It would be a fully-formed debut for artists of any age. So it’s all the more impressive that Yellen is only 23 years old.

On Bloodhounds, the harder Victoria works to reckon with the dark Southern demons of her youth, the further she’s pulled back and drawn in by the music she’s discovered along the way: the lonesome wail of Junior Kimbrough, the isolationist cry of Outkast, the mournful lament of Patsy Cline. It’s this push and pull that provides her music’s driving tension.

There aren’t many that can keep the musical flame burning for this long and maintain the quality found here.

Lead track “Mile Marker 29” gets things off to a rousing start courtesy of the song’s riveting refrain. The tangled tapestry of “All Your Friends Are Dying” doesn’t offer the most promising premise, but it’s intriguing nevertheless. Still, when the band slows the tempo and recasts the proceedings with some mellower melodies, the album truly hints at greater glories.

An impressive effort that proves these relatives with impeccable musical synergy have more than just bloodlines in common.

Give Collapse a few listens. The potential is there.

These new songs should mesh gracefully with the classic music that rightfully made Cat Stevens a household name in the ’70s.

A similarity to the material and an overall honeyed style dominate on initial listen, but the pieces become more distinctive after a few spins.

They still craft songs as if they’re assembling a robot, and they make sure to throw so many of these short tracks on the album (25 in 45 minutes) that you’re bound to find a few that will hit the pleasure buttons just like the old days.

Those looking for a cool album to throw on as invigorating background music will be delighted. Those who want a little more substance with the style should cherry-pick a few chosen tracks which spotlight why Yeah Yeah Yeahs still impress a decade down the road.

Fogerty knew the risks and sought to rise above mere sing-along gimmickry, inviting his partners to share ideas for their tracks. Wrote A Song for Everyone, the result, is, at times, revelatory.

While there aren’t any rousing sing-along choruses, let alone pop crossover potential, this is Americana that’s conceptually consistent.

Morissette's poetic discourse of intimately describing her feelings still abounds, but is elegantly emoted here with cool restraint.

None of this is sonically abrasive but it’s all challenging and a little goes a long way. At over 50 minutes, it’s a heavy lift that may confuse some but also intrigue others.

Unlike its predecessor, it comes across as a decidedly calming affair, one that stands apart from the earlier album’s brash and bombastic surge of racket and rumble.

The diversity works to Los Coast’s advantage, keeping a vibrant, generally exuberant approach coalescing around Pivott’s voice as it ignores stylistic boundaries more established outfits might be hemmed in by.

All in all, Blue Rider is a stirring experience, one that elicits emotions with the most subtle of brush strokes and simplest of sounds.

Everything is weighed down with import, and that can become wearying through 14 longish songs. Still, people will relate to the universal doubts and fears that are often stirringly evoked by the music and lyrics on Delta. Mumford & Sons know their strengths and they play to them well here, proving that too much catharsis is better than not enough.

Rouse uses his recent psychoanalysis sessions to question universal questions of our place in life as we age. That he does so with such beautifully crafted, hummable pop songs is a testament to his long established talents as one of America’s more overlooked singer/songwriters.

This feels like the band’s fifth album, not their first, and that’s an enormous compliment. They blow the roof off but do it with style and class, nodding to the past without slavishly imitating it.

Despite the adept lyrical approach, Gonzalez’ guitar virtuosity is still one of the main draws here.

Despite his relatively young age—he’s barely 25—he conveys a remarkable sense of self-awareness, and if he seems especially vulnerable on some of these songs (I love myself but that’s alright, he insists on the album opener “The Funeral”), one gets the sense that he’s speaking for others that imagine themselves in a similar scenario.

In retrospect, Young’s decision may have been for the best, but like everything he’s done, Homegrown still has much to offer. In retrospect, and with all things considered, it’s not a bad blend.

Fleet Foxes producer/engineer/mixer Phil Ek warms up the band's previously chilly sound to yield arguably their best, and certainly most accomplished album yet.

How much appeals to you will depend on your tastes, but it’s clear that all of the contributing musicians did this as a labor of love, something obvious from the honesty and quality of the performances.

You’ll just go with the flow and appreciate the sheer songcraft of a journeyman who could probably release an album as solid as this every year without breaking a sweat.

This remains a cool, downbeat and shadowy version of the duskier side of Americana.

There are a lot of songs here, and it overwhelms in one sitting, but even in small pieces, it’s clear that Tweedy takes home the songwriting ribbon at the father-son picnic.