Marigold offers no major surprises or alterations in the band's sound, just quality songwriting and a rather remarkable consistency.

White Lung make their case as one of the best bands of their kind anywhere with Sorry, picking up where they left off two years ago almost seamlessly while innovating just enough to ready them for a larger stage.

These are exquisite productions where Le'aupepe's rich, throaty baritone is framed by wiry bass lines, artfully arranged orchestral sections, and spiraling guitar accents. There's a frankness to Le'aupepe's lyrics, as if he's talking directly to you. Yet, even in his most earnest, off-hand moments, he finds poetry.

Once again working with co-producer Dave Cobb, Stapleton also has his wife Morgane behind the boards in addition to singing harmony and playing keyboards, a tight, familial group of collaborators that gives Higher a relaxed, familiar feel that keeps things buoyant even in its darkest moments.

The album is just so uniform in its beauty that tracks simply blend into one another.

Rare proves that when she has strong songs and the producers get a little weird, she's just enough outside the mainstream to sound fresh. Add in some deeply felt and real emotion like she does here, and it verges on being something special, maybe her best record yet. If it isn't that, it's at least her most interesting one yet and that's something fans of the homogenized pop scene of the era should celebrate.

The bold effort unfolds as it wants and deserves.

It's a grower that demands and rewards close listening--especially under headphones, where it unfolds like a spell cast just for the listener.

A restrained lamentation, a controlled elegiac mediation on the death of a loved one.

Loud guitars, gritty vocals, and more soul than a Sunday morning sermon best sums up Carolina.

So Far Gone shows that Drake is for real, and works as a tantalizing teaser for his first full-length record.

Time Flies does a better job of rounding up the highlights from their patchy turn-of-the-millennium albums--actually, it emphasizes Heathen Chemistry almost a bit too much, with its five tracks outweighing the number of selections from Definitely Maybe and Morning Glory--and has space for selections from their smashing final album Dig Out Your Soul.

Urban's sixth American release is a lean collection of country-rockers and bedroom ballads.

A great example of how compelling Sonic Youth's instrumental work is, even when it's as subtle as it is here, Simon Werner a Disparu stands among the band's best soundtrack work.

Fake History is an album that really cements Letlive's place in the vanguard of the current crop of modern post-hardcore, making for an album that will not only please longtime fans, but could also pique the interest of some of the genre's disenfranchised old guard.

One of the more riveting and idiosyncratic tribute albums of the past ten years.

Macaroni is classic Bobby Conn, and much like its crudely drawn cover depicting an appropriation of the classic blue and orange Kraft Mac n' Cheese box, those who like it will love it, and those who don't will likely pay it no mind.

Ten tight tracks, and that includes the epic "Intro," puts this on the man's top-shelf, where it sits next to The Reason as the album's flashy little brother.

This set is a stunner. Scaggs is in full possession of that iconic voice; he delivers songs with an endemic empathy and intimacy that make them sound like living, breathing stories.

It is yet another in a string of excellent releases by her, but it's also something more. It integrates everywhere Richey's been yet inhabits a terrain completely of her own design.

Potter's vision and compositions on The Sirens never lose sight of his goal: portraying the eternal essence of humanity in the mythos of his subject; his poetic lyricism as a soloist, and his empathy as a bandleader are consummate.

An unlikely pairing of artists leads here to an uncommon focus, and one gets the feeling that the duo might not be done.

Always moving at full speed, YPLL creates a sense of anxious tension that, were it a longer album, would be exhausting.

Uunderneath that blustering, the group manage to ease back and act their age, and that detached cool exterior is why The Sun Comes Out Tonight is the most satisfying latter-day album this group has yet made.

The album's more intimate moments, such as "The Swollen Map" and "Down in the Liverpool Stream," have just as much impact as the showier ones, and reaffirm that Pinkunoizu have gained more than they lost by paring down a bit on The Drop.

Internal Sounds both solidifies and expands on the veteran group’s signature tone, beefing up the punk-infused, psych-rock twang without losing any of the technical mastery and subtle nuances of the playing.

As with Until Tomorrow, McFarlane produced the whole thing--an understated yet dazzling second album that is more imaginative than the impressive first.

Pattern Is Movement display their visions of skewed pop in bold, vivid colors, with faint echoes of their mathy past buried but still audible through the walls of joyous noise.

Get hip or get irked because either reaction is worthy of this loud, smart-ass joke put on loop, but not since Disco Tex unleashed his Sex-O-Lettes has there been such a cheeky way to keep dancing.

The result is an album of brilliantly charged and catchy songcraft. Even coming out of crushing pain, Changing Light is an impeccable statement of love and regret.

Take Me for a Walk in the Morning Dew is a triumphant comeback album, updating older tunes with a modernized production and new tunes showcasing Dobson's voice.

All of it fits together surprisingly well here--a satisfying, if imperfect, sampling.

As direct as a touch and as subtle as feelings, This Is My Hand is exciting in a way that's different from Worden's previous work--when she sings "this is my time" on the title track, it's hard not to agree with her.

As a companion album or on its own two legs, Fears Trending was worth another trip to well.

Ultimately, although colored by personal trauma, Into Colour remains one of Rumer's brightest, most enjoyable albums to date.

The 19 tunes here definitely push well into double-album territory, with an expanded band of players in a mode that borders on jam band territory but always stops short of over-extending the songs.

Waxing Romantic is an impressive blend of top-notch songwriting, inventive production, and strong performances, the kind that vaults Bretzer to the same lofty heights of his influences.

Buddy Guy serves up a straight-ahead platter with Born to Play Guitar, his 28th studio album.

If you want a Christmas album from Smoke Fairies, then you're the target market for Wild Winter, though the previous caveat still applies--you're sure to enjoy it, but the guests at your Christmas party might be puzzled.

The Infamous Stringdusters actually put themselves in the background on much of Ladies & Gentlemen, letting their guests take the center stage while they provide the support, but if the Stringdusters opted to be accompanists rather than the stars of the show on these sessions, their songs and effortless virtuosity make it clear they're every bit as talented as their friends.

Taking into account Whibley's dramatic and life-altering experiences, the hits land harder than ever, resulting in Sum 41's most honest and sincere album yet.

Adding the clarity of experience to his early work's atmospheric conciseness only makes The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter all the richer.

Ultimately, it's Towner's immense gift for portraying that kind of romantic drama that makes My Foolish Heart such an evocative listening experience.

The result is nourishing, a lulling yet ringing affirmation of Wright's deeply rooted connection to the South and its music.

Not all of his juxtapositions or segues seem to make sense, and the album seems a bit overstuffed, but Jonti's ambition and creativity are undeniably admirable, and the entire album is a delightfully strange trip.

As with their debut, Sunwatchers' second album is sprawling and all-encompassing, but they make their intentions much clearer this time around, and it lends a greater sense of purpose and power to their righteous, freedom-seeking jamming.

Fittingly, this final chapter for the Skull Defekts is easily the most explosive, most elaborately conceived, and still fully realized work in their catalog, and a monolithic note to go out on.

The feelings of yearning, sadness, and grief expressed through these songs aren't beholden to any genre or time period, and the album sounds fresh and poignant regardless of when its songs were written or recorded. Gate of Grief easily fulfills the promise of White Ring's earlier efforts.

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.

Warp and Woof is a series of short sprints compared to the marathon of Zeppelin Over China, but it covers a lot of ground at a brisk pace and it's a whole lot of fun.

False Alarm is a colorful, good time album by a band that's maturing, and having fun at the same time.

While earlier recordings like Sonno and Risveglio seemed fragile and distant, this one is far more upfront, with haunting melodies leading most of the pieces, and a steady sense of progression throughout.

For the band's part, they definitely benefit from being able to stretch out in the studio for a change, and Loughead in particular delivers some excellent lead guitar work. In terms of Nap Eyes' catalog, Snapshot feels like a bold new era, though it's not without its growing pains.

The joy shared among these four musicians was abundant in everything they recorded, which is why this is a most beautiful and enjoyable album; it's also a bittersweet one.

Pokey LaFarge is still working out the math on how to exist in more than one decade at a time, but Rock Bottom Rhapsody has more than enough good things in it that he's probably going to be just fine wherever he finally settles down.

No matter the mood or mode, Haliechuk and Falco make nary a misstep and show they are equally adept at inspiring weird dance moves, conjuring up post-punk ghosts, or delivering indie rock thrills. At their best -- which is most of the time -- they leap past being a sum of their influences to make music that sounds supremely fresh, and if the shifts between sounds can be a little jarring on the first couple of listens, at least Harmony Avenue is never boring.

Good Luck, Seeker is not one of the great Waterboys albums, but it is an adventurous one with enough standouts and strange magic to go around.

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.

The results are mostly knotty and easy to get caught up in, though it closes on a spare arrangement of the traditional folksong "My Boy Willie" -- on which Fogarty still leaves his distinct mark.

Clamm's storm of cathartic energy disguises how intricately constructed the songs are and makes Beseech Me both exhilarating and engaging.

This album is a project of love and admiration for Tony Joe White, and Smoke from the Chimney honors his legacy while reminding us that the tunes he left on the shelf are more effective and compelling than the emphasis cuts on most other songwriters' albums.

Lost in the Cedar Wood is not Flynn's most accessible record, but it might be his most immediate, and its communion of two masters in their prime makes for a satisfying listen.

For the most part, the band plays things relatively safe. Even so, the Vaccines are adept enough architects of early aughts U.K. guitar rock (Kaizer Chiefs, Franz Ferdinand, etc.) to know how to craft an earworm, and the reliable Back in Love City is filthy with hooks, even if you've heard them a million times before.

At so many points throughout Mint Chip, it's really hard to tell if there's anyone steering the ship anymore, and that balance of madness and control provides the album's most exciting moments.

Rarely does a double album (or a quadruple EP?) sound so revitalizing, but Django Django somehow pull it off on their best release in years.

Exorcist is Birchwood's tightest, most adventurous set to date in his quest to create a contemporary context for the reinvention of American blues.

While the majority of the album is breezy and unassuming, the radio-ready pop detailing of "Mona Lisa" cuts through a little more than most, with manicured hooks and sonic sweetening that feel tailored for commercial blockbuster status.

It's definitely music for dourer days, although there's also an alluring elegance in play that can make it feel more mysterious than dispiriting. Like a lot of compellingly constructed minimalist music, Acts of Light benefits from repeat listens.

Dune Rats' attempts to kinda sorta reinvent themselves aren't always a roaring success, but none of them are abject failures either. If It Sucks, Turn It Up reveals they can change if they need to, though they are probably most comfortable just being their snotty, weed-addled selves.

The studio cuts find bandmates Roland Orzabal and Curt Smith in a similar contemporary mode as on their previous release, melding classic elements of their core sound with modern pop flourishes. .... On-stage they sound rich, dynamic, and detailed with a classy touring band that brings the entire catalog, new and old, to life.

Parasomnia is solid. It channels the band's storied past as well as their current more complex, forward-thinking compositional style with only a few rough edges.

Full of memorably wistful melodies as well as potentially relatable struggles, Hers feels like an instant classic, if one that's also outside of time.

Room on the Porch is a beautifully produced, modern, deep blues and roots album drenched in an all-inclusive Americana, generosity, and good vibes.

Adventure is another chapter in what has become an improbably delightful late-career renaissance for these pioneering underground heroes.

Not for Lack of Trying is a gorgeously subtle, often transfixing album.

Scenes from Above stands apart from the guitarist's other Blue Note titles because of the gauzy strength, pliability, and openness of the ensemble in trusting and embracing the tender quality of Lage's music.

Arrow is a brave and powerful work from an artist who isn't about to give up on her vision, regardless of where it takes her.

Lucifer, their third and most in-focus full-length yet.

Austra opts for a more balanced and poised version of the sound they set forth on Feel It Break; even though that album's rough edges and raw nerves were a large part of what made it so potent, Olympia feels like the beginning of a more sustainable, and versatile, direction for the band.

All Things Will Unwind finds this musical auteur at the top of her game, maturing, pushing her already broad boundaries, and brimming with imagination.

As bleak a listen as it is, Enderness is an affecting piece of art reflective of its time, and the fact that Bondy's house burned down the day after he finished recording it almost feels like some inevitable if unfortunate occurrence.

The nuanced musical and sonic sophistication on display here is an extension of the songwriter's signature sound, which has perhaps become more accessible. That said, these changes mark development, not compromise.

This doesn't make for an album that holds together thematically the way other latter-day Neil albums do, but its mess is endearing.

If Everything Under the Sun often seems a bit candy coated, it's a high grade of confectionary that they serve, and most folks who get a taste of this album are likely to come back for more.

It's a powerful and often unpredictable set that reminds us that even though it's been a while since his last album, LL Cool J's track record has far more hits than misses.

It's a consolidation of Mould's considerable strengths, an album that showcases his gifts as a writer and record-maker, one that touches upon almost every phase of his career, yet it's filtered through a maturity that feels vital because of its unadorned honesty.

On the quietly electrifying No Earthly Man, Roberts takes on eight classic murder ballads from the British Isles with dizzying results.

Most of the successive leaks and singles continued the trend, and King of Hearts, in turn, is clearly the singer's best album yet.

Even if they're slow to arrive, GZA's full-lengths rarely disappoint. Pro Tools is no different, but with so many divergent projects and experiments from the Clan filling the five previous years, this throwback also proves the crew's original formula still works splendidly.

The whole sternly focused thing is laced with enough emphasis on sound design to function as an immersive headphone listen, while at least two-thirds of it can drain one's energy on a dancefloor.

At first, it's tempting to want all of The Hawk Is Howling to be as obviously powerful as its biggest tracks, but with time it reveals itself as one of Mogwai's most masterful blends of delicacy and strength.

Anyone expecting the sharp, high-lonesome sound of "How Mountain Girls Can Love" and "Roll in My Sweet Baby's Arms" may be disappointed at the sound of the septuagenarian's old bones croaking together, but anyone who can appreciate the stark purity of honest American folk music will hold this album close to their hearts.

One of Lisa Germano's most accessible works yet.

Though Snoop Dogg never slipped from the charts, Paid Tha Cost to Be Da Bo$$ smacks of a comeback, and it's a great one.

Both technical enough for scholastic jazz ears and organic enough for acoustic traditionalists.

At times, John Barry conducting the Buzzcocks; at others, EMF covering Petula Clark.

An engaging and passionate collection of songs from a man who has never failed to sing directly from his heart.

Romantica charges out of the gate with a new vigor, brightness, and sensitivity that, in retrospect, hasn't really come together within one package for them since maybe Bewitched.