While the best material here represents stylistic evolution or at least enhancement of the best parts of Cherry Glazerr's recent sound, Stuffed & Ready as a whole spoils quickly, fizzling from righteous anthems of anger and self-questioning into monotonous and self-absorbed alt-rock rewrites.

Everything on Encore is amiable but not especially defined: they play with the ease of a group who has made their living on the road, but they lack urgency, even when they're singing about hot-button issues. Despite this lack of fire, Encore is a definite step up from the covers albums the Specials made surrounding Y2K: they feel like a band with a purpose, even if they're not making an especially big deal about it.

At its best, Pop Monster injects plenty of fresh ideas into the Broods' repertoire, offering a handful of confident and polished gems that could have made for a stunning album if they had just sharpened their focus. Otherwise, lackluster inclusions that echo Lorde's sophomore shift dull the effort, which distracts from the excitement that occasionally shines through.

While Deer Tick enthusiasts will smile at alternate versions, fun covers, and the spare track or two of credibly considered new originals, the casual listener should begin anywhere else in the band's storied (and often great) catalog.

Best of the lot is "Isn't That Enough," built on a loping riddim in the mold of Sly & Robbie's work on Grace Jones' cover of "Nightclubbing," though Khan is uninhibited and impassioned, as always. Even when a surplus of synthesizers, organs, and flame-throwing guitars threaten to overtake her elsewhere, she cuts straight through with full-tilt, life-affirming power.

While Father of 4 is still far more interesting and better constructed than most other Migos-related solo offerings, it re-enforces the notion that the group's chemistry is a stronger force than any one of its individual members' talents.

Snapped Ankles' wild eyed formula is better taken in one song at a time, as sitting through the entire album can quickly exhaust the senses. Even though Stunning Luxury is an overwhelming blur at times, small doses of its feral excitement can be infectious and even catchy in their own surreal way.

Abandoning sculpted hooks for rambling poetry that surges as much for punctuation as emotion is a canny move by Palmer: it forces attention on the lyrics, since the rest of the record feels deliberately amelodic. As such, There Will Be No Intermission is an album designed to demand attention, even if it doesn't necessarily command it-it's too obtuse and willful for that.

Less immediate than its predecessor, Let's Try the After still manages to engage the listener with its innovative instrumentation and serpentine melodies, and as a bite-sized sampler of where the band is headed, it more than suffices.

In shifting gears to stoke their creative flames, Within Temptation have created an immersive--if not wholly original-sounding--set of songs that play to both their strengths and weaknesses.

Appealing ideas and sounds, but the songs tend to be rather blah, suggesting that the LP's cancellation had more to do with the fact that Gaye had yet to find an album within his sessions than anything to do with it being too controversial for its time. Still, it's worth a listen to hear Gaye stretch out and figure out how to move forward: surrounded by Detroit and L.A. studio pros, he's making supple soul, even if it's not especially deep.

It's a record filled with good intentions but pitched squarely at the faithful converted.

Every track seems to hint at a grander version than what was delivered, but the loose ends and modest scale are alluring, since they appear to offer an insight into how this fiercely imaginative, quietly fearless singer/songwriter challenges herself.

They don't expand their horizons, preferring to stick to the hyper-charged British indie they minted with their 2014 debut, The Balcony.

While it's doubtful anyone is looking to Giuda for their depth of content, there is a bit of déjà vu to these ten songs which, thematic setting aside, sound very much like the band's first three albums.

Offenders and highlights aside, Here Comes the Cowboy might have been trimmed down to a solid EP or mini-album, but as a whole it just doesn't live up to the standards DeMarco set on his first three albums.

Pike's solo material is loose, scattered, and unpredictable, and while it isn't quite as focused or engrossing as his work as part of groups like Szun Waves or Triosk, the unmistakable sense of mystery makes it worth checking out.

A Fine Mess is quintessentially Interpol, almost to a fault. While it's a little undercooked compared to the songs that appeared on Marauder, the EP may still please fans wanting more of that album's vibe.

His talents as a rapper and lyricist are still stunning, and much of the production is solid, but the album ultimately feels like a one-sided conversation with an insecure friend. You love them, but kinda wish they'd just go to therapy and get back to you once they've worked some of those issues out.

Of the production teams, Vincent Pontare and Salem Al Fakir (aka Vargas & Lagola) deliver the best product, elevating "Peace of Mind," "Tough Love," and "Excuse Me Mr Sir" above the pack. A generic middle stretch is bookended by Tim's other highlights, which benefit from a group of high-profile guest stars, of which there are two clear standouts.

While the experiment works, for the most part, in tandem with Devine and Hull's always thoughtful and occasionally profound words, the album becomes formulaic as songs reliably start as acoustic song, then gradually ascend into the atmosphere.

This retro vibe is appealing and it also helps undercut whatever lingering sense of fatality hangs over the album, since it suggests that Ride Me Back Home isn't a statement, but rather just another enjoyable record in a long line of enjoyable records.

A sequel to the comparatively energized Snax, this charmingly disjointed EP of sorts--14 tracks, 25 minutes--functions as another intermediary release between Bodywash and its proper follow-up, planned for 2020

There are enough hooks in this bouquet of confusing-if-passable genre-hopping tracks to keep him on the path to future hits, but nothing comes remotely close to the lightning in a bottle of "Old Town Road"'s accidental perfection.

A substantial portion of the album is either reverential or referential to a degree that it can sound more like an exercise in homage or a licensing tactic than a distinctive work.

Return to Center can feel like a bit of a lark, but it's administered with enough gravitas that it's easy to dial into the flow.

If Down to the River isn't as adventurous or hungry or exploratory as any Allman Brothers Band album, there's nevertheless a deliberately cultivated warmth that's designed to appeal to Allman fans-and, given a shot, Down to the River may well appeal to that audience.

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.