side from the cultural relevance of his lyrics, Choi's songwriting is catchy, vibrant, and brimming with melody and moxie on this excellent follow-up.

The execution is inarguably impressive, but the Head and the Heart have made much better music with simpler technique, and Signs of Light is the sort of album that confirms a fan's worst fears about an indie act signing with a corporate label.

This is certainly Long's most substantive release, and also a highlight of the extended Odd Future discography.

While some of those who got on board Team Temple with Good Mood Fool may be put off by the more rustic turn, many longtime fans will find A Hand Through the Cellar Door to be his most mesmerizing yet.

Like many a Christmas collection, the record becomes less elegant on sillier tunes like "Must Be Santa" (derived from a German drinking song) and a strangely plaintive version of the Chipmunks' "Christmas Don't Be Late." These diversions are limited, though, and, remarkably, don't include a rather beautiful rendition of "Mele Kalikimaka." Taken together, Christmas Party is a charmer.

Certainly the musicianship and arrangements are impeccable, but even with differing vocalists, all of the tracks are so similar that it ends up being as tedious as the producer's later work.

Some of this material, particularly the B-sides, are as finely honed as Apple, but the tracks that really kick are the rougher material on the third disc.

The songs may remain the same but the performances are vibrant and alive. For the serious Dylanphile, that's reason enough to acquire this hefty box.

It may not be as riveting or intense, but it still has the unmistakable Burial sound and it's still unpredictable, so it's still well worth the listener's time.

"Awaken, My Love" is a stone-cold blast from beginning to end.

On Forward Constant Motion, the duo make a leap forward and a little to the left, making for a rewarding, always interesting, and oddly emotionally satisfying album.

The band's return to basics here is effective with Calder at the helm, and results in an affecting record with consistent intensity and enough hooks to promote both catharsis and return visits.

harmony. Sundur's delicate poignancy is certainly darker than on prior albums ("Nothing ever stays the same"), but it's just as fascinating, and has the potential to be deeply affecting.

While his vintage approach may recall some of country music's golden eras, Bell rises above other young, retro-inspired acts on the strength of his memorable songwriting.

As a whole, Tolchin's rootsy acoustic mix works for him, though he shines brightest on the folkier, more heartfelt tracks.

If this is Brent's album, existing for comedic reasons purely to accompany the film, then it fulfills its purpose. However, taken at face value, it's nothing more than a mish-mash of classic rock tropes and controversial lyrics.

It's this lack of an overall aesthetic that makes Last Night on the Planet feel more like a compilation of singles than a full-fledged album; while the duo's skills are still evident, unfortunately the results aren't as rewarding as before.

It is a representative introduction to the work of a top-tier synth-pop group.

At times wistful and contemplative, frequently explosive, and pleasantly damaged, Worry. holds true to its creator's D.I.Y. aesthetic and pop-punk/ska roots while continuing to emphasize his new power pop direction.

Although it's not without some dazzling moments, this is the Zomby album with the lowest quantity of thrills.

Prima Donna is an essential snapshot of 2016 that bears witness to the evolution of an artist coming into his own with an unflinching, socially conscious perspective.

Swarming basslines and sluggish beats likewise form the rhythmic foundation, with gauzy and tickling keyboards adding sweetness to Scott's hedonistic hooks. Only on "Guidance," through scuttling drums granted by DF, is there a significant shake-up.

The mellifluous vocals and washes of texture wind up balancing each other a little bit too well: it's an alluring sound that seems attractive in the moment by disappears in the slipstream.

As good as Still Corners are at fitting their music into a mold, the tension they create between city and seaside, as well as their pop and experimental impulses, is unique, and Dead Blue is most rewarding when they explore it fully.

That ["Only U"] and a couple other exceptions aside, the hour-plus set offers more variations on the narcotic, boast-filled slow jams for which Brathwaite and his fellow OVO Sound artists are known.

Iit's the assemblage that delivers the difference, and that's enough. Given its relative brevity, it's among the few albums in their catalog that doesn't leave the listener exhausted (not a bad thing by any means), but wanting more.

From start to finish, Trick is arresting, with enough sonic surprises to excite and perplex listeners freed from the restrictions of genre boundaries.

The warmth of the beats and the tasteful melodic arrangements are perfectly suited to McMorrow's soulful, blue-eyed delivery, and the occasional stylistic detours and offbeat turns of phrase make for welcome deviations from the formula.

It's up to the label's high standard, a riveting composite of grief and filth like no other.

Hunter works within his limits, rocking just hard enough to seem vital and, best of all, his songs remain a thing of wonder: careful and clever, the work of a singer/songwriter who values idiosyncrasy over eccentricity.

Everybody Looking is one of the best examples of Gucci Mane's contributions to rap in his highly prolific catalog.

Wilder and stranger than Anika's previous work, Exploded View is an unpredictable ride that suggests listeners should follow wherever she beckons.

On No Hard Feelings, the South Side native adeptly mixes grit and gloss.

The contrast between Khaled's all-positive demeanor and his facilitation of buccaneering misogyny is stark as ever here, most evident in tracks like "Work It" and "Pick These Hoes Apart."

While comparisons and familiar tones abound, they shouldn't detract from what Troy and Edwards excel at delivering. They mostly serve as touchstones to lock Deap Vally into the ranks of similar artists as genuinely concerned with rocking listeners into sweet submission.

Even if it's not as full of surprises as the original album was, E-MO-TION [Side B] might be even more cohesive--and should delight fans of perfectly crafted pop just as much.

As he imbues his songs with more warmth than most synth pop and more distance than most singer/songwriters, Cameron charts his own territory on Jumping the Shark with striking and moving results.

Nothing here has the upbeat pop appeal of "2 On" or any of the unincluded post-Aquarius singles, but this is clearly designed for a different purpose.

On Can't Touch Us Now, the smarts and the songwriting are closer to the forefront, and it's a fine showcase of what they still do well.

It's a fascinating work of words, for sure, but the weight of Carey's arrangements and the Tempest's surprisingly nimble touch as an emcee make for something distinctive and essential.

Big Baby D.R.A.M. is, at times, odd and imperfect, which is part of the charm.

Despite self-imposed strategic boundaries, The Rest Is Scenery is a remarkably free and unfettered album. Most artists couldn't conceive of such a thing, let alone pull it off; Youngs does it in spades.

Their self-described "acoustic-live remix" can be a little tentative at times. Nevertheless, it's a worthy showcase for Torrini's excellent body of work and achieves a level of quality that many live recordings fail to reach.

All this adds up to one of Neil Young's genuinely strange albums, a record that's compelling in its series of increasingly bad decisions.

The set contains much of Ra's more accessible work, making it an excellent (and very generous) introduction for newcomers, but there's also plenty of material that might've escaped notice from longtime fans.

Because so much of this music is raw--it's alternately live, unfinished, and improvisatory--the box underscores how Pink Floyd were an underground band right up until Dark Side. Decades later, these recordings still feel boundless: this was music made without a destination in mind and the journey remains thrilling.

Harlequin is the type of album that may not please those who hear the saucy single and come for more of the same, but it may thrill certain headphoned listeners who appreciate both classic songwriting and an audacious approach.

I Could Be Happy's covers vary so widely in quality that, in order to thrive, Nouvelle Vague may need to put their original concept aside for good.

The tension and unease conveyed in BBF's earlier output is present here and is magnified by Sheppard, who comes across as an anxious bohemian drifting and acquiring wisdom through a nocturnal and aimless existence.

A subtle yet quietly grandiose set of modern indie troubadour comfort food, the Nashville native's third studio long-player is both comforting and wistful, a warm summer's drive down a forgotten two-lane highway.

Monument Builders is a powerful reminder that ambient music is a fine conduit for emotionally and politically charged messages, and it's one of Morgan's finest works yet.

The entire album is a startling, exciting future-shock that resonates in an era when dystopian sci-fi seem increasingly less fictional, and it's easily DVA's best work yet.

"Anything" sounds like the Cars on an extra-snotty day, while the glistening new wave chug of "Ways to Fake It" and "One Track Mind" feels like the work of a band that influenced the Strokes instead of one of its members. Moments like these are fun for listeners who share CRX's retro fixations, but more often than not, New Skin doesn't deliver on the band's pedigree.

The album manages to sound detached yet intimate as dal Forno's fragile voice and glowing melodies reach toward something intangible.

Daniel still sounds like he's developing his sound with this album, but it's a noble effort, and certainly recommended for fans of Detroit dance music or the rougher, more off-beat side of house.

A joyous and undeniably fun album. Jonas has developed into a deeply self-aware and confident performer whose brightly hued and clever musical taste is on display throughout DNCE.

Doherty's solo career has resulted in some of his most rewarding music even if it's not the most attention-getting, and fans who have stuck with him this long will find a lot to enjoy on Hamburg Demonstrations.

Each track has its own kind of burning intensity. The album's front, back, and inner photos are in black-and-white, but the music evokes rich shades of yellow, orange, and red.

Before the Dawn is an album just as special as she is, a remarkable and expansive creative statement full of wonder and magic that rivals the best of her LPs.

It's artistically satisfying because it's the Rolling Stones allowing themselves to simply lay back and play for sheer enjoyment. It's a rare thing that will likely seem all the more valuable over the years.

Highly Suspect show potential but they're still in the throes of some serious growing pangs here.

For a group whose members are spread far and wide geographically, not to mention busy with their own principal projects, they've funneled a great deal of stamina and confidence into these 13 tracks, making for an impressive debut.

Future Standards isn't quite "Howe Gelb, the Moonlight, and You," but it's closer than anyone might expect, and he plays lounge lizard here entirely on his own terms, and it's a thoroughly enjoyable detour for a multi-faceted artist.

The result is an unpredictable, captivating listening experience.

The productions--the majority of which involve Doc McKinney and/or Cirkut, low-lighted by maneater dance-punk dud "False Alarm"--are roughly as variable in style as they are in quality. When pared down to its ten best songs, Starboy sounds like Tesfaye's most accomplished work.

Following 2014's similarly impressive Do Not Engage, the Pack A.D. are on a roll, producing some of the strongest material of their ten-year career.

For a string band album titled Autumn, they deliver exactly what you'd want: a nuanced selection of warm, earthy music replete with gentle guitar picking, woody mandolin, muted banjo, occasional piano, and a robust vocal blend to evoke the wistful changing of the season.

Throughout it all, Dr. John remains at the center, occupying attention even when he's offstage because it's clear that this blend of jazz, soul, R&B, rock, and pop is distinctly his.

As with other Mayer studio full-lengths (including the SuperMayer release), & has an anything-goes spirit, jumping from style to style and resisting expectations. It flows well as an album, though, starting out celebratory before getting darker and more sinister and finally ending up sublime and relaxed.

With South London peers Theon Cross Trio, Ezra Collective, and Blue Lab Beats, they reflect a compelling scene rife with exciting ideas in cultural and sonic cross-pollination. Black Focus is a hell of a first effort.

Thirteen years on, that's still who Busted are, just three grown-up lads supplying a soundtrack to a night out on the town, even if their fans are now just as likely to be picking their kids up that night as hitting the clubs.

The Hidden Cameras have finally delivered on that promise with a collection of songs that find the sweet spot between homey and fabulous.

The boldness and hunger in Mandel's playing not only achieves the hallmarks of his best sides from the '60s and '70s, but at times reaches further. Not just a guitar nerd's album, Snake Pit is a stone killer from top to bottom.

No Exit is immediate; even raw in places. It's committed to the truths inside the songs, not an iconic performance (as 1990's Blazing Away was). For that reason, it belongs on every Faithfull fan's shelf.

While the album is technically one of Rumer's most faithfully old-school, it still sounds fresh, and the analog production aesthetic only works to magnify the purity, lyricism, and expressiveness of her voice.

The Notwist blends all of these sounds and eras together organically and with an excitement that suggests they'll never tire of finding different ways to combine their pop and experimental sides in concert as well as the studio.

All of these sounds are familiar, but his light touch means Gunslinger doesn't sound like pandering to the past but rather a cheerful acceptance of the present.

They prove to be naturals at soundtracks, creating something here that works like they said it would. While no doubt the score would work in perfect tandem with the film, it stands alone as a sterling example of the band's mastery of psychedelic music.

Classical Indian music is thoroughly interwoven with '60s psychedelia and pop--and the two are different, with the first emphasizing texture and the second structure--giving Elephant Stone a shimmering, off-kilter quality that's alluring.

Boots No. 1 plays less like an expansion of Revival than a document of a fertile period of creativity in the life of Gillian Welch, and while fans of the original album will revel in it, you don't have to be familiar with it to be dazzled by the subtle passion, intelligence, and eloquence of this music.

Stage is more Operation: Mindcrime-era Queensrÿche than it is Muse, and for all its opining on nanotechnology and interstellar travel, it still feels rooted in heavy metal tradition.

One needn't take in all 90 minutes of America's National Parks at one go; it might work better, for some, to absorb slowly. Either way, it masterfully balances solo and group improvisation, chamber sounds, modern jazz, and avant composition.

Yet another artful and modern amalgamation of machine soul and left-field pop, Redemption is similar to the earlier parts of the trilogy in that it gives the listener a sense of being swept up, though there's little in the way of fantasy or escape here.

With On Dark Silent Off, Radian sharpen their difficult sound into something more urgent and alarming than it ever was before.

While the band's resemblance to its forebears is still strong--especially on the standout "Forget," which Hot Chip would be proud to call their own--Boxed In sound more assured than ever as they expand on that legacy.

With Familiar Touch, DIANA continue to excel at writing songs that are soothing yet scarring.

Ultimately, Friends is a focused, clear-eyed album that finds White Lies trading some of the sprawling ambition of Big TV for the infectious pop urgency of their debut.

The Weight of These Wings isn't produced like a country-pop album, so it demands attention and rewards close listening. It is by no means tight, but its excess is also its asset because immersion reveals different pleasures with every spin.

If the riffs don't always sink in deeply--and if the entire production feels slightly monochromatic--what impresses here is the thought and musicality within the compositions and the performances, elements that have always been at the band's core and shine brightly on Hardwired... To Self-Destruct.

Even if Woman sometimes sounds more like two EPs than a cohesive set of songs, it's still an enjoyable album--especially when Justice use their flair for looking back creatively.

On his third album, Mars, joined primarily by old comrades Philip Lawrence, Brody Brown, and James Fauntleroy, sheds the reggae and new wave inspirations and goes all-out R&B. This is less an affected retro-soul pastiche--like, say, The Return of Bruno--than it is an amusing '80s-centric tribute to black radio.

It takes nothing for granted. The guitarist accounts for every sound and impression from his instrument and surroundings here, allowing the listener deep inside a sound world at the moment of its creation.

Packed full of confident exploration, sonic wizardry, expert guitar manipulation, and tight songcraft, this album of "leftovers" is as good as most of their contemporaries' best work.

It's an exhilarating rush, and even for a band that had never made the same record twice, it comes as a bit of a shock after the Men had been inching toward sounding like Bruce Springsteen or Tom Petty.

Even if Slugger might appeal more to Speedy Ortiz fans than Top 40 diehards, hearing Dupuis seek intimacy and independence is never less than pithy, fun, and thought-provoking.

This is no nostalgia trip or callous comeback. It's a giant exclamation point on the end of a brilliant career. It's also a tribute to the everyman genius of Phife, a widescreen look at the record-making skills of Q-Tip, and most importantly, it's a pure, undiluted, joyous thrill to have the Tribe back and still sounding this vital.

In general, the album focuses more on texture and fluidity than memorable tunes, so listeners aren't likely to find an earworm here, but they may find themselves humming along just the same.

On the whole comforting without seeming eager-to-please or, worse, becoming dull, Arms feels like a refresher of sorts, both for the band and for listeners.