Though the album delivers a jammy, two-minute instrumental in "Rhododendron," the track ultimately lands more like an interlude than an outlier, and Forever Turned Around very much plays out like a world-wearier continuation of Light Upon the Lake. Sometimes no big surprises is a welcome result.

Running a leisurely 75 minutes, Threads doesn't seem sequenced so much as unedited; it's as if instead of finishing the album, she decided to dump every track out into the marketplace. This makes for a somewhat somnolent record, but it's better to think of it as not a complete meal but rather a buffet that contains something to please every palette.

Delivers a punitive amalgam of classic West Coast thrash and bruising groove metal.

They fare better as a dancey new wave party band than they did emulating Joy Division on their album before this, but for all its energy and drive, Spirit World is light on truly striking songs.

Throughout the record, Tropical Fuck Storm intentionally eschew formulaic song structure, relying on unconventional songwriting rather than mining pseudo-psych-rock. As a result, the sense of apocalyptic adventure is palpable; luckily, it's a joy to go along for the ride.

Fresh and exhilarating, Nothing Great About Britain firmly establishes slowthai as one of U.K. rap's most relevant artists.

Throughout, the slippery beats, rangy songwriting, crisp, breezy production, and the streetwise pleasure-seeking confessionals and sideways jokes, make for a feel-good (even in its darker moments) summertime urbano album to be pumped loudly from car stereos, at parties, or on the beach.

It's a record that gets by on feel, not songs, which may mean that it doesn't provide many distinguishing hooks, but it does sound awfully good as it plays.

Jennings and Carlile also direct Tucker toward a few outside covers, including the rousing "Hard Luck" and "The House That Built Me," a Tom Douglas & Allen Shamblin song popularized by Miranda Lambert, that add texture and deepen the emotional undercurrents flowing through the record. When combined with the Carlile/Hanseroth originals, these tunes paint a portrait of a mighty artist who has been through a lot but is fearless about the future.

Despite these variations, discernable influences, and the involvement of collaborators, the comforting Anak Ko is more unified in tone than prior releases and benefits from its marriage of immersive sound design with consistently engaging songs.

More than either 1989 or Reputation, Lover seems fully realized and mature: Swift is embracing all aspects of her personality, from the hopeful dreamer to the coolly controlled craftsman, resulting in a record that's simultaneously familiar and surprising.

The clarity of the remastering on The End of Radio makes this a must for fans of Shellac. It would be nice if we could get another live set from this trio that was recorded less than 15 years ago, yet as an artifact of the Live Shellac Experience and a sincere tribute to fallen comrades, this is as good as you could hope for.

Tucker's previous few albums contained some of his most stripped-down, direct material, but here he goes for a bigger, grander sound, and the results are no less powerful.

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.

Like some of the more cerebral acts of Britain's early-'70s folk-rock heyday, Modern Nature aren't a portable commodity of singles and small ideas. Their music is defiantly experimental -- though by no means impenetrable -- and best enjoyed in its long-form splendor.

The 16 songs use a wide variety of stylistic approaches while centering around Durk's lyrical narratives of desperation and survival. While not all of it feels essential, the high points are fantastic examples of the rapper at his best.

The resulting Love's Last Chance does evince a more direct step on a surface level. Pacific rhythms with squiggling synthesizers and casually bobbing basslines course through it, with not one flashback to the wrought, jagged edges and stammering patterns of Early Riser. There's a nearly equal increase in the musician's stylistic agility.

Amazingly, Childish doesn't show a single sign of slowing down or losing a step. At this rate, he may indeed be the last punk standing; he's certainly one of the few still making records as impressive as this.

In many ways, Animated Violence Mild feels like the inevitable sequel to World Eater. Where that album used the full force of Power's music to rail against the world's injustices, this one reflects the resignation, frustration, and emotional overload of its time in its startling and moving tracks.

Stieglitz's and Morgan's work both speak to the desire to preserve the power of a moment, and to make something fleeting eternal, whether with a photograph or a piece of ambient music. There's something noble about that, and on Equivalents, Morgan captures it eloquently.

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.

This skillful balance of consistency and surprises -- as well as the past, present, and future of dance, indie, and pop -- makes Inflorescent a more than welcome return.

As impressive as these textured emotions are, Gypsy succeeds as a record because of Jewell's facility with roots music.

Hints are abundant that they are on the cusp of stylistic and sonic evolutions balancing bold and experimental elements, but their commitment to the material, as well as their energy and focus, aren't forced but are occurring naturally. This is easily the band's strongest outing since Leach's return.

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.

Other Girls benefits from Cobb adding a sense of spectral melancholy to the proceedings. It's a quality that's thankfully not overplayed; it's there just enough to add dimension and mystery, emotions that still linger when the record turns and eases into something a little simpler.

Mixed results notwithstanding, This Is Not a Safe Place is further proof that these four musicians belong beside one another. They won't make the long-list for the Patrick Fitzgerald Shoegaze Poet Award, but they still create quite a sighing racket.

Triumphantly romantic, Forevher announces Shura as an artist who's as deft at soul-baring songwriting and soaring pop as Carly Rae Jepsen or Christine and the Queens.