There's a very singular character to Girlpool's music, and it's a pleasure to be able to dip into the remarkable world they have created.

It doesn't surprise but it doesn't seem stuck, which gives the album a mellow appeal.

Penguin Cafe have created a charming world within The Imperfect Sea that gently seduces the listener through the restless and captivating collection of songs within it.

While the lack of unreleased material might make it superfluous for serious fans, this remains a splendid summation of the work of a major artist who continues to create deeply personal, profoundly moving music.

This is not just ecstatic music, but cosmic soul music. If you buy one archival recording this year, let this be it.

Krall has a definite vision for Turn Up the Quiet--she wants to keep things smoky and subdued, a record for the wee hours--and the end result is so elegant, it seems effortless.

The stylistic switch-ups are clever and effective without coming across as forcefully out of character.

It cannot be understated how bold it is to go against the grain in a genre where adherence to style can equal respect, but Stormzy's ambition exceeds potential judgment from purists. He's more concerned with expressing himself and adapting to survive, so that he can express further for years to come.

This is a celebration, both of the group's past and its inspired present, and that is more than enough to make this a worthwhile live album.

Here [on the title track] and on the rest of Nothing Feels Natural, the hunger, vitality, and intelligence coursing through these songs feel timeless as well as timely.

This is a remarkably powerful and pure album.

The album is deficient in emotional depth and congeals into a mass of adequate mood music. It doesn't offer much more once the themes--including romantic fulfillment, solace, and longing, with a little materialistic frivolity, eyelash batting, and cutting loose--come into sharper focus.

Splazsh and R.I.P. remain Cunningham's most novel and creative full-lengths, but this thrill-filled one, whatever it's about, is his most direct.

Sounding revitalized, projecting a mix of gratitude and disgust, Wale breathes new life into an old breakbeat (and a sample from Marvin Gaye's version of "I Wanna Be Where You Are") for a defiantly proud pro-black finale. It should be enough to retain the listeners who strongly prefer the more lyrical, less hedonistic aspects of the Wale discography.

Verses certainly seems like a project that was labored over for such a long time, and it ends up being entirely worth it. It sounds seamless and organic, and avoids the novelty aspect of Jeff Mills' Blue Potential.

While there is plenty of good stuff going on, there is a little too much conservative playing and a little too much left-field oddness for the record to truly hold together. Occult Architecture, Vol. 2 is preferable to the first volume, but it pales next to the band's next work.

A few songs do depart from expressing pain and the documentation of recovery. Brightest of all is "Find the Love," pure early-'80s boogie throwback. Just beneath that is the title track, a theatrical empowerment anthem that would likely close just about any other album. Instead, extra punctuation is provided by "Hello Father," another gem.

With all of his projects, Barnes continues to challenge himself and his audience, and Compassion's fascinating mix of power and atmosphere is the most finely honed version of Forest Swords yet.

The Black Lips still sound like the rulers of an unwholesome party underworld on Satan's Graffiti or God's Art?, but it's hard not to feel like both hosts and guests are running out of steam.

Graveyard Shift is a highly enjoyable and entertaining continuation for a band that knowingly winks along with the madness they concoct.

[Halo] feels like a logical snapshot of her ongoing journey, presenting 12 new tracks that are as eccentric as they are inviting.

While it's stylistically no great departure from his earlier output, it feels like the logical next destination on his journey.

As good as each of these songs is individually--and there isn't a bad song in the bunch--what's best about From a Room, Vol. 1 is how it holds together. There's no grand concept here: it's just a collection of good tunes, delivered simply and soulfully, and that's more than enough.

It's Dulli's band, and what he's delivered here honestly satisfies.

Slowdive may not be a dramatic return that will blow people away; it's far too peaceful and calm for that. It will comfort fans of the band, both those who loved them at the time and those who have discovered them in the intervening years, by being very much a Slowdive album. One that feels modern enough, but also very classic at the same time.

Still trippy and shambolic, The Weather carries an epic, sometimes otherworldly luster, with a synth-poppy psychedelia that takes a half step out of deep fuzz toward ELO.

The 11-track set is loose, yet never directionless, with melodies that are less stately, though no less comforting than those found on the album's predecessor--Shelley's voice itself is a marvel of sonic palliation.

The album itself lingers in the mind as a perfect pick for when something is needed to soothe an uneasy soul or make a crappy day a little more palatable.