The LP is joyously nostalgic, decked with strings, horns, and a trio of background vocalists including secret weapon Sy Smith.

"Jingle Bells (In Memory of Avicii)" doesn't fit the vibe and it carries only trace elements of the titular holiday standard, so it stops the party cold halfway through. Cut this track out and Happy Xmas delivers some cheery Christmas vibes.

Heartache, triumph, anger, and resolution all feel reported on from behind a melting wall of ice, drowned out ever so slightly by the sound of a late-night party raging somewhere in the distance.

The album doesn't seek any big answers to make sense of a pointless death, but profoundly chronicles Saba's jagged path through the heartache as life continues.

Days after the album was released, she turned 27, yet she already sounds like a seasoned professional, and the immaculately crafted Room 25 is highly mature and immensely enjoyable. Simply remarkable.

It seems that Gardner has found his calling as a psychedelic spaceman, and Somnium is a laid-back delight that's a perfect soundtrack for inner flights and star-filled nights alike.

Ora delivered a confident pop gem that stands tall on its own.

Essentially, the album is business as usual for Laibach, which means that if you're in on their grand scheme, it's another exquisitely orchestrated laugh riot.

Chris Cornell is a reverential capstone that charts the tortured artist's highs and lows, providing an ideal first step for anyone wishing to dive deeper into the impressive catalog of one of rock's loudest and most emotive voices.

Stardust Birthday Party is not always what one would have expected from Ron Gallo on the basis of his previous work, and for the most part that works in its favor; this is passionate and exciting music, thoughtful but never staid, and it shows Gallo to be an artist with some surprises up his sleeve.

While it's easily the most accessible material from the project to date, a few listens will reveal that it's every bit as chaotic as their early outsider sounds.

At its best, My Name Is Safe in Your Mouth is a hauntingly lovely reintroduction to an underrated talent.

By combining the autobiographical perspective of their earliest work with the flexible sounds of their later albums, Powerhouse showcases the entire scope of Planningtorock's music--and the results are moving in more ways than one.

The mysteries of love, life, and the world are broached with a light yet nevertheless unshakeable touch on Faithful Fairy Harmony. Foster has made a record that feels like a psychic connection to inner worlds as well as an outer one, and the visions she summons are at once vivid and rarified.

The previously released portion of the compilation, significantly less than half of its 36 selections, all dates from 2010-2017, an era represented with Teebs and TOKiMONSTA's warped beatmaking, Daedelus' MPB-tinged folk, Martyn's pellet-spraying U.K. garage mutation, and disparate varieties of funk from Mono/Poly and bass god Thundercat. ... Among the other exclusives and glimpses officially issued first through this set are Thundercat's trippy "King of the Hill" (with BadBadNotGood), Miguel Atwood-Ferguson's sublime "Kazaru," and Moiré's Prescription-meets-Dial beauty "Lisbon," progressive slices of soul, jazz, and house.

Walker plays it exceedingly straight, even when he's delivering good-time numbers like "Kit Kat Jam." This po-faced sincerity winds up underscoring Walker's debt to Dave Matthews Band--they now seem like a clear influence on his adventurous folk-jazz--while also highlighting the imagination behind the original set of songs.

No songs are highly energized, but Carey sounds like she's deriving joy from each one.

As alluring as his spooky, skeletal arrangements are--steel guitars are used as howling accents, not solos; he occasionally gooses his band to follow a train track rhythm, but is usually content picking out support on his hollow acoustic--it's Wall's concrete sense of time and place that gives Songs of the Plains an unusual resonance.

Despite FM!'s brevity, Staples jams so much into every bar that it fully satiates, all while still managing to end so abruptly that it comes as a surprise. The electrifying thrill of FM! is a triumph for the rapper who remains at the top of his game.

This Is My Dinner isn't a radical departure from the albums Kozelek has been pumping out since Benji, but it's clear evidence of how tedious and self-indulgent his style has become.

There's much to admire in This One's for the Dancer & This One's for the Dancer's Bouquet, but the good ideas don't always sustain themselves in the execution, and perhaps the coming Spencer Krug projects will reflect a concision and clarity of focus that is not always apparent here.

Despite--or perhaps because of--its brevity (just over 30 minutes), El Mal Querer is arresting in its tension, passion, and creative ingenuity.

A somewhat lengthy collection, the album does tend to drag a little in its second half and while there are no outright duds, a bit of editing might have turned a strong 14-track outing into an excellent ten or 12-track one.

This kind of well-manicured production, when paired with a series of songs focused on internal journeys, ultimately has a lulling effect. There is a pulse, but it's soft and turned electronic. There is emotion, but it's been intentionally encased in a digital cocoon, one that flattens the group's bold accents (such as an embrace of vocoders) and turns Delta into soft, shimmering background music, ideal for any soothing setting you'd like.

Corgan delivers something unexpected: music that's rich but settled, music that plays to his strengths, music where he seems happy in his own skin.

Lynch and Badalamenti aficionados will no doubt revel in its many strange charms, but perhaps above all, they'll appreciate the sound of two old friends having a great deal of mischievous fun.

Black Velvet is a collection of odds and ends and not a proper album, and sometimes it sounds that way as it moves from track to track. But it is full of the heart, soul, and spirit that Charles Bradley summoned every time he stood before a microphone, and this is a moving reminder of how much he gave us, and how much we have lost.

Ghost Forests offers listeners an expansive offering of the duo's strengths in improvisation, songwriting, and interpretation. Yet, for its considerable imagination and creativity, there is also an elegant restraint that allows listeners access to an interior world of sound and poetry perhaps previously unimagined.

B.E.D, is a delight. The performers work to fit their individual skills into a cohesive unit.

With some of the best and most interesting flashes of library music's colossal archives, Unusual Sounds offers a look at an arcane avenue of music that will engage those previously unfamiliar and well-versed fans.

As a vocalist and songwriter, Miller is in solid form here, though as with most of his solo work, this lacks a bit of the heart and soul he brings to the Old 97's. But The Messenger has a stronger individual personality that most of Miller's solo work, and he and Sam Cohen make a good team in the studio.

Lover Chanting--the band's first release for underground stalwarts Ninja Tune -- maintained the productivity with three new songs.

There's both a sadness and warmth to Streisand's performances on Walls that befits the album's subject matter and speaks to her own ability to communicate to, and often for, her audience.

He might have made an album that doesn't follow the Blues Explosion's template so clearly. If you dig Jon Spencer, you'll have a good time with Spencer Sings the Hits. But probably not as great a time as you had with him before.

Only the less impressive closing song "Fingers" sounds primed for mass appeal with traditional hooks. More compelling are the moments that showcase Lil Peep's unique relationship with self-expression and self-destruction. His delivery, lyrical choices, and sincere examination of difficult feelings seemed curious when he was alive, but take on a profound significance in the pallid wake of his death.

As good as Martin's remix is--it may not be as revelatory as his stereo remix of Sgt. Pepper in 2017, but it does manage the trick of sounding rich and bold without betraying the feel of the original--the real appeal of this deluxe reissue is the unreleased material, all presented in sparkling fidelity. This high fidelity is especially welcome on the Esher demos. ... Taken on their own, the session tapes are absorbing listening, but they also have the side effect of making the finished The Beatles not seem like a mess, but rather a deft, cleverly constructed album that accurately reflects the abundant creativity of these sessions.

Holy Hell is both a teardown and a rebuild, and while it isn't always an easy listen, there is some hard-won catharsis to be found in its attempt to distill the messiness of grief into four-minute blasts of sonic demolition.

The group takes pains to be able to fit onto every kind of playlist imaginable: rock, pop, electronic, soul-any popular sound that can be sculpted and shaped by a streaming service. As such, listening to Origins uncannily re-creates what it's like to experience-or maybe more accurately, consume-popular rock-oriented music in 2018: everything sounds vaguely familiar, vaguely connected, all designed to function as a soundtrack to whatever task you'd like.

Elastic Days is another example of the strength and confidence he's gained from turning down the volume.

When combined with the gut-level hooks, this barbed wit results in a record that's simultaneously immediate and enduring: the first listen demands attention, but it's the left turns, in both the lyrics and melodies, that makes Bought To Rot so satisfying.

Taken in as a small cache of excellent songs by three of the more talented songwriters of their era, Boygenius is a wonderful starting point, setting the scene for future collaborations that push into places each member couldn't get to on her own.

While Simulation Theory might appear to be overly polished mainstream trickery--all part of the simulation!--it's purely Muse at heart, successfully merging electronic-pop songcraft with their typically urgent, stadium rock foundation.

Listen underneath that gloss, and it's possible to hear Davies working out his ideas in a space free from the spotlight. Such seclusion may have meant he wasn't as focused to deliver songs with pop aspirations, the way he was in the '60s, but that's also the appeal of the collection: it's a polished version of a notebook from a strong writer, so it's by nature fascinating for anybody interested in the music of Dave Davies.

If Only There Was a River rewards return listens with a deepening flow of new revelations and curiosities, as the power of the songs grows more apparent with each spin.

Time 'n' Place might not be quite as cohesive as Bonito Generation, but it offers a fuller portrait of Kero Kero Bonito's music without losing any of the spark that makes them special.

What makes Interstate Gospel so invigorating is hearing how Lambert, Monroe, and Presley mesh as both songwriters and singers. Their time apart has only strengthened their bond, resulting in a fully realized and resonant record that is their best to date.

Negative Capability is a testament to her journey and what it has taught her, and it reminds us she's still a talent capable of drawing our attention.

Ultraviolet is a remarkable album that blurs the lines between jazz improvisation, modern composition, and ambient electronic music, forming its own musical language.

By any measure, More Blood, More Tracks is a monumentally important document in the history of popular music and a gem in Dylan's catalog.

She Remembers Everything is a challenging and rewarding set from an artist who is at the peak of her abilities, and if anyone needs to be reminded that Rosanne Cash is one of America's best and smartest songwriters, all they need to do is spend some time with these songs.

The album is charmingly pretentious, confounding, and a good time all at once. Closer "Pebbles" is the only song here borrowed from their debut EP, Gothenburg, released six months earlier.

The release feels like what could've been, whereas Centres actually was, but it's still a beautiful, mystifying recording.

As an unofficial soundtrack for ritual madness, religious ecstasy, sex, winemaking, and song, Dionysus excels.

This may be familiar to the dedicated whose allegiance never wavered, but for those who believed R.E.M. faltered after Berry's departure, R.E.M. at the BBC is a gateway into the band's last act.

While familiar-sounding, the soundtrack brings something new to the table instead of being a pointless retread, and in general, it just sounds amazing. Definitely worthwhile for any Carpenter or Halloween fans.

Yawn, too, has its moments of beauty and craft, but the payoffs are so subtle and slow to arrive that its title becomes the regrettably inevitable reaction.

Through a Wall is as smart, powerful, and articulate--or simply as good--as punk rock gets in the 2010s.

Even though No Tourists is yet another same-sounding entry in the Prodigy's late-era discography, it's also another satisfying dose of thrills designed to wreck the dancefloor and the mosh pit.

Self-aware and unrepentant, the Struts succeed where other artists who look to the past often fail, in large part because, like the Darkness before them, they possess both pop smarts and considerable amounts of moxie.

Only with "Who Want the Smoke?" does the first half rise above the preceding album, yet Yachty's the third wheel, eclipsed by verses from Cardi B and Offset. He's more at ease on the lightheaded "melodic" tracks of the latter half, back to goofy-vulgar observations, musical crib-mobile melodies, and occasional openhearted moments that sound natural rather than forced.

Unlike similarly conceived recordings, this doesn't act as a pleasant backdrop for engaging in other activities; instead, it quietly refuses revelation without active participation from the listener.

Steeped in the lurching, groove-laden thrash attack of the band's late-'90s/early-2000s heyday, Ritual evokes the savagery of Cavalera's tenure with Sepultura, eschewing some of the more overt world music predilections that have come to define Soulfly over the years with something leaner and more uncompromising.

Always in Between might lack the momentum that helped Glynne's debut propel her to the top of the charts, but it offers enough highlights for a fun listen.

It might not quite hit the heights on a consistent level like Writer's Block or have the emotional power of Living Thing, but Darker Days proves that the band are back on the right track.

Although not for the casual music listener, the song ["Legacy of Neglect"] and the album work not only because of Leonard's good melodic and dramatic instincts, but because he is equally charismatic with both quiet acoustic song and outraged, off-balance rock. In this way, the album's riveting album rock-slash-exasperated art rock is reminiscent of figures like Bowie and Reed while remaining completely idiosyncratic.

This is a Western album where ghost towns stand silent and the stars shine bright at night, but the heroes don't so much ride off into the sunset as sink into a shimmering haze of a late-afternoon mirage.

Traversa is sumptuous background music that can brighten the mood or simply soothe the soul.

Segall didn't write any of the songs on Fudge Sandwich, but these performances are as much his as anything that's come from his pen, and if you still need to be convinced that he's one of the freest and most adventurous minds in contemporary rock & roll, this might just do the trick.

Robyn continues to make the trends instead of following them, and with Honey, she enters her forties with some of her most emotionally satisfying and musically innovative music.

Altogether, Suspiria is an appropriate accompaniment to the film, generating fear and discomfort as much by what's presented by Yorke as what's left to the imagination.

On Aviary, Holter answers the chaos of 21st century life by following her bliss; the results are a constellation of moments that celebrate the fullness of her music and, as always, make for fascinating listening.

The set provides both reliably dreamy background grooves and, for the more attentive listener, frequent moments of discovery, making it seem more cutting edge than throwback despite its main inspirations.

A thoughtfully curated soundtrack, Bohemian Rhapsody offers a compelling narrative of Queen's storied arc into rock legend.

Overall, IC-01 Hanoi is interesting and shows that the band does have impressive range, but it's not quite an essential piece of the UMO puzzle.

Live from the Ryman doesn't change what you already know about Jason Isbell as a writer or a performer, but as a document of his many strengths, it's powerful and thoroughly entertaining, and is one more reminder that he's as smart and gifted as any songwriter at work today--and he can work the crowd like nobody's business.

At its best, which it often is, Here If You Listen plays like a hybrid of Steely Dan, Joni Mitchell and CSN, a combination that is soothing and surprising in equal measure. It's an album that confirms that Crosby is at an unexpected and satisfying latter-day creative peak.

Her most varied and generous LP yet.

Occasionally, MassEducation borders on being too stark for its own good, but the songs hold their power in this unvarnished setting.

Forever Neverland contains enough catchy moments to warrant a listen, but mostly remains fodder for de rigueur 2010s alt-pop playlists.

Five albums in, Cloud Nothings version of maturing is to go harder and louder than ever--and they sound all the better for it.

Few bands have the courage to trust fully in it and/or in their ability to not only maintain but give heart and texture to it, but Cave do, and the result is riveting. Allways is their warmest-sounding record to date, and its Delphic charms are a pleasure to get lost in.

A Wonderful Beast feels more like a partially successful experiment than a fully realized meeting of the minds, but Johnson, Carney, and Branch complement one another better than one might expect, and this shows Johnson is still game to try new things and push the boundaries of his musical comfort zone.

T.I. is joined by a long list of high-profile guests, including Sam Hook on the gospel-kissed "Seasons"; Young Thug and Swizz Beatz on the moving "The Weekend"; and Anderson .Paak on the booming R&B-trap hybrid "At Least I Know." Triumphant album highlight "More & More" with Jeezy harkens back to T.I.'s 2000s sound, a booming, bass-heavy anthem that recalls his early hit "What You Know" and P$C's "I'm a King."

Blasting through 11 songs in less than half-an-hour, Pre Strike Sweep never settles into one mode or frame of reference for long. Instead, the album drags and scrapes itself into being for its entire duration, angry and bleeding and looking for new angles with every new riff, crash, and tortured scream.

An inventive way of uniting her body of work, Warzone furthers her legacy as a promoter of peace and understanding.

On ["Love Means Taking Action"] and throughout The Anteroom, Krell sounds revitalized; by revisiting his noise-drenched past with the experience he's gained since then, he delivers an album that's just as impressionistic as his early work, and possibly even more adventurous.

There's nothing rebellious about the music and not much natural, either--but its immaculate anodyne tones are soothing, and that's superficially pleasing, even if it doesn't remotely seem attached to the Richard Ashcroft of lore.

Cherry's songs here are deeply meditative, often implying or directly expressing sorrow regarding planetary afflictions rooted in fear.

Where it differs from the debut is in lyrics that are heartfelt but deliberately less personal than Me.

Its sonic audacity is so bracing, it's relatively easy to forgive the lyrical stumbles, which crystallize on the dirty puns of "It Girl," but that's nearly beside the point because, unlike Love Stuff, Shake the Spirit never seems indebted to Elle King's idols. Instead, it embodies her own bold, bawdy heart.

Jake may be the weak link, but he merely reveals how the whole band seem to have learned their moves from watching late-night concerts on Palladium while buying pre-worn vintage-styled T's at Urban Outfitters. For the band and audience alike, Greta Van Fleet is nothing more than cosplay of the highest order.

Wasteland is another example of Uncle Acid's genius, and more evidence that they are the best metal band (apart from Black Sabbath) of the early '70s.

It's quaint yet enjoyable but doesn't deliver the same power or joie de vivre of its far more boisterous predecessor.

Quavo Huncho is enjoyable but unmemorable. It's not quite a Migos album, but it comes close enough to tide fans over until album number four.

Wwhile it's hard to argue that Evolution lives up to its moniker, the familiarity of the architecture is lent considerable gravitas by the overall execution, which as per usual, leaves nothing but perspiration in its wake.

Lyrics like the closer's "No more listening today" and "No one left here today" may apply to some returning fans, but the invigorated approach to production, arrangements, and, in many cases, performances makes for a still highly listenable set that's at least as likely to excite as to challenge.

Flourishes, along with Kelly's sharply honed wit, keep the otherwise moody and slow Dying Star from seeming somnolent, and they're enough to help steer attention away from the album's appealing nocturnal sheen and to the songcraft, which is sturdy and enduring.