The amiable quality of his lyrics and his enduring melodicism are in full effect on The Last Rider, which is notable in the Sexsmith canon for being the first record to employ his long-tenured touring band, a whip-smart quartet of tone-savvy sidemen who for many years have faithfully adapted the minute details of his many releases for the stage.

A splendid work from a wildly underrated artist, Tara Jane O'Neil is an ideal album for the end of the day, or anytime you need to immerse yourself in something that's clear and beautiful.

Whether the duo plan to work this way in the future or not, 2016 Atomized documents a year when they successfully rebooted their sound and opened up their future to all kinds of possibilities.

If you're in the market for an album that will summon the dark atmospheres, Death Song certainly delivers the goods, and it demonstrates that the Black Angels slowly but surely improve each time they go into the studio.

Hitchcock has settled into a sort of seasoned eccentricity, and this economical, late career gem proves that he's still got plenty of Madcap Laughs left in the hopper.

Ultimately, while the album may not hit with the rockabilly wallop that marked the best of her previous work, Life. Love. Flesh. Blood is nonetheless a sophisticated and gorgeously rendered album.

It contains some of Lamar's best writing and performances, revealing his evolving complexity and versatility as a soul-baring lyricist and dynamic rapper.

Fully maintaining the trademark Gas sound while adding new dimensions, Narkopop couldn't be a more welcome return.

The Search for Everything succeeds because he's not donning a new costume: instead, he's settling into a groove he can claim as his own, and it feels like he's at home.

With one quick spin, it's clear that it was a move he needed to make and he did it with all the flair and style of a true sonic wizard. It was always a known factor that Lerche could write songs that could break a heart--and suddenly he can wrap them in sounds that will thrill and amaze.

Once the sweetly hazy vibe dissipates, the songs reveal their sturdy structures, and they're the reason why Tenderheart rewards repeated listens.

The juxtaposition of pretty janglers, moodily melancholy ballads, and tough rockers makes the album the richest Cairo Gang record to date. Credit to Segall for helping out, but Untouchable is Kelly's show and while it won't make anyone forget the Byrds or Love, any song from the album would sound pitch-perfect on a playlist next to either band's best work, and that's really saying something.

Tthis is a surprisingly listenable and emotive album, layering a wall of guitars, pounding drums, atmospheric textures, and a decent mix of bloody screaming and gang choruses.

On The World's Best American Band, White Reaper knock it out of the park, drive over it in a noisy Mustang, and deliver nothing but a good time.

Toxic City Music is a truly daring, captivating release, and possibly Caminiti's best solo work yet.

They take a decidedly psychedelic approach on songs like "Through Windows" and the impenetrable "The C Is A B A G" ("and the sky has a film"), but a knack for sunny tunes and an off-kilter delivery keep everything sounding like themselves.

On the whole, L.A. Divine is a little less consistent than Hold My Home; the band's relentless intensity can get a bit exhausting, while the interludes sprinkled throughout the album feel more distracting than transporting.

As precise as ever yet oddly moving, Silver/Lead reaffirms that Wire are more like mercury, shape-shifting effortlessly while remaining true to the things that have always made them great.

The album sounds huge and intimate at the same time.

The Far Field isn't a failure or a misstep, since there are so many good songs and their basic sound is still so strong. It's a shame that the band and Congleton felt the need to pretty things up, to make them sound more sophisticated and domesticated. It means that despite Herring's bravura performance, the album feels like a watered-down and lesser version of Singles.

Belong manages to strike a nice balance between San Fermin's musical theater/experimental rock predilections and their emerging pop ambitions, and while there's still a lot to chew on, the taste has grown significantly sweeter.

With a full set that rivals their best songs to date without significant reinvention, it's a must for fans and great place to start for the uninitiated.

Ultimately, there's nothing careless about Careless People, and Charlotte OC has crafted a smartly paced album that builds slowly and holds out some of its best moments for the latter half.

Through musical discipline, a poetic sense of self-expression, emotional honesty, and rigorous intellectual curiosity, Ulver reveal not only what remains possible in synth pop creatively, but the aesthetic abundance that was there all along.

It's compelling stuff, and Combs imbues all of his characters, no matter how lost they may be, with humanity and humor, and it's that knowing nod to vagabond life that makes Canyons of My Mind so easy to get lost in.

Representing the more countrified side of things, lead single "Imogene" and the warmly sentimental "The Vow" show some of Branan's other sides on this diverse and well-crafted collection.

Whiteout Conditions shows they're already brighter and more satisfying than just about any of their peers.

Hopeless Romantic has an appealingly cool veneer in addition to a sturdy structure of songs. It comes on so smoothly, it's easy to overlook how the songs quickly sink into the subconscious.

The end result is a seamless whole that reflects Nichols' penchant for great melodies, vast melodic imagination, and signature vocal style.

The dovetailing of a traditional Indian melody deftly arranged by Khan and Yorkston overlaying Thorne's reading of Roger Eno's drolly English "You're Just a Bloke" is the kind of offering that makes this collaboration so unique.

This is Guided by Voices sounding free and wild, and it's ultimately more satisfying than any of the "classic lineup" GbV reunion efforts that appeared between 2012 and 2014.

Their debut record doubles down--or triples, if we're talking about actual time--on those sentiments [of youthful fun and young defiance] and exposes a deeper level of honesty, although that same honesty might make it hard for anyone over a certain age to relate.

Pure Comedy is indeed a very grand record, an old-fashioned major statement designed to evoke memories of classic long-players from the '70s. Often, its stately march and decorated pianos call to mind early Elton John, suggesting the hazy vistas of Madman Across the Water.

It's a Myth is a stripped-down indie rock/hip-hop hybrid that says plenty and makes its own cool, low-key fun at the same time.

Under the Pines is emotionally heavy, and its best moments manage to find warmth and comfort in crippling depression.

Song of the Rose won't do much for your next dance party, but if you're looking for music that's intelligent and introspective but still revels in the beauty of the world around us, then Arbouretum have made an album you need to hear.

It's every bit as ugly, uncomfortable, and bothered as one would expect from Wolf Eyes, and it feels like the only logical way such an expression of confusion and paranoia could unravel.

She may have been through the ringer recently, but she's choosing to be positive--or, as she sings on Shawnee Kilgore's "Abraham," "When I do good/I feel good"--and that gives Joy Comes Back a relaxed richness that's quite restorative.

The majority of the verses are, however, devoted to street survivalism. The more combative, the better.

Owens' album seems a bit scattered and all over the place, but its sense of dream logic is intriguing, and its best moments are captivating.

Each of Holter's studio albums showcases her skill at transporting listeners into the worlds she creates; on In the Same Room, she brings all of these worlds together in performances that are equally intimate and spectacular.

Loaded with vocal hooks, sassy, R&B-infused performances, and textured, groove-powered tunes, it's a hypnotic set that's definitely got its own thing going on.

Samurai is easily Joakim's subtlest album yet, and it's easy to see why it's such a personal, sentimental statement for him.

They're demonstrating they can write and play as well as anyone in pop and country in 2017, and the album is a rich, thoroughly satisfying delight.

Overall a more unsettling collection than his debut, Fussell still offers a unique experience and applies his distinctive take on Southern American music that is like no one else's.

Damaged Bug isn't just a great side project; it's almost as good as Dwyer's main gig, and Bunker Funk is one tiny tweak better than Cold Hot Plumbs.

Here ["My Kids Live on Mars" or "I Can't Express My Deep Love" ] and throughout What If, the ways Hauschka explores the possibilities of his music--and the future--make it one of his most intellectually and emotionally engaging albums.

Bloodlust may be pugilistic to a fault, but whatever it lacks in poeticism it more than makes up for in raw power.

A wild work of twisted genius and more fun than rabies, that's for sure.

If Dylan learned anything from Sinatra, it's how to drill to the core of the song. Dylan does just that on Triplicate, finding the heart beating within some old warhorses and placing them within several great American musical traditions, and that's why this cements his place as one of the most distinctive interpreters of the Great American Songbook.

Overall, Star Stuff is an enjoyable exercise in semi-constructed jamming and vintage-sounding tones by a trio of skilled musicians, and continues Bundick's evolution toward a more analog texture and approach.

The almost breathtaking goodness of the best tracks here combined with the songs that don't quite connect leads to a very mixed listening experience that will have Ettes fans wishing Hames had kept some of the grit and fiery energy her old band had in spades.

While longtime fans may sense the absence of Bobuck in certain spots, it's a Residents album through and through, with all the atmosphere and Residential perspective one could ask for.

At once balanced and eclectic, Silver Eye may be the first Goldfrapp album to represent all the sides of their music equally well--no small feat, considering how long they've been dancing to the beat of their own drum machine.

These songs are crafted in the best sense of the word, with the lyrics delivering sublime twists that the music matches. As such, Mental Illness becomes something of a balm for troubled times; it's an album that finds reassurance within the darkest corners.

Tribute to Ndougo Dieng may delineate a new phase for this band in the studio, but the music on offer is satisfying; it's deeper and wider and the elements of joy are untouched by time. And make no mistake, it still slides down the spine toward the belly to create an almost irresistible temptation to dance.

Close Ties shows that it's possible to be an experienced professional and still make music that's emotionally urgent and immediate; it's also a reminder that Rodney Crowell was and remains a talent to be reckoned with, and this album shows he's a long, long way from used up.

What gives The Ride its personality how these hooks bend through Congleton's production and Furtado's subdued delivery, shifting this mainstream pop just into a fringe where this singer/songwriter now seems happy to be.

From Deewee is a welcome and satisfying return from the sibling pair.

Boss Hog don't kick as hard as they once did, but what they've lost in muscle they've certainly made up for in terms of atmosphere and creativity in the studio, and Brood X is worth a spin for anyone who digs their grimy glory -- especially since it's hard to guess when we might hear from them again.

Make It Be is more than a pleasant diversion or an oddball one-off: It's the work of two artists of great worth firing on all cylinders. Fans of both Moore and Falkner should be thrilled by the results.

Ainsworth's ornate palette and attention to detail may not attract casual listeners, but those drawn to the icy yet vulnerable strangeness of acts like FKA twigs or certainly Ainsworth's first album will find a rewarding set that expands with repeat plays.

As grim and hopeless as the album may seem, it's ultimately about escaping day-to-day reality and entering a state of transcendence. It's startling and uncomfortable, but it's highly compelling.

In order to be true to themselves, Mastodon had to make Emperor of Sand at this time. There was no other option. As such, its urgency, sophistication, and emotional heft make it a necessary entry in their catalog.

There's some solid world-building going on here, but not a ton of innovation.

Afterlove is a brave bid for contemporary relevance in 2017, a wonderful step outside his comfort zone that is more memorable and exciting than much of his output this decade.

With Eternity, In Your Arms, Creeper have truly proven themselves masters of the dark arts, as they've managed to create something as genuinely inspired as it is stylistically derivative.

Ross' mixtures of outrageous fantasy and sobering reality, side-splitting humor, and piercing vengeance, are intermittently as potent as ever.

Merry and his crew deliver a layered set that ranges from the mellow dream-like "Rentes Écloses" to the unexpected fuzzed-out banger "Bête Morcelée."

Part of what makes Circa Waves so compelling is that they are able to match the sound of their influences while still believably making the results sound their own. They've grown into an assured rock entity, but they've retained their fundamental sense of working-class Liverpudlian blues.

While their last album, The Way Things Fall, was some of their poppiest music yet, their Mute debut, Detroit House Guests, sounds more like a gallery installation than a set of danceable tracks.

Like contemporaries Daya, Steinfeld, Bebe Rexha, and Dua Lipa, Larsson delivers polished R&B-influenced pop gems that shine bright like diamonds while maintaining a too-cool-for-school factor that helps to distinguish her from the bubblegum.

Time will tell if the overall poppier disposition is a determined shift or a diversion, but, alongside the album's dark humor and utter lack of stagnation, it's one she handles with skill.

Concrete Desert is far from relaxing, but chances are you already gathered that. While it is effective, at nearly 70 minutes, it's better digested in small doses to better distinguish the multiplicity of textural, dynamic, and sonic strategies at work in individual pieces.

Doris & the Daggers is settled in an appealing way. Kannberg eases into a collection of classicist guitar pop that recalls vintage '80s college rock from New Zealand and Australia, but also bears some resemblance to the sharp, knowing pop of Kelley Stoltz, who functioned as a part-time collaborator on the record.

It might make their fans happy, but for a band that claims to be dangerous and rebellious, it goes a long way towards reinforcing the fact that the JAMC are no longer either of those things.

It delivers the sound of a mature band coming into its own and learning to utilize its various strengths.

Pitbull manages to provide enough variety on Climate Change to at least maintain his position as one of the globe's most enduring peddlers of positive vibes.

The temptation is to listen to some of their mentors instead, as many of the acts who have walked this sonic highway before have done so with much more swagger, a better inclination for a danceable tune, and an inherent dose of innovation.

While the album might be "business as usual" for Murs, that's purely a good thing. Two decades into the game and he's endearing, insightful, and sharp as ever.

Boman and Talabot seem to have enjoyed themselves coming up with these gritty, off-the-cuff tracks, and The Night Land is easily enjoyable without being too safe or conventional.

Stace still has the lyrical facility and way with a melody that made Harding a potential Next Big Thing in the '90s, while also gaining some seasoning that shows he's not simply chasing past glories.

Throughout its just-over-30-minute runtime--very punk--Graffin and company take on everything from gospel, Americana, and bluegrass to Crazy Horse-esque pre-grunge and breezy Laurel Canyon country-pop, and that they do so with such gusto makes Millport feel like less of an outlier, and more like guys making the best of a power outage.

There are a few other bands treading this same sonic path (Omni being the best around), but with Offers, NE-HI show they have what it takes to compete.

The entire album is exhilarating from top to bottom, and is easily the most exciting Squarepusher-related release in at least a decade.

One of their strongest albums in a while, Hot Thoughts is more proof that Spoon only get better at introducing new ideas into their music, while sounding unmistakably like themselves, as the years pass.

The result is rich and resonant, a testament to the power of communal music over solo soul-baring.

Paradise suggests it may be a very long time before Anohni gives us another album like I Am a Bird Now (if she ever does), but the strength and vision of this EP offers the promise that she may soon offer us something similarly powerful and moving in her new musical frameworks.

Robust and fearless, Spirit may end up being one of the earliest and best salvos of its political era.

Along with producer Cole M.G.N. (Beck, Julia Holter), Real Estate seems to both fine-tune and expand an already identifiable sound on In Mind, with engaging and often beautiful results.

This fondness for old-fashioned songwriting gives Feel Your Feelings Fool! a sturdy understructure upon which the Regrettes thread feminism, sneering angst, and ecstasy. All these intertwined emotions give the album an emotional punch that complements its musical rush.

The easy joy of the music on Freedom Is Free is as eloquent as any of the lyrics, and this is ambitious multi-cultural funk with a firm sense of heart, soul, and groove.

They continue to show that rare talent here and, ten years into their recording career, that's something they can point to with pride.

Tonally falling somewhere between Joy, Departed and It Kindly Stopped for Me, the album's blunt confessionalism doesn't always make for an inviting world, but is nothing if not completely honest.

Perhaps the individual songs seem ephemeral when isolated on their own, but that's because Room 29 is constructed as a tone poem, a collection of songs, poetry, and incidental music that's designed to be a hyper-reality--an intersection of the glamorous past of Hollywood and our arch modern sensibility, and it succeeds gloriously at that.

What could have easily become a motley collection of showboating duets is in fact a remarkably cohesive record featuring a number of fine instrumental augmentations to Brown's thoughtful songs.

There is much to be enjoyed on Everything Is Forgotten, but the elegant lightness of touch on their debut has all but disappeared. The potential is clearly still there, but next time they'll really need to embrace and explore it to their full ability if they are to make their mark.

The tone of Locus is unerringly dark with the repetition and harsh timbres occasionally tilting proceedings into the overly bleak, but there is enough overall nuance to keep the listener engaged for the duration.