At its loudest and most brash, the album is fun and cathartic on par with any good high-energy rock band. In the moments when punk vitriol meets reflective, thoughtful expression, Far Enough grows more intriguing and compelling.

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.

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.

Although Kommunity Service is short, it still shows versatility by approaching various styles track to track.

Duran Duran are taking some calculated risks here which sometimes means they stumble -- occasionally, the ballads feel a shade strident -- but the restlessness makes for a kinetic, exciting album.

Happily, the loose performances more than suit these ragged compositions, turning Barn into a snapshot of this moment in time: a bunch of old friends in isolation, finding solace and comfort in the noise they can still make.

Allhallowtide is another fine example of how Bid and his band are experts at the form. They have been doing this for a long time, and for the past decade there are few bands who have been doing it as well.

This is fun, thoughtful, expressive music from a man whose inspiration has yet to run dry.

That McRae also manages to bring a hooky sense of pop joy to the album speaks to her growing maturity as an artist.

Despite the dark undercurrents of the songs, the music doesn't try to fight the mood so much as it allows us to hear about a world where, in spite of the chaos outside, there's some simple beauty to be found even as things fall apart.

Pole continues advancing musically on Tempus, stowing away new sounds and approaches so subtly that they only surface when zeroed in on.

Henry St. seems no less sincere or heartfelt than anything Matsson has recorded in the past, yet here he embraces an unforced joy that connects in a way his more dour work did not, and it makes this one of the Tallest Man on Earth's most purely pleasurable releases to date.

The album overspills with retro nods -- waves of surf guitars, swinging rhythms, garage grime, and greasy organs -- all cobbled together from thrift stores and old records, yet the execution is fresh and clever.

Though Melodies on Hiatus' experiments sacrifice some of the single-minded purpose of Hammond's previous albums, it delivers a bumper crop of songs that embrace the complexities of life and music with a sense of adventure.

Like Justin Timberlake and Harry Styles before him, it's quite clear that Jung Kook has been christened as his boy band's main breakout, and Golden makes a great case for that push.

People Who Aren't There Anymore is another refinement rather than a reinvention or bold step forward. It feels slightly less glossy than some of their other 4AD releases, coming a little closer to the lo-fi textures of earlier albums, but from the perspective of artists who have been working hard for nearly two decades.

The band finishes off the album by following "Cinnamon Temple" with a raucous remake of Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit" that shoves the acid rock classic in front of a fun house mirror. Increased chaos and whimsy only heightens Hiatus Kaiyote's ability to enchant and exhilarate.

While Key seems worthwhile as an exploration of how songs can grow and change over time, just like people, it's unlikely any of the songs are transformed enough to warrant a fan exodus from the originals. On top of that, the selections' mix of popular and lesser-known make it a lackluster hits collection. What may win over some listeners, however, is its knowing, somewhat ominous tone and its function as a songwriting showcase.

It's admirable that Palermo doesn't want to stick to just one sound, and some of the experiments work well, it's just that, ultimately, the misfires far outweigh the moments of promise.

If it's not quite a triumph, it's challenging and ambitious stuff that rocks on out and doesn't tarnish the memory of what Johansen and Sylvain accomplished so many years ago.

Though the party is dialed back and more restrained than on previous efforts, it's no less wild and maybe even more enjoyable as a result.

A fuller, more focused version of the sound they introduced on Fields, this set of songs is worthy of being Junip's namesake album.

Thursday simply sound like a superior version of themselves.

An impressive debut, Passage has as many great moments as it does moments that suggest future greatness.

**** brings the Greenhornes back to the spotlight, sounding as good as they ever have, and in many respects, better. They're advised not to wait eight years before making another album, but if that's what it takes, the wait seems to be worth it.

To say that the album sounds like Hatori and Honda picked up right where they left off downplays its specialness, but there's no denying it sounds like Cibo Matto had never stopped playing together.

Ultimately Honora is bold and beautifully played, with atmospheric production adorned in warmth, soul, and passion.

And, though the album covers a lot of territory--13 songs in 36 minutes!--it doesn't feel scattered; scattered implies no purpose, but Mountain Battles' songs land, eventually, exactly where they need to.

On Real Power, Gossip don't try too hard to recapture the past or fit in with the sound of the sound of the 2020s, and that's what makes it a dignified, down-to-earth return.

No band will ever be able to replace the Go-Betweens or fill the void their demise left, but if Dick Diver keep making albums as deeply satisfying as Melbourne, Florida, the pain will be a little less severe.

Belladonna was welcomed back into the fold, and all the vocals were re-recorded. But to Anthrax's credit, it all fits together seamlessly, resulting in arguably their finest studio album since, well, the last one that Belladonna sang on!

The naked emotion expressed here doesn't exactly make for an easy listening experience, but it's a brave, welcome, and perhaps even necessary one.

Low on drama but high on seemingly effortless jangle pop brilliance, Calling Out feels like a long-lost classic and an exciting discovery.

Tipping closer to dance-pop than noise-rock, Deleter is one of Holy Fuck's most finely tuned albums, yet the band sound as spontaneous as ever.

While this doesn't carry the weight of an "historic" recording, it is thoroughly enjoyable. Harris is in better voice than she's been in years and Crowell is a natural as a duet partner.

Although at times they come close to overshadowing the subtle instrumentation provided by Major and Dan Rothman, it’s actually the intrinsic balance between the contributions of all three that defines their sound.

When Elbogen adds some additional keyboards to the mix, Um, Uh Oh feels downright colorful. And the songs themselves boast a level of craftsmanship and quality that's striking for somebody whose last batch of tunes was released less than two years earlier.

WhoMadeWho have been accomplished, even inspired, in the past, but here they emerge on a whole new level, displaying a subtle command of tension and release and an assured, seamless blending of rock and electronics, suffused with unfeigned emotionalism, which calls to mind the confidence and mastery of marquee acts like LCD Soundsystem and Radiohead.

Few current bluegrass acts sing with the command and authority Lauderdale brings to his performances, and fewer still have a set of songs at their disposal as good as what Lauderdale and Hunter have composed for Reason and Rhyme, and it's another impressive installment in what's becoming one of the most interesting partnerships in roots music today.

Within Ward's canon, More Rain may not work overtime to distinguish itself, but like nearly all of his releases, it's a companionable listen with a lot of craft hidden under its layers.

It's a rare kind of unobstructed window into a songwriter's world, but the magic of One Hand on the Steering Wheel is how Levy somehow manages to speak volumes without giving too much away.

It's exhilarating, the best rock & roll record yet released in 2007.

He makes his tracks entertaining, but he occasionally falls prey to a common trap -- educating the listeners but not enlightening them.

The result is part retro, part avant-garde, and part polyrhythmic elevator music, which is to say it sounds wholly Dungen.

This album should be heard as such in a single sitting, where its labyrinthine beauty can be fully experienced and integrated. This is "acid rock" at its best.

At times, Lucid Dreaming can get a little too hazy and downbeat for its own good, but as a portrait of a duo in motion, it suggests Say Lou Lou are heading in the right direction.

While Kozelek remains an incredible storyteller, and the album is fascinating as ever to his faithful followers, it's likely to be exhausting, infuriating, or simply head-scratching to anyone who isn't already a fan of his. And as wonderful as Broadrick's musical contributions are, they recede into the background and aren't nearly as distinctive as his own work.

Alice is a major step forward for Meatbodies and one of the better garage punk/heavy metal/psychedelic rock albums anyone is likely to hear in 2017.

They never clear the chateau dancefloor, and they add flashes of '80s synths on tracks like "Don't Change," video game music on "Kiki, You Complete Me," glockenspiel and fluttery effects on the mysterious "It's About Time," and a sense of urgency on the fiery "La Bomba." It all makes for a good time for all while at the same time offering to recede nicely into a groove-heavy background as needed.

Throughout the album the sense is of rough experimentation, a kind of direct curiosity in the collision of sampled loops, echoed vocals, bursting bass, and random moments. Stallone's echoed vocals, however much a stylistic commonality in some corners, act as further random hooks, a slightly stupefied but never incoherent series of reactions.

It is a snapshot of where Gilmour is as a musician in 2015, and not by any means a grand portrait or statement to sum up his career.

At times, his contemplation gets a little too meandering, and some songs fall on the wrong side of the fine line between anthemic and clichéd. Nevertheless, The Soft Cavalry is a promising debut that's held together by the emotional commitment Clarke and Goswell bring to each of its songs.

On this consistently hypnotic debut, Austra carve out a place of their own among their contemporaries.

Given the fact that the Dead Weather formed on a whim and recorded these songs in a matter of weeks, Horehound is a compelling album, and one that shows that the band's members bring out the best in each other, albeit in unexpected ways.

Arguably heavy-handed but regrettably timely, even if allegorical, After You marks an ambitious return for the long-absent musician, one that ultimately rewards with musicality.

Hawk isn't as startling [as Ballad of the Broken Seas], but it's encouraging to know that the magic between Campbell and Lanegan not only hasn't worn off, it's manifesting itself in new and compelling ways.

My Soft Machine hits differently than Collapsed in Sunbeams, but it's still a powerful effort that packs more emotional weight while expanding the singer/songwriter's stylistic range.

With each album, the Cribs have gotten a little sharper and more focused, and nowhere is this clearer than on the brilliantly named Men's Needs, Women's Needs, Whatever, the band's major-label debut.

The whole program bounces back and forth in this way, sometimes impressing with complex and compelling beats and textures, then disappointing with relentless repetition of uninspired ideas.

If How Far Will You Go is hit-and-miss as music, it's a remarkable document of a forgotten musical detour on the way to the sexual revolution, utterly fearless and not much like anything else of its era.

If the Yawpers are trying to make sense of the soul of America in the 21st century, their mind/body balance makes for some powerfully satisfying music, and American Man is an impressive debut from a band that appears to have some very serious potential.

Shannon in Nashville demonstrates she's capable of more than she's shown us in the past, and this is an experiment that succeeds with flying colors.

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

The end result winds up not as a curiosity but rather a small wonder, revealing new dimensions of the original recording while opening up these songs for new audiences.

Cracks is an illuminating exploration of cyclical energy, both inside and outside the body.

Despite a few drastically darker moments, the majority of Luminal feels familiar and comforting.

The songs and performances are strong enough, melodic enough, and fun enough that you can enjoy the album for what it is: 30 minutes of noisy, hooky pop that sounds better every time you listen to it.

Even if Mowgli is not completely engaging, Mister Lies is on the verge of something innovative, and most electronic fans will find these crisp, controlled soundscapes easy to absorb and enjoy.

The colorful textures and lush arrangements are a change of pace. Some fans may miss the heavier guitar attack of Commune, but the band carry off this new approach like the true sonic explorers they are.

A very detailed, though still utterly bewildering, glimpse into the producer's musical thought process.

The only thing that stops Droppin' Science Fiction from being an instant masterpiece is that Lateef and Gift of Gab don't do quite enough to make these tracks shine; great productions and great rapping still need a few big hooks (vocal or musical) to snare listeners right from the get-go.

Ultimately, this album ends up being a more naturalistic take on Calexico's sound; just because it's less stylized doesn't mean it's less interesting -- it just takes a little more time for Garden Ruin's power to reveal itself.

Pizza Box is a long way from the punky bluegrass of the Bad Livers, and may be the best album Barnes has ever made.

A guest list that goes from Big Boi to Gucci Mane make the album highly desirable, but it's Mike that makes it vital, rivaling the Slaughterhouse crew when it comes to delivering grown man's hip-hop and Ice Cube when it comes to pimping while preaching.

Another quirky and eclectic Lilys set.

The Brooklyn boys maintain their hipster sensibilities and flip between speedy grit and sweetheart pop, with varied results.

Grown Unknown explores a kind of lost elegance: it's half drowned-in-gorgeous-reverb country of the kind Gram Parsons could nod sagely at, half stately post-'60s rock & roll as elegant mood music via the Band rather than Roxy Music.

Comforting but never dull, it's a reminder that the familiar can be just as inspiring as the foreign.

Perhaps the first time the Dead Weather have truly lived up to their promise, Dodge and Burn is a joyride of an album--sexy, fun, and dangerous, it upholds the tenets of rock & roll.

The songs, while as elegant and naturally paced as they've ever been, tend to merely drift along.

Arab Strap's gradual refinements have hit a peak, but don't expect anything new. Slithery programmed beats, tingly guitars, plodding rhythms, and whispered/warbled sing-speak lead the way yet again, with occasional piano licks and strings thrown in for very good atmospheric measure.

As good a record as any he's made, possibly his best.

At this point they have worked through their formative stage, and prove themselves capable of delivering a solid album with diverse songwriting and a consistent style. And even if that style sounds derivative and summons the inevitable Dischord comparisons, it's impressive nonetheless.

Every track here punches with a purpose.

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.

Big riffs battle with the kind of nagging singalong choruses the band have avoided over the years, a combination that makes Medicine at Midnight rush by with the intoxication of a good night out. ... Medicine at Midnight is a speedy, hooky, and efficient record, every bit the party album Grohl promised.

In its own way, Onwards to the Wall is just as exciting as Exploding Head was, managing to sum up the band's sound and move forward at the same time.

For longtime fans, Celestial Electric is about as good as one could have hoped for the coming together of two like-minded musicians.

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.

The album itself lingers in the mind as a perfect pick for when something is needed to soothe an uneasy soul or make a crappy day a little more palatable.

There are melancholic edges, but it's not haunting, it's comforting, reassuring music that's quietly powerful, music that Dido hinted at before but never quite made.

On With Love From, Aly & AJ establish themselves as first-class artists, and it will be fascinating to hear where they go from here.

Heads Up proves that the quick turnaround suits them; instead of seeming rushed, the album feels spontaneous and fearless.

It's not as glossy as the '80s, there are fewer keyboards and more guitars-the sensibility remains the same, so Tuskegee generates a bit of déjà vu: the surroundings are new, yet everything feels familiar.

It's not that any of these tracks are bad: Ozomatli is comprised of talented enough musicians, and have been doing it for long enough now, that they're able to pretty much successfully pull off anything they try, but these songs move so far from the sociopolitical salsa on which they created themselves that it's almost hard to recognize them as from the same band.

This is an interesting diversion giving insight into the band's coordinates.

DIRTY BABY is a singular accomplishment, presented in a fashion that demands more of the listener's attention but buy pays off handsomely.

Turner walks a fine line of providing hushed mood music for a film, and delving into someplace deeper; his tunes aren't mere background music, yet there's a casualness to his Submarine songs that keeps them from truly resonating.