Only the less impressive closing song "Fingers" sounds primed for mass appeal with traditional hooks. More compelling are the moments that showcase Lil Peep's unique relationship with self-expression and self-destruction. His delivery, lyrical choices, and sincere examination of difficult feelings seemed curious when he was alive, but take on a profound significance in the pallid wake of his death.

As good as Martin's remix is--it may not be as revelatory as his stereo remix of Sgt. Pepper in 2017, but it does manage the trick of sounding rich and bold without betraying the feel of the original--the real appeal of this deluxe reissue is the unreleased material, all presented in sparkling fidelity. This high fidelity is especially welcome on the Esher demos. ... Taken on their own, the session tapes are absorbing listening, but they also have the side effect of making the finished The Beatles not seem like a mess, but rather a deft, cleverly constructed album that accurately reflects the abundant creativity of these sessions.

Holy Hell is both a teardown and a rebuild, and while it isn't always an easy listen, there is some hard-won catharsis to be found in its attempt to distill the messiness of grief into four-minute blasts of sonic demolition.

The group takes pains to be able to fit onto every kind of playlist imaginable: rock, pop, electronic, soul-any popular sound that can be sculpted and shaped by a streaming service. As such, listening to Origins uncannily re-creates what it's like to experience-or maybe more accurately, consume-popular rock-oriented music in 2018: everything sounds vaguely familiar, vaguely connected, all designed to function as a soundtrack to whatever task you'd like.

Elastic Days is another example of the strength and confidence he's gained from turning down the volume.

When combined with the gut-level hooks, this barbed wit results in a record that's simultaneously immediate and enduring: the first listen demands attention, but it's the left turns, in both the lyrics and melodies, that makes Bought To Rot so satisfying.

Taken in as a small cache of excellent songs by three of the more talented songwriters of their era, Boygenius is a wonderful starting point, setting the scene for future collaborations that push into places each member couldn't get to on her own.

While Simulation Theory might appear to be overly polished mainstream trickery--all part of the simulation!--it's purely Muse at heart, successfully merging electronic-pop songcraft with their typically urgent, stadium rock foundation.

Listen underneath that gloss, and it's possible to hear Davies working out his ideas in a space free from the spotlight. Such seclusion may have meant he wasn't as focused to deliver songs with pop aspirations, the way he was in the '60s, but that's also the appeal of the collection: it's a polished version of a notebook from a strong writer, so it's by nature fascinating for anybody interested in the music of Dave Davies.

If Only There Was a River rewards return listens with a deepening flow of new revelations and curiosities, as the power of the songs grows more apparent with each spin.

Time 'n' Place might not be quite as cohesive as Bonito Generation, but it offers a fuller portrait of Kero Kero Bonito's music without losing any of the spark that makes them special.

What makes Interstate Gospel so invigorating is hearing how Lambert, Monroe, and Presley mesh as both songwriters and singers. Their time apart has only strengthened their bond, resulting in a fully realized and resonant record that is their best to date.

Negative Capability is a testament to her journey and what it has taught her, and it reminds us she's still a talent capable of drawing our attention.

Ultraviolet is a remarkable album that blurs the lines between jazz improvisation, modern composition, and ambient electronic music, forming its own musical language.

By any measure, More Blood, More Tracks is a monumentally important document in the history of popular music and a gem in Dylan's catalog.

She Remembers Everything is a challenging and rewarding set from an artist who is at the peak of her abilities, and if anyone needs to be reminded that Rosanne Cash is one of America's best and smartest songwriters, all they need to do is spend some time with these songs.

The album is charmingly pretentious, confounding, and a good time all at once. Closer "Pebbles" is the only song here borrowed from their debut EP, Gothenburg, released six months earlier.

The release feels like what could've been, whereas Centres actually was, but it's still a beautiful, mystifying recording.

As an unofficial soundtrack for ritual madness, religious ecstasy, sex, winemaking, and song, Dionysus excels.

This may be familiar to the dedicated whose allegiance never wavered, but for those who believed R.E.M. faltered after Berry's departure, R.E.M. at the BBC is a gateway into the band's last act.

While familiar-sounding, the soundtrack brings something new to the table instead of being a pointless retread, and in general, it just sounds amazing. Definitely worthwhile for any Carpenter or Halloween fans.

Yawn, too, has its moments of beauty and craft, but the payoffs are so subtle and slow to arrive that its title becomes the regrettably inevitable reaction.

Through a Wall is as smart, powerful, and articulate--or simply as good--as punk rock gets in the 2010s.

Even though No Tourists is yet another same-sounding entry in the Prodigy's late-era discography, it's also another satisfying dose of thrills designed to wreck the dancefloor and the mosh pit.

Self-aware and unrepentant, the Struts succeed where other artists who look to the past often fail, in large part because, like the Darkness before them, they possess both pop smarts and considerable amounts of moxie.

Only with "Who Want the Smoke?" does the first half rise above the preceding album, yet Yachty's the third wheel, eclipsed by verses from Cardi B and Offset. He's more at ease on the lightheaded "melodic" tracks of the latter half, back to goofy-vulgar observations, musical crib-mobile melodies, and occasional openhearted moments that sound natural rather than forced.

Unlike similarly conceived recordings, this doesn't act as a pleasant backdrop for engaging in other activities; instead, it quietly refuses revelation without active participation from the listener.

Steeped in the lurching, groove-laden thrash attack of the band's late-'90s/early-2000s heyday, Ritual evokes the savagery of Cavalera's tenure with Sepultura, eschewing some of the more overt world music predilections that have come to define Soulfly over the years with something leaner and more uncompromising.