Though Bleached are still figuring out how to use their newfound clarity, the process finds them generating sparks like never before.

Weather functions as one would expect of Tycho's vision of a pop album -- it's immaculately crafted as well as relatable, while also smooth and unchallenging enough to warrant repeated background listening.

ic. Sincere and genuine activists who can move the crowd like this are a rare commodity, and A People's History of Gauche belongs in the collection of anyone who doesn't want to shut down their brain or their convictions when they head out to the dance on Saturday night.

While ERYS occasionally drags over its seventeen17 tracks, it's an immersive experience that finds Jaden at his most vulnerable, processing his messy young adult feelings into a relatable and sonically exciting way.

Production-wise, this roams around with some abrupt switches, supplying slow-motion and spaced-out grooves, low-profile boom-bap, and wayward guitar scrawl with highest frequency. Hynes' downcast disposition and the return of several Negro Swan collaborators -- Lu, Isiah, Pat, and Porches -- provide the continuity.

The set won't take the place of any of their studio albums, but it's a strong addition to their body of work that fans should treasure.

For Trojan Jamaica, it's a solid enough introduction from a number of top-shelf participants.

The band mixes things up with the a cappella word salad of "Sleepin' at the Meeting" and the sentimental balladry of "Paris to Sleep." By and large, however, Hotel Last Resort follows the formula the Violent Femmes have been perfecting since their inception, delivering an above average batch of their wiry, smart, and sometimes tortured songs.

It's divisive, danceable, and more than a little bit myopic, but it bears the creative mark of an artist whose acumen for pop craftsmanship is uncontested.

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.

Cut Your Teeth is great, passionate, rabble-rousing rock from a group with something to say, and if this is how good they've come be after a few months of pretending they were a band, imagine what might accomplished if they put on their thinking caps and pondered global warming for a year or so.

The band wears its middle age well, sounding focused and more exacting than they did in the '90s, yet still undeniably vigorous. That Soundgarden sustains that energy throughout a marathon is a testament to their strength as musicians and that Live From The Artist's Den maintains its interest throughout its two and a half hours is a testament to the depth of their catalog.

Wilderness shows Jade Jackson taking on a more demanding musical and emotional range than on her first LP, and the finished product finds her carrying the added weight with flying colors.

Although nobody would call Dessner a great orchestrator, at least not yet, the performance with the Orchestre de Paris under Mattias Pintscher is energetic and sharp. Recommended.

At a time when too many people are questioning if rock & roll is alive at all, Ty Segall is doing the work of four or five people in keeping it healthy, and First Taste is ample evidence that he's nowhere close to being done, which is good news indeed.

While it might test the patience of some of the group's listeners, those willing to simply lie back and get caught up in the flow will find it more than worthwhile.

A quarter of an hour shorter than In My Mind, 1123 is nonetheless overloaded with cosmetic, stream-baiting features and disruptive diversions. ... It's no coincidence that the album's hottest three-song stretch involves no guests and plays to BJ's strengths with slow-bumping retro-modern grooves that are played and programmed.

Valiantly shaped into this 18-track hour-long set, it's unavoidably a bit of a pile-up, a nonstop procession of rappers and singers fighting for space and pushing one another with verses and hooks that occasionally relate to one another. Cole makes an effort to tie it together.

Any Human Friend sounds sleeker and more polished than Hackman's previous releases, but at the same time it takes the playfully libidinous tone of I'm Not Your Man and cranks it up a few levels.

The album purposely seems open-ended, as Cross has no clue what's in store for her after this point in her life, but her willingness to explore unknown territory is the main reason her music is so captivating.

On Everybody Split, Possible Humans explore all of their music's possibilities; even if they don't always coalesce, the band's embrace of the unexpected makes for some fascinating listening.

It's an album that forces the listener to abandon nostalgia and accept that things are different now. It's not a comforting notion, and it's one that may sit awkwardly for listeners who prize raw guitars over refined aesthetic, but The Center Won't Hold demonstrates what a fearless band Sleater-Kinney is.

Frequent serious references to mortality make Port of Miami 2 his heaviest recording.

Where Prick of the Litter settled into a mellow vibe, Tall, Dark, And Handsome is bold and restless, finding McClinton trying on all manner of blues for size.

In both vocal cadence and lyrical content, NF falls somewhere between Eminem and Twenty One Pilots' Tyler Joseph, while channeling the former's rage and the latter's emotive introspection. As such, The Search is a heavy and emotionally exhausting listen, brimming with troubling allusions to suicide and soul-baring pain.

He tells these stories (many of them dark and tragic) with empathy, tenderness, and a desire to illuminate curiosity about his subjects, making No Man's Land a welcome addition to Turner's catalog.

It plays to Arnold's strength as a charismatic and captivating vocalist most comfortable with lavish fusions of soul and pop that evoke the late '60s and early '70s.

Tropical Fuck Storm are fast becoming a watering hole for listeners with a thirst for the weird, and on Braindrops, they have eschewed formulas to such an extent that they are now staring back through the dimensional mirror with wry smiles and killer tunes.