Ricochet lives in a contemplative, midtempo state where every song has weight, melodies can blur together, and meaning is found in those few anchors that help one push through the rest of it all.

Understated as they are, his songs are also not without weight and his fifth album, Against the Dying of the Light, is his heaviest to date.

It's another subtle outing from a band whose energetic peaks once defined them, but in this later period opt for patience over power.

Although it doesn't re-capture that album's [Things Take Time, Take Time] angsty, barbed qualities, it does embody a similar nerviness in combination with the more singer/songwriter-oriented rock reflections of what came in between.

Trying Times continues a trend of the abstract and foggy elements of Blake's artistry falling away, and he manages to make this transition without fully shedding the mystery that made his earlier sound so intriguing.

More diluted than truly disappointing, Paradises boasts enough standout tracks to please fans -- but with more shaping and a sharper mix, it could've been one of Ladytron's great albums.

Arirang not only stakes a solid claim for the group's place in the cultural heritage that helped inspire it, it's also a triumphant statement that cements the BTS legacy beyond the bounds of K-pop and Korea's borders.

Livingston is a smart and savvy songwriter who also knows when to let the heart cry out, and he's rarely done so with the soulful impact he registers on Cityfolk.

Sometimes all you need to make a great album is a batch of fine songs, a handful of sympathetic musicians, and a bit of kismet. Transmitter has all those things, and it's a quietly excellent album that favors Max Clarke's talents in all the best ways.

We Are Together Again ultimately takes its place as another beautiful entry in Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s everchanging, ever-engrossing discography.

As a culmination of everything she's been building toward in the years since I Disagree, Empty Hands is a towering success, priming Poppy for the arena big leagues with her twisted and wildly engrossing style.

Curiously, the weakest moment on High Noon Hymns comes at the very end, as they deliver a nice but unremarkable cover of Bob Dylan's "Forever Young" -- truly ironic, since the previous 12 tunes confirm the Long Ryders haven't aged out of making music worth hearing, not by a long shot.

Refreshing, comforting, and accessible, Kiss All the Time. Disco, Occasionally. is a fine transition album that points to even bigger and better things for the pop star.

The score ends with a string-based version of "Sunlight Zone," which feels a bit lighter and more ethereal than the original, but doesn't quite capture the same sense of awestruck wonder. In general, though, Midnight Zone is evocative of a journey into the unknown depths, and it succeeds at creating an atmosphere of curiosity and discovery.

Barry Can't Swim presented a volume of the Late Night Tales mix series, showcasing music he's fond of but wouldn't necessarily be appropriate for him to drop in a club. While there's a little of the type of lush, organic house that he produces, much of the mix is more downtempo, often exploring Balearic chillout territory, but also venturing into a few other directions.

Easily Taylor's best solo album, Paris in the Spring is a moving, playful, and accomplished statement that'll strike a chord with anyone weathering a crisis.

If The Collective was punishing in its density, Play Me is its equal and opposite: leaner and more melodic without sacrificing invention. It's an album that reaffirms Gordon still knows how, and why, to push forward.

Add it all together and A Pound of Feathers is not only reaffirmation of their comeback, but the kind of daring and defiant record that it's a miracle that a band this far into their career could still make.

A mercurial debut album that's also quite theatrical -- think Kurt Weill and rock opera -- it indulges in multiple genre send-ups during its alt-rocky journey through the head of a frankly loathsome narrator.

Her haziest and trippiest yet, involving well over a dozen guests, including on synthesizer, organs, and electric guitar.

The band deserve all kinds of praise for pulling off the somewhat rare feat of being both musically adventurous and emotionally gripping on Only You Left; it feels like the destination to which all their previous excursions were leading and is a fine example of indie rock at its all-around best.

While there's a sense that Moroney is well aware of her pop star status, on Cloud 9 her music soars, but her heart and her charm are as grounded and relatable as ever.

While the Morrissey comparisons are inevitable this time around, Brigitte Calls Me Baby put their own soaring, lovesick twist on influences here, resulting in a dramatic sound all their own.

The 2026 edition of Squeeze, anchored by bassist Owen Biddle (who produced the album), makes music that's rich limber, and they make the most of the ideas the group's songwriters dreamed up a few decades back.

Gary Numan is represented by both of his U.K. number one singles, and Secret Service's "Oh Susie" topped the charts in the group's native Sweden, but otherwise the set largely avoids proper hits. There are a few underground classics (Suicide's "Dream Baby Dream," Dark Day's "Hands in the Dark") as well as album cuts and B-sides from genre-defining acts like the Human League and OMD. There are also tracks that arrive at synth pop from different angles.

Certainly, these are great songs, all of them from Autechre's melodic early-'90s heyday, but Parish casts them in new light with his own artistry in a unique and unexpected collaboration.

It's their most accessible set of songs yet. Having said that, the group's whimsical practice of injecting far-flung timbres and effects into their songs, as well as a certain flat-tire wobble in their performance style are both joyously still in play.

Arranged with a sense of brevity, Ca$ino is limited to just eleven songs, making each of its entries feel both more unique unto themselves and more significant as part of a larger statement than the usual overstuffed commercial rap record.