With the exception of the over-five-minute, tempo-shifting "Empty Head," the songs here are still short and bittersweet and still distinctly Frankie Cosmos, but there's a little less bounce in their gait and more weight to them on the whole, as Kline negotiates self-examination, affection, regret, and apprehension.

Weather Alive nestles into a comparatively hushed, atmospheric blend of acoustic and electronic timbres that's meticulous and nebulous at once.

A concise, direct statement about how the world has shaped him, Hugo is Loyle Carner's most accomplished work to date.

While much of Willow's charm lies in the way she can switch genres with ease, Coping Mechanism is so engaging that it'd be nice for her to stick to this sound for at least one more album before continuing her ever-riveting evolution.

Ultimately It's Only Me sticks to the formula that's taken Lil Baby to the top, but somehow fails to communicate the personality and creative fire that was hard to miss on earlier albums.

King Gizzard are never less than compelling and even when their concepts are modest, they deliver a final product that's psychedelic pop/rock/funk/soul/prog/what have you at it's very best.

Returning after a five-year studio hiatus (ages in the Hitchcock discography), the esteemed sorcerer of pop surrealism delivers a more than worthy successor to his acclaimed 2017 self-titled effort.

Understated and enveloping.

Incredible songs like "Dusted" and "Kisses to the Crying Cooks" from the Fast Japanese Spin Cycle EP don't make the final cut. Despite these omissions, the compilation does a good job of weeding out the filler, and exists as an annex of even more fleetingly amazing songwriting from GbV's defining era.

Her charm holds together The Loneliest Time's whirlwind of daydreams, confessions, and decades of pop allusions, making it another strong album from an artist who knows her niche and how to grow beyond it. At its best, it's pop written by and for those who dream of something, and someone, real.

Turner seems to be angling for atmosphere, not hooks, with his melodies. The free-floating croon helps The Car amiably drift in space but it also highlights how the record could use a couple of elements to bring it back to earth.

Although this monochromatic palette tends to highlight the limits of co-producer Jack Antonoff's bag of tricks -- nothing here feels surprising, even when he's playing with textures and teasing out the music's dream-pop elements -- the narrow focus is the main attributes of Midnights, as it plays to Swift's sense of control and craft: she may be singing about messy emotions but she sculpts those tangled feelings into shimmering, resonant songs.

The sleekness calls to mind the Strokes, as does the guitar interplay. It's definitely an avenue the band might want to explore more if they get tired of unhinged rock & roll. Not that they needed to change; they could keep putting out records like this -- filled with energy and a tiny bit of polish -- and it would be a long time until the Murlocs got stale.

Only Built for Infinity Links is an energetic, fun, and multifaceted project from Migos members Quavo and Takeoff that stays lively and keeps away from the type of filler that can drag down mainstream rap albums and mixtapes.

The reliably uncompromising Omens includes some of the band's heaviest and most apoplectic works to date, with highlights arriving via the pummeling "Nevermore" and "Greyscale," and the unrelenting title cut.

YG's bouncing between styles gives I Got Issues a scattered flow that pushes the best tracks to the forefront and makes the weaker material feel all the more tedious.

Direction of the Heart is an album by a band that still has something to prove. They deliver big. Without forsaking their core sound, they offer listeners energized, anthemic, poignant, electro-charged rock & roll.

The Watkins Family Hour tackles a number of different emotions, winding up with a record that's simultaneously casual and deep, a testament to the power of community arriving at an hour where such bonds are often tested.

"The Other Ones" is out of place for its melodramatic decluttering of baggage, but the trio of "Pieces," "I Don't Love You Like I Used To," and "Home" come across as wholly heartfelt, respectively striking a rare balance of numbness and hope, expressing total devotion, and turning on the (ocular) waterworks. Legend is at his best when entertainment isn't his objective.

Steady never feels rote -- these guys are in love with rock & roll, and their joy and passion is never far from the surface. If a new band made an album this good and joyously pleasing, they'd be hailed as heroes, and don't let the fact Sloan are grizzled veterans keep you from celebrating Steady on a regular basis.

Oh Death is the kind of uneasy listening record guaranteed to clear the faint of heart out of the room while peaking the interest of anyone not scared to dip a toe into dark and ugly psychedelic music. It may not be pretty and it may not always be nice, but it's always thrilling and might just be the band's best record to date.

It takes them to some different places, but the destinations are still quite satisfying, and this is a brave, compelling, and surprisingly moving set of songs. They seem to be glad to be making this music, and we can only be glad they've chosen to share it with us.

It's mature music played with the energy and passion of youth, full of experience and tenderness but never complacent. It's no wonder that the band have inspired so much devotion since they have never lost the inspiration behind their music and Crybaby is one more shining example of that.

Hearing Dry Cleaning's words and music travel in different ways to the same destination remains fascinating, and the ways they open up their music on Stumpwork with warmth, sensuality, and humor reveal their originality even more fully.

There's nothing sensationalist about the album's most brutal lyrics, and they're balanced out by the record's sly sense of humor and casually innovative production.

What's here sounds fine, but it's nothing revelatory, and there aren't any sections that tap into some sort of divine inspiration. This may as well just be a bootleg recording of a dress rehearsal, certainly of interest to fans, but not one of Can's essential releases.

Arriving after such a long hiatus and during a period of global tumult, Broudie's sweet melodicism and gentle vibes are more welcome than ever on this appealing return to form.

As good as OFF!'s previous releases were, they (in classic hardcore style) sounded like they were produced in hit-and-run style, with the band cutting them live with minimal overdubs. Free LSD, on the other hand, aims to be something more; in its intensity and vision, it succeeds, and it's a gloriously weird triumph.