The spacious nature of Sequence makes it a challenging listen even for those versed in experimental approaches. At times the band's long-winded emptiness is as easy to lose focus on as it is to be mesmerized by. Patient listening, however, reveals a tightly focused and deliberately crafted work by a band pushing their art forward at an aggressive pace.

It's fun to hear them spend time with the psych-pop of "She's a Rainbow" and get into the murk with "Dancing with Mr. D"--but it's not quite enough to justify a purchase for fans who already have these hits elsewhere. But for those who somehow don't have this music or are looking for a basic overview of the Stones' reign on album rock, MTV and beyond, this does the job.

Although Showboat Honey isn't as instantly gratifying in terms of infectious hooks as his previous releases, solid songs that settle in with repeat listens make it a worthy addition to his increasingly reliable catalog.

Bonny Light Horseman resembles a somewhat above-average indie folk effort, not at all bad but not of lasting impact. Maybe they should have messed with this stuff a bit more.

Little details and the quality of the writing that help push the boundaries of what otherwise sounds like a quintessential Innocence Mission album.

In looking to creation itself for comfort, she has tapped into a deep well of creativity, and as much as Mercy must have been painful to unearth, it has the kind of authoritative and transformative power that can only come from reaching the final stage of grief.

The lyrics of Dadadi's carnival-ready "Jigi Jigi" acknowledge the sounds of several disparate lands, and Nana Budjei's "Asobrachie" has a strong digital reggae rhythm. Best of all is "Barima Nsu" by Kwasi Afari Minta, an equally hypnotic and haunting ten-minute whirlwind that instantly feels like a lost classic.

This is the best and most satisfying album Buffalo Tom has made since they returned to recording with 2007's Three Easy Pieces, and if it sounds different than these men did when they were in their twenties, it sounds just like who they are, and in this context, that's a gift.

Things shift a bit toward the end with the stomping neo-gospel of "On My Knees," a bit of testifying that recalls the bluster of Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats more than a Sunday service. The rest of Made by These Moments hums along to a neo-soul vibe that places the Red Clay Strays in Rateliff's wheelhouse, an expansion that doesn't necessarily seem like an evolution even if it broadens the band's appeal.

The group's reflective take on grunge- and shoegaze-flavored indie rock is still in play -- such as on the shimmery surfaces of "What You Told Me," the churning distortion of "Something Exciting," and the echoey delay of the bittersweet title track -- but with a more polished net sound resulting from sessions produced by bandleader Soph Nathan, her Big Moon bandmate Fern Ford, and none other than longtime PJ Harvey associate John Parish.

Lewis remains a vividly funny observer and masterful storyteller, and his work remains relatable and relevant.

The whole thing might seem too darn cheerful -- maybe to a fault to the more hard-hearted -- but the duo rescue themselves from overload thanks to the muscular energy they impart to the rhythm section, the whipping bite of Aggs' guitar lines, and the overall forward drive the duo employ on every song.

Bateh's voice sounds a bit more worn and weary, not unlike latter-day Nick Cave, and it feels like there's an increase in electronic textures, but otherwise the band is sticking to their stock-in-trade, down to writing melodies which sound familiar to their body of work. That said, there is more of a conceptual storyline to this album, involving a character named Elena and the man who murdered her boyfriend.

Throughout, Winter's elfin yet confident vocals add a touch of vulnerability to a set of "over it" songs.

Antibalas have an innate chemistry and musical shorthand that sounds effortless. The heavy parts always hit hard, but the intricacies of their arrangements are what make them consistently interesting.

Few bands conjure the heady, dream-like atmosphere of '60s psychedelic rock as believably and with as much passion as England's Kula Shaker. It's sentiment they underscore on 2026's incense-soaked Wormslayer.

The most compelling songs rank it above a mere curiosity piece, and fans who cherish both the Melvins and Napalm Death in equal measure will be pumped for this collaboration that extends the range of both acts.

These songs are made all the more touching by tender, intricate performances that revere the small details and internal effects of life-changing loss, heartache, and self-awareness.

Like Heartthrob, this is pop music that is all heart all the time, and for that, the sisters deserve every accolade that comes their way.

Less expansive than 2010's So Runs the World Away, yet still rich enough in atmosphere to make for a relatively seamless transition, Ritter doesn't just sit at the end of his bed with a guitar and emote into a tape recorder.

It's a pleasure from the get-go: a nicely ominous plucked guitar rhythm of a couple of notes is the bed for even more moody feedback wails and fading in/out arcs of feedback.

In the end, Ash is many things: militant, vulnerable, and tender; it is urgent yet unhurried, its sharp edges unapologetically exposed. It is rooted in struggles and seeks victory, not deliverance. It is not only memorable, but indomitable and beautiful.

The album's press sheet draws comparisons to Prince's Dirty Mind and Too Short, and while that's not inaccurate, the references could just as easily be Digital Underground, Paris, Above the Law, E-40, late-'70s Parliament/Funkadelic, any previous Coup album, or just about any other funk-steeped rap album that has come from the West Coast.

It isn't everyday one comes across an honest, and honestly surprising, set of love songs such as this.

While fans may have to make a slight adjustment to their expectations, it's a minor one, and most will likely find the results refreshing.

Little Big Town cherish the gentler moments, and this ease with sensitivity turns The Breaker into something of a quiet triumph: it's intended as a balm, and it succeeds.

Amidon's artistry is on full display on the eponymous album, with its sometimes-uncanny merging of timeless emotions, atmosphere, and musicality.

With Some Echoes, Aloha craft an imaginative amalgam of all of their favorite musical fruit.