive in the moment.

The Ascension ranks with Carrie & Lowell as his most personal and affecting work to date.

Bronson's imagination, vivid as ever, makes up for the decreasing variation in his microphone approach.

The unrelenting Dealing with Demons bears all of the hallmarks of its predecessors, including cover art that belongs on the side of the world's most sinister boogie van, but it aims for catharsis instead of apoplexy.

Intimate, sensitive, and unabashedly vulnerable, Mama's Boy is far and away their quietest and most introverted affair to date, yet it adds a depth and substance to LANY's catalog that had been lacking from their usual feel-good Gen Z anthems.

The desperation in her voice is accentuated by her close-fisted strums on (usually) an acoustic guitar, a combination that underscores how this is music made of and for isolation.

Produced and recorded with a skill that's all the more effective for its unwillingness to intrude on the band, Atlas Vending is a dazzling display of form and content that shows listeners how math rock can be effectively weaponized.

The resulting project is Headie's most complete and compelling set to date. Pulling out all the stops for an expansive statement of self, in EDNA the Tottenham great provides an impeccable portfolio of his varied sonics, concretizing his place among London's finest.

Clipped down to 40 minutes, Nobody Lives Here Anymore would have the potential to be a great album; at 77 minutes, it's quality music that somehow wears out its welcome.

Nightcap at Wits' End is the most complete articulation of their wide-reaching creative range, and stands as the their most focused and engaging work to date.

Album No. 8 is an intensely personal album that feels like Melua made it for herself first and foremost.

Regardless of the thematic angle, Ivey approaches his music with intelligence and heart, serving up concise views of both the inner and outer worlds on this very likeable sophomore set.

Throughout Someone New, on top of its hypnotic mix of the strange and familiar, Deland's vulnerable voice helps make her self-conscious, searching commentaries all the more engrossing.

Dark Hearts may not be entirely successful, but it's impossible to dismiss it as a failure thanks to the heart and soul Annie put into the lyrics and vocals. Also, not too many dance-pop artists are willing to explore the darkness that settles in once the bubble bursts, and she's to be commended for that.

This gift for distilling complex emotions into relatable songs is just as vital to Beabadoobee's music as her rapidly evolving sound, and both shine on Fake It Flowers.

A few of the album's tracks are somewhat formless and not distinctive enough to make a lasting impression, but overall, SIGN is one of the more approachable Autechre releases in quite some time, and an easier starting (or reentry) point for listeners who aren't committed enough to plunge into their headier works.

The album is a strong reaffirmation of Francis' stylistic elasticity. It covers even more territory than AlunaGeorge's preceding second album, I Remember, while coming across as more unified. Francis also challenges herself as a vocalist.

Taken together, it's a sequestered, rainy Sunday type of album with flawed, world-weary vocal performances that are laid bare by such impressionistic accompaniment.

Sundowner recalls the more relaxed and reflective moods of Morby's earlier albums.

Taken as a whole, Private Lives is the richest rock & roll Low Cut Connie have made to date and it's married to Weiner's most emotionally resonant set of songs, a combination that's both potent and moving.

True to form, Shamir continues to push boundaries as the album comes to a close with the dramatic vocals and strings of "In This Hole." Moments like this make it clear that this album isn't a simple return to pop for Shamir; it's a wide embrace of everything he can do with his music -- at this point in his career, anyway.

Róisín Machine is cohesive and spellbinding. Murphy truly is a machine in her consistent creativity, and this is a particularly well-oiled example of her brilliance.

Chronologically sequenced, it presents an alternate, semi-secret MC timeline. It starts with an upbeat Mariah Carey outtake, ends with a 2020 acoustic version of Butterfly track "Close My Eyes," and more importantly contains some prime B-sides.

The stylistic shifts can be jarring, but Taylor sells the hell out it, and in doing so manages to bring some fun into the often-dour Slipknot universe.

Long in the Tooth is easily the most complex album in the Budos Band's catalog. It succeeds because they refuse to graft on too many extras into their sonic and stylistic approach. The music here retains the band's core strength -- they incessantly rely on deep, hard-swinging, intensely delivered grooves, no matter the material.

While much of Moveys sticks to swaying, midrange tempos, they pick up the pace halfway through, on "At It Again," though the song hangs on to the, by then, well-established hazy, ruminative demeanor. Later, the ambling "Montana" incorporates slide guitar and harmonica without leaving this sighing, world-weary state.

The New OK sometimes feels uneven and precarious, which in this context is an asset rather than a failing; as a snapshot of America in October 2020, it's unnervingly accurate and devastatingly relatable, as well as a powerful set of work from a great American band.

With Sad Hunk, Jurvanen has crafted an album about reaching the age where you don't care about being cool anymore, yet he somehow manages to find ever more nuanced and inspired levels of cool musical insight in the process.

An album that's an uneasy mix of a band that's fully in control of their sound, making some good choices as they expand, but also occasionally toppling over as they overreach. It's worth checking out for the songs that work -- the group certainly haven't lost their touch when it comes to uptempo gloomy synth pop -- and the less successful moments aren't enough to sink the album entirely.

After 2016's robust but scattered Everything at Once, the focused 10 Songs is a welcome return to their early style and one of the strongest statements in their catalog.

Silver Ladders doesn't require close listening to locate its emotional currents. It's a gorgeous immersion in loneliness, solitude, and perseverance that immediately sets a mood and could soundtrack the entirety of the colder seasons.

As with any of the band's releases, this one requires extreme patience, as it can go from lengthy passages of near-stillness to unrelenting torrents of sound.

A consistently striking and highly collaborative full-length that, despite its hospitable quality, is the Griselda member's most exemplary solo release yet -- his most considered display of grim street bulletins and snarling admonitions.

Despite its overtly metaphysical esthetic, Holy Smokes Future Jokes goes down fairly easy, as the band conjure up melodies that swaddle Earley's heady yet homespun lyrics in the golden hues of breezy west coast pop and country-folk.

The record is so soft and slow it can veer into the sleepy. That wasn't a problem with Turn Up the Quiet, whose stillness was compelling, so This Dream of You winds up shining a light on the accomplishment of the final album Krall and LiPuma finished in his lifetime. Together, they knew which songs to select to create a complete listen. What remained behind is nice but not quite absorbing.

Despite the prominent guest stars and radical musical changes, Shiver's focus is always on Jónsi and his innate gift for expressing pure feeling. As he reinvents what is essential to his music, he delivers some previously unimagined thrills.

Relatable and reinvigorated, the catchy and confessional Melanie C is not only a reboot for the artist's sound, but a rebirth for the icon herself.

Overflowing with confidence, Jisoo, Jennie, Rosé, and Lisa conquer each track on The Album with their vocal ability (both singing and rapping) and effortless charm, switching up styles to offer something for every type of fan.

The resulting follow-up, Midnight Manor, finds the six-piece still cranking out riff-fueled, freewheeling rock jams about booze and women (and the music industry). ... Filler-free album.

It's clear that Working Men's Club are talented and there are a couple songs here that work as singles, but in the future they need to discover their own sound and let go of their tight grip on the past, both distant and recent.

Good Luck with Whatever is dad rock at its finest, unapologetically classicist in tone and full of a hard-won gratitude. But the way that it's also struck through with a wry sense of existential dread speaks to the group's decidedly un-dad-like ability to perfectly capture the climate of the present moment.

Detractors will rightfully point out that Free Love utilizes the same sonic architecture as its predecessors, but it's a fairly idiosyncratic template and one that Meath and Sanborn have shown great skill with over three albums now. Besides, the world always needs more dance music for introverts.

Since so much of the album's power resides in its stunning production, this set might be slightly less revelatory than some of Harvey's other demo albums. Nevertheless, die-hard fans will savor the glimpse into her creative process that To Bring You My Love: The Demos provides.

Free Humans is a dense album, with sounds stuffed into every available space and fields of ideas painstakingly arranged on each song. Both precisely calculated and boundlessly imaginative, Free Humans creates an expansive world in which Hen Ogledd can continue to sculpt their bizarre brand of pop music.

On All Thoughts Fly, von Hausswolff yearns to express the unspeakable -- that which lies not just beyond words but stands apart from them. She offers a musical authority that can only be fully realized when openly acknowledging and submitting to one's own vulnerability.

Its pop-R&B foundation is a little slicker, still tricked out with the occasional trap-styled production techniques -- probing bass, rattling percussion -- twisted just enough to not sound overdone.

While some songs are more interesting than others and some tend too close to blink-182 worship, Tickets to My Downfall succeeds more than it falters. While it would rank as a slightly above average album for any given pop-punk band, there's an added excitement in how risky this about-face is for a multi-platinum artist who could have easily turned in the same record he made last time.

It's not the sound of a group resting on their laurels, it's the sound of a band summoning their strengths with a hint of sentiment to figure out how to deal with a world gone mad.

While Versions of the Truth's second half is more subtle and laid-back, it is also more adventurous; it adds dimension and balance to an already deeply resonant outing.

While some may find the two earlier volumes more satisfying due to more dramatic presentations, the "Perfect Vision" trilogy needed Peradam's gentler, decidedly more exploratory texts of a dangerous spiritual quest and discovery to come full-circle. Framed by field-recorded eloquence, Smith's voice delivers on that potential.

There is no other album in Motorpsycho's vast catalog -- including its two companions -- that reaches these exploratory heights. For all of their ambition and excess, Motorpsycho never surrender their focus, their musicality, nor their powerful emotive directness.

At 23 tracks, there's a little something for everyone, and although A Day in a Yellow Beat could benefit from some pruning, it is not without its rewards.

As a collection, Shore emits a sense of coming through something and arriving anew with the welcome bruises that foster greater understanding and compassion.

How Ill Thy World Is Ordered would feel like a grift in lesser hands, but there's no chicanery to be found here, only solid, smart songwriting with a little bit of rock & roll peacocking tossed in for good measure.

Even though Renegade Breakdown intentionally lacks the club energy that drove much of Davidson's best-known material, it's at least as inventive and exploratory.

Carefree Theatre is a well-crafted exercise in sunny indie pop, with clean and fuzzy guitars pairing up for maximum melodic friendliness and contented harmonies keeping the music fresh and warm.

While the busy sonics and intricate wordplay of Haunted Painting mean there's a lot going on, Dupuis juggles it all with flair and heart.

Blue Hearts is a cry of purifying anger in a dark time, and its heat produces a truly necessary light; it's one of the very best solo albums Mould has given us to date.

It's a continuation of what the band did three decades earlier on ACR: MCR, which showed Weatherall and company the way forward, all the way down to the recruitment of Denise Johnson as lead vocalist.

Generations finds Butler offering up another set of passionate songs rich with complex but understated arrangements.

By the Fire isn't a drastic shift, but as Moore goes deeper into the sounds he's been exploring for decades, he uncovers new magic.

Without applying any analysis, there is much to enjoy here; their raucous energy shines just as bright, but underneath the surface Ultra Mono lacks the sparkle that made their first two records truly special.

A dizzying display of a band at peak performance.

The easy melodies and subtle singing of the title track is something new and very welcome; much of the rest of the album hits this same note of familiarity and growth, and it makes for a very satisfying listen. If Berry continues to progress and impress at this level, he might soon be known as a musician who does some acting instead of the other way around.

The songs stick to their chosen path, Wall doesn't deviate from his plaintive croon, and the stark setting starts to sound a little dull as the album lopes from one song to another.

Fittingly, it feels almost more nostalgic than modern. Young's voice quivers slightly and by supporting himself with just a guitar, he seems slightly fragile, a quality that gives these simple, straightforward covers a subtle new dimension.

Stripped of any studio sheen, the songs hearken back to the siblings' early work when they were still sculpting their heartfelt hipster hobo aesthetic.

Hard Luck Stories is evidence Richard & Linda Thompson's union was more than worthwhile. However things ended, they created something truly special, and this is as consistently excellent and rewarding as any box set of the past decade.

Blue on Blue shuts down any arguments that Simmons is a dilettante when it comes to performing; she's an artist who has made a satisfying and expressive work of art not once, but twice.

Empty Horses is an unexpected shift from a firmly established songwriter. Sprout retains the best parts of his musical personality while evolving into unfamiliar places, learning some new tricks, and spinning an excellent set of new songs in the process.

Though Cook creates both of Apple's sides ably, juxtaposing them keeps the album engaging and makes it a successful entry point to his music. Happily bridging the gap between synthetic and organic, Apple is one of Cook's most satisfying obliterations of the borders between genres, authenticity, and artifice.

While it might seem like there's a little too much going on here, the top-notch production, artistic collaboration, and devotion to the space-age vibe results in a satisfying and unexpected gem.

From radically manipulated samples to original compositions played by live musicians, no particular method suits Arrington best here. The highlights fall across the spectrum.

Find the Sun is filled with insightful, poetic lyrics that reward attention, but the overall vibe of the album is best suited for a more meditative, perhaps semi-conscious state, allowing the sounds and rhythms to wash over you.

Nas is more ruminative and measured, like he's found his stride again, even as he flagrantly contradicts himself and waylays men and women with relationship advice that rings hollow. Going strictly by the conviction and feeling in each line, King's Disease is the MC's best work since 2008.

A curious misfire that trades strength and confidence for second guessing and stylistic uncertainty.

On An Evening of New York Songs and Stories in 2019, she reminds us she's more than lived up to her promise and remains a quietly charismatic performer with plenty of songs worth hearing.

It's just as weird, fiery, hooky, strange, and avant-punk as anything they've released; the unbroken hot streak they're on continues to throw off sparks like an overheating amp that's about to catch fire.

Breach, is an inward-looking set of songs written during a deliberate period of isolation. Later recorded in Chicago with producer Brian Deck and Steve Albini, its slightly more expansive sound is evident on tracks like the lush "I, Nietzsche" and spiky "Alapathy."

Nowhere near their best effort, What Is There still manages to retain enough of the widescreen essence of its predecessors to transcend its fixation on sonic baubles.

Musically dense and emotionally candid, the risks Cults take on Host make it a grower that embellishes on their strengths with flair.

Even with the R&B-leaning roster of guests -- Jill Scott and Snoh Aalegra are also on board -- Alicia is Keys' most moderate work, seemingly hedged with an objective to appeal to as many listeners as possible. There's at least no doubting the artist's intent to heal and uplift, and she puts it across with some of her most nuanced vocals.

For all of Orca's nods to heavyhearted ennui, its expressions of despair, regret, and disappointment fail to rise above vague, superficial levels.

Thoughtfully conceived and crafted, Baudelaire & Piano is another bewitching example of what a sensitive and creative interpreter Susanna is -- she lets all the nuances of the poet's words shine through while remaining true to her own muse.

Like other Uniform records, Shame is bleak and chaotic, but feels unmistakably honest and true to life.

They work to offer yet another unruly, unpredictable dimension in Mastodon's complex musical persona. Simply put, Medium Rarities is a must for fans.

As the years of shock tactics and theatrics fade into memory, Manson's left with just the music, aging as gracefully as he can with another expertly crafted offering for the altar.

Far from a rehash of the band's previous glories, American Head feels transformational; at once magical and down-to-earth, it's the album the Flaming Lips needed to make and fans needed to hear at this point in their career.

Throughout, RE-ANIMATOR's crisp, melancholy anthems, if less colorful than prior albums, remain captivating, bringing with them an existential poignancy that lingers beyond the closer, up-tempo rocker "Violent Sun," and its apocalyptic chorus ("I wanna be there!/When the wild wave comes/And we’re swept away").

At its best, this debut is a joyful testament to coming out the other side of trauma, though at times, some of the arrangements rely a little too heavily on repetition, taking the album's title quite literally. Still, it's nice to hear Johnson step out on his own and deliver a meaningful set of songs.

Without fleeting moments of bad taste, Perry does indeed sound mature, but she's also not quite as fun. That's a conscious choice, though. Smile is intended to evoke memories of her frivolous younger days while pointing toward a sustainable pop future.

With a laid-back pace, the album's slipstream sonic quality may require a couple of listens to fully absorb, but it's well worth the effort. Gilberto has made a career of seeking adventure in her music, but her partnership with Bartlett on Agora surpasses all expectations and creative limits.

Jeff Rosenstock is a Regular Joe, something that genuinely matters, and No Dream reminds us that sometimes the right kind of ordinary guy is something very special; may he never become jaded about the music and scene he clearly loves.

Despite a personnel list that borders on audacious, Big Sean is at his best on Detroit 2 when he sounds like he's standing alone in his room giving himself a pep talk.