Although lacking the silly and immature content found in their early output, the group retain their cheeky spirit, using that irreverence to process a society on the verge of collapse in a manner that's still uniquely Puscifer. As the world burns, Keenan and company hold a mirror to the calamity, forcing us to face reality and figure out a way to move forward.

Each of the tracks took a while to prepare, as Frusciante would fine-tune synth patches and arrange breakbeats, but the actual recordings were bashed out pretty quickly, and they all maintain that sense of elaborately designed spontaneity, making it easily the artist's most successful electronic work.

At a compact 12 tracks, Music Is the Weapon provides just enough inspiration to get the party started, but it is so good that -- if left on repeat -- it would be enough to fuel an entire night of hedonism.

Getting into Knives reminds us he's at the peak of his abilities in the art of record-making, and reminds us it's possible for a band to be brilliant without a shred of arrogance.

Throughout what is also an evocative set, Emmy the Great conjures images of musician-studded street corners and windblown flower petals alongside characters like "Mary," the unreliable fortune teller.

This time Nothing are in full command of their sound and technique. By adding back the metal and amping up the melodies, the result is an assured and powerful album that delivers on the promise of the group's debut without copying it. Their growth as a band has been faltering at times, but now that they've arrived, it's good to see and wonderful to hear.

It shows Costello's mastery of mood and storytelling, the kind of skill he's acquired over the course of a long career, but the key to Hey Clockface is that these techniques are applied to a record that's as restless as anything Costello made in his younger days.

Earth to Dora is well-written and imaginatively produced pop for grown-ups that reminds us Mark Oliver Everett is crazy enough to try anything once -- even feeling OK for a while.

By tuning in to his past, Lopatin shares something special with his audience. Equally challenging and comforting, Magic Oneohtrix Point Never just might be the album that moves listeners who appreciated, but didn't fully embrace, his previous music.

What's best is that Raging Wrath of the Easter Bunny doesn't sound like it was brought into the 21st-century kicking and screaming. It does all that and more, but there's so much mad joy at the helm -- this is a band that would close their shows with a faithful cover of the Alan Parsons Project ballad "Time" while masked and covered in blood -- that the material feels bracing, vital, and rooted in the present.

A pleasing amalgam of propulsive uptempo shoegaze, misty psych-pop, and layered acoustic songwriting, The View from Halfway Down offers an attractive compendium of Bell's accumulated strengths.

Bonamassa has plenty of opportunity to show his facility with synthesizing different classic guitarists -- there's a bit of Rory Gallagher and Peter Green to offset his Claptonisms -- but the best moment on Royal Tea is "A Conversation with Alice," a chiming bit of soul-pop where he channels the best moments of Steve Marriott.

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

In spite of its musical intricacy, This Is the Kit remains a relatable portal into the human experience and Off Off On is as appealing as anything Stables has ever released.

Forgotten Days is the album that will likely unite all Pallbearer fans. Its return-to-roots aesthetic is planted in a physical base that carries the band's dark, progressive doom into a new era.

Love Is the King is his very personal reaction to an increasingly difficult time in America's history, and while he doesn't pretend to have answers, this music is his own kind of therapy, recognizing his emotions and working through them before they devour him, and he makes both the process and the challenges well worth hearing.

Razzmatazz is a masterful debut, one that shows promise for a pair of musicians who proudly wear their influences on their sleeves.

The combo of the bludgeoning sound, impressively hooky riffs and songs, and masterful, nearly over-the-top performances work together to make unmissable metallic magic.

On every track, Minus gives listeners a clear sense of her worldview and balances all the elements of her music with an organic sophistication remarkable for a debut album.

Tracks unloading Actress trademarks like clinking and swarming FX ("Diamond X") and fitful kick-drum jabs ("Leaves Against the Sky") are more alluring and welcoming than usual. Six years after he etched a headstone for music, this enigma has made the easiest point of entry into his catalog.

The dread that percolates throughout the album comes from the ominous production and burly subject matter, but Daveed Diggs' quick-witted and masterfully controlled flows amplify the anxiety. Like the masked killer in a scary movie, Diggs seems supernaturally several steps ahead at all times.

The likes of Robert Smith, Beck, St. Vincent, Elton John, 6lack, Fatoumata Diawara, and Peter Hook help pull the album away from the realm of solipsism, suggesting that even when the world is largely isolated from itself, there is still the common language of music that binds us all.

While not an essential album for fans of Big Thief, admirers of Lenker's solo work will find another reliably solid, touching set of songs here, and the instrumentals may offer ambient comfort for late, late nights or the sequestered.

The album's numerous anime references will be lost on listeners who don't follow the art form, but nearly anyone can relate to his confusion, weariness, and desire to set things back on the right path.

Folks who were expecting Lydia Loveless to be the next savior of country music may be thrown for a loop by Daughter, but anyone who wants to hear one of America's best and boldest songwriters working at the top of her game owes it to themselves to give it a careful listen.

[The E Street Band are] playing not out of a sense of hunger, but communion. This shared warmth carries Letter to You through the moments where the younger Bruce is perhaps a bit too precious and the older Springsteen is a bit too clear, turning a record that's a meditation on mortality into a celebration of what it means to be alive in the moment.

The Ascension ranks with Carrie & Lowell as his most personal and affecting work to date.

Bronson's imagination, vivid as ever, makes up for the decreasing variation in his microphone approach.