Throughout its just-over-30-minute runtime--very punk--Graffin and company take on everything from gospel, Americana, and bluegrass to Crazy Horse-esque pre-grunge and breezy Laurel Canyon country-pop, and that they do so with such gusto makes Millport feel like less of an outlier, and more like guys making the best of a power outage.

Owens' album seems a bit scattered and all over the place, but its sense of dream logic is intriguing, and its best moments are captivating.

Stace still has the lyrical facility and way with a melody that made Harding a potential Next Big Thing in the '90s, while also gaining some seasoning that shows he's not simply chasing past glories.

In order to be true to themselves, Mastodon had to make Emperor of Sand at this time. There was no other option. As such, its urgency, sophistication, and emotional heft make it a necessary entry in their catalog.

The Far Field isn't a failure or a misstep, since there are so many good songs and their basic sound is still so strong. It's a shame that the band and Congleton felt the need to pretty things up, to make them sound more sophisticated and domesticated. It means that despite Herring's bravura performance, the album feels like a watered-down and lesser version of Singles.

Boman and Talabot seem to have enjoyed themselves coming up with these gritty, off-the-cuff tracks, and The Night Land is easily enjoyable without being too safe or conventional.

While longtime fans may sense the absence of Bobuck in certain spots, it's a Residents album through and through, with all the atmosphere and Residential perspective one could ask for.

Concrete Desert is far from relaxing, but chances are you already gathered that. While it is effective, at nearly 70 minutes, it's better digested in small doses to better distinguish the multiplicity of textural, dynamic, and sonic strategies at work in individual pieces.

Time will tell if the overall poppier disposition is a determined shift or a diversion, but, alongside the album's dark humor and utter lack of stagnation, it's one she handles with skill.

The majority of the verses are, however, devoted to street survivalism. The more combative, the better.

There's some solid world-building going on here, but not a ton of innovation.

As grim and hopeless as the album may seem, it's ultimately about escaping day-to-day reality and entering a state of transcendence. It's startling and uncomfortable, but it's highly compelling.

Overall, Star Stuff is an enjoyable exercise in semi-constructed jamming and vintage-sounding tones by a trio of skilled musicians, and continues Bundick's evolution toward a more analog texture and approach.

Boss Hog don't kick as hard as they once did, but what they've lost in muscle they've certainly made up for in terms of atmosphere and creativity in the studio, and Brood X is worth a spin for anyone who digs their grimy glory -- especially since it's hard to guess when we might hear from them again.

There are few bands who play classic disco-funk with as much genuine love for the genre and care in the productions as Kay and Jamiroquai. Ultimately, it's that sense of love and good vibes that drives much of Automaton.

What gives The Ride its personality how these hooks bend through Congleton's production and Furtado's subdued delivery, shifting this mainstream pop just into a fringe where this singer/songwriter now seems happy to be.

Bloodlust may be pugilistic to a fault, but whatever it lacks in poeticism it more than makes up for in raw power.

Despite its flashy sounds, it's one of the group's most insular sets of songs. Nevertheless, Kirk and company express how the past can poison the present and days yet to come in ways that are uniquely theirs.

Samurai is easily Joakim's subtlest album yet, and it's easy to see why it's such a personal, sentimental statement for him.

Under the Pines is emotionally heavy, and its best moments manage to find warmth and comfort in crippling depression.

It's a Myth is a stripped-down indie rock/hip-hop hybrid that says plenty and makes its own cool, low-key fun at the same time.

Ultimately, while the album may not hit with the rockabilly wallop that marked the best of her previous work, Life. Love. Flesh. Blood is nonetheless a sophisticated and gorgeously rendered album.

Representing the more countrified side of things, lead single "Imogene" and the warmly sentimental "The Vow" show some of Branan's other sides on this diverse and well-crafted collection.

On the whole, L.A. Divine is a little less consistent than Hold My Home; the band's relentless intensity can get a bit exhausting, while the interludes sprinkled throughout the album feel more distracting than transporting.

On The World's Best American Band, White Reaper knock it out of the park, drive over it in a noisy Mustang, and deliver nothing but a good time.

Once the sweetly hazy vibe dissipates, the songs reveal their sturdy structures, and they're the reason why Tenderheart rewards repeated listens.

At 17 songs, it's inevitable that not every track will appeal to every listener.

Even if Goddard is occasionally too reverent on Electric Lines, his love of electronic music--and the way it brings people together--is undeniable and infectious.