The rapper proves he still knows what it takes to make a solid, well-rounded album.

Every song comes and goes in less than three-and-a-half minutes (and most in a lot less) as the band makes up in ramshackle charm what it lacks in glossy production.

Toby Keith has been writing and playing country music long enough to know every one of its conventions-and how to twist them around.

Long.Live.A$AP may not change the game like "good kid, m.A.A.d city," but A$AP Rocky's absorbing debut is more physical in its pleasure--as in, you'll be knocking your head to some of these songs for months.

Overall, Carey's throwback vibe on Memoirs is refreshing and much welcomed.

He sounds as unflappable as the subject of his first hit.

The casual nature of the sessions-Dylan coughs during "Blowin' in the Wind" and stops "Talking Bear Mountain Picnic Massacre Blues" to correct a lyric, for instance-only enriches the experience.

While the album is fluid lyrically and musically, it's missing one thing: Monica's spunk and sass.

Phillips sounds natural enough within that [Dave Matthews Band] style, more acolyte than imitator, which makes the album one of the more engaging champion debuts in the show's inconsistent history.

Currington sings that he's "not known for doing a lot," but he's certainly found a way to do something that's undeniably his own.

Among the many Odd Future efforts already circulating on the Internet, BlackenedWhite was a wise choice for an attempted mainstream incursion: It's got enough of the outfit's deranged humor to titillate tourists (see tracks "Gunsounds" and "Deaddeputy"), but softens the edginess with a pronounced pop sensibility.

Delightfully restrained production gives plenty of breathing room for a full, resonant rhythm section, where similar dance rock might give more bandwidth to a hotter, shriller high end.

None of the new spice here is likely to change anyone's mind about who Bad Religion is or what the band does. But you have to admire these guys' determination to keep things tasty.

Heavy Rocks arrives in the marketplace along with Attention Please, a lower-key companion album that showcases the coolly resigned singing of lead guitarist Wata. Surprised? Don't be.

The appealingly schizoid approach isn't unlike that of America's Melvins, whose 1991 song "Boris" provided the band with its name. On the new Heavy Rocks, Boris makes no effort to hem in that sound.

It all sounds sturdy and fits comfortably down the middle, more dependable than daring.

Much of the album is frenetic--full of bodies and larger-than-life. But the muted and downcast moments end up being memorable, tender and affecting.

Blue Neighbourhood features soft-touch synths and booming drum machines worthy of the next Lorde or Taylor Swift record.

She's confident for a new artist, but this promising debut backs up her big words.

Under the cover of midnight, Del Rey has been exploring big ideas about eroticism, drugs, myth, the empty promise of YOLO, what it means to be a woman, and the American soul.

The band hasn't lost its sense of wonder--it's just seeing the world through a more realistic lens.

The missteps are few, but grave: on "Gimme a Chance," she transitions from bouncy rap to full-blown salsa, complete with Spanish singing, while the retro surf-pop of the Ariel Pink-produced "Nude Beach a Go-Go" confounds. And yet, both merely amplify how creatively combative Banks can be--especially when she focuses that energy into her music.

There are times you hope for a little more dumb fun--enter Diplo, who turns up on five tracks with his air horn and Caribbean beats and would be welcome on more--and there's at least one moody ballad too many. But then an aqueous bassline bubbles up and a surge of trance-y pulses sweeps you along to Madonnaland, where introspection and abandon engage in erotic acts of self-actualization.

On new album Moth, the follow-up to 2012’s Something, Polachek and Wimberly seem to relish their good luck, layering hooks and beats with a kooky exuberance that was missing last time out.

Majid Jordan’s best quality is its intimate feel, sounding like each song is the extension of a conversation and is to be heard by a specific set of ears.

Their ­second album sharpens their ­instrumental attack, while singer Jehnny Beth exposes her bloody heart.

Sometimes, the 20-year-old's vision needs to be adjusted, as on the manic French Montana collaboration "FU" and on "Someone Else," which feels like the album's hundredth dramatic breakup song and plays for nearly five minutes. But more often than not, Cyrus' daring attitude guides her to invention.