If Smoke & Fiction proves to be X's final musical statement, they go out as they came in – unique, ferociously talented, and with plenty to say that's worth hearing, and they've stayed that way as the curtain falls.

Stampede is the work of a singer who is a star and obviously excited by the possibilities it offers him as a performer, but the best moments suggest he should offer a little more space for Orville Peck the Artist, who deserves his share of the spotlight.

Baldwin's words are woven into eight of the 17 tracks, whether sung by the pained if undaunted Justin Hicks on the rippling funk of "On the Mountain," or recited by Jamaican poet and activist Staceyann Chin on "Baldwin Manifesto I" and "Baldwin Manifesto II." The pieces that don't quote Baldwin are often equally charged, freighted with anguish.

Cults still aren't as easy to pin down as might be expected, but To the Ghosts reflects how they've endured without compromising the innocence and artful popcraft at the heart of their sound.

It's a lovely record with a lot of personality and passion that showcases a rarely heard instrumental combo.

The standout songs are great: the relentless bounce of "Did It First" with Central Cee is infectious in its fluidity, the sophomoric and slippery "Think U the Shit (Fart)" matches ridiculous lyrical brags with an undeniably funky instrumental, and "Gimme a Light" amps up a classic Sean Paul sample with a buzzing drill beat and Ice Spice's furious flow. The less substantial tracks blur together, even with help from other rap stars.

It's at times caught between escaping into nostalgic juvenilia and dialing in perfectly manicured indie rock productions, but ultimately, Crack Cloud joyfully exploring that incongruity is the entire point.

While 2016's Two Vines had its merits, Ask That God is a welcome return to the blissful, body-moving spirit of Empire of the Sun's first two classics.

Alex Izenberg & the Exiles is an album for late nights, back porches, and lonely weekends, and another intriguing entry in the growing catalog of a distinctive music personality.

In its moments of both catharsis and ambience, Vertigo maintains a consistent balance. It's a quietly adventurous album that never feels like it's pushing too hard in any one direction, even when the sounds are swinging from blown amplifiers to bubbly flutes.

At times, Dream of Delphi's soothing yet awestruck moods play more like a soundtrack than a set of songs, but those who savor Khan's powers of expression as much as her art pop savvy will find a lot to love here.

There's no heaviness here, no sense of torment. Even when he's singing about a "Swamp of Sadness" and wondering "If the Sun Never Rises Again," it's clear that Simpson has made his way through the darkness, settling into a place where he's utterly comfortable in his skin and scars.

Things shift a bit toward the end with the stomping neo-gospel of "On My Knees," a bit of testifying that recalls the bluster of Nathaniel Rateliff & the Night Sweats more than a Sunday service. The rest of Made by These Moments hums along to a neo-soul vibe that places the Red Clay Strays in Rateliff's wheelhouse, an expansion that doesn't necessarily seem like an evolution even if it broadens the band's appeal.

For the most part, however, The Death of Slim Shady is a bewildering slog to get through. The general concept gets old almost immediately, and from there we're left with a painful lack of new ideas

Cohen uses Paint a Room to circle through a deceptively wide spectrum of ideas and arrangements, organizing his various strange and beautiful sounds in a way that keeps drawing the listener's attention back, like trying to focus your eyes on something just out of view and figure out exactly what you're looking at.

There are enough good things in Hear the Children Sing the Evidence to understand why Salsburg wanted to document this experiment for posterity, but don't be surprised if you feel the need for a cup of coffee after putting this on repeat.

There is a wealth of emotions in the material -- some of which is self-critical -- along with some abrupt changes in style, such as the transition from the scruffy ballad "Spite" to the speedy electro-disco track "Less of You," two of many highlights. Even so, there's a flow to God Said No that rewards start-to-finish play.

It's telling that it takes cameos from a pair of rock superstars -- John Mayer helps sculpt "Better Days," Bruce Springsteen haunts the corridors of "Sandpaper" -- to help pull Bryan's aspirations into focus: where the rest of the record seems caught in its own head, these tunes have a forward motion that makes the rest of The Great American Bar Scene seem relatively bereft of musical imagination.

Dreamland may have been the album that made Glass Animals big, but song for song, I Love You So F***ing Much's thoughtful, anxious pop might be more rewarding.

Poetic symmetry drives much of Across the River of Stars and speaks to how our personal memories get intertwined with the music and movies we love, bridging us to the past. It's a poignant, desert-campfire texture they return to on songs like "Falling Forever," "Faded Glory," and "High Noon."

Bando Stone & the New World may not be his best album - it was always going to be impossible to dislodge “Awaken, My Love!” -- but it serves as a fitting summation of all the good-to-great music that has been released under the Gambino banner and might even give some clues as to where he's headed next.

Chaotic, poignant, pretentious, fascinating, and thoroughly entertaining despite or because of it all.

Blackgrass shows he can make a memorable bluegrass album as easily as he can craft a potent soul groove. The surroundings are unexpected, the quality is not.

While The Secret of Us finds her still vulnerable and singing with an audible frown, her delivery is stronger, arrangements are more sweeping and robust, and at least some of the songs are trying to look forward.

Alternating between imaginative reinterpretations and faithful renditions of familiar hits, offering a testament to the resilience of the songbook of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers.

Rateliff leads his crew through a panoply of '70s-touched roots rock, delivered with warmth, sincerity, and occasional bursts of grit. Even amid its themes of anxiety and overcoming trauma, South of Here manages to stay buoyant, and at times playful.

If it's possible to be fun and tedious at the same time, Lady on the Cusp fits the bill.

Orquesta Akokan aren't merely revivalists -- they create their own 21st century jazzy, polyrhythmic innovations, proving that mambo remains relevant musically, culturally, and spiritually.