This reissue of the first two Bottle Rockets albums from '93 and '94 brings back with startling clarity how in tune Henneman was with the times, lyrically foreshadowing the decline of the middle class amid the rise of urban sprawl and taking well-aimed shots at unchecked racism and political correctness, all while leading his band like Warren Zevon fronting Crazy Horse.

For 43 minutes straight, she forces the listener to consider every facet of her sound without wasting a second of their time. Her self-assurance in her craft lays the foundation for an album that feels like a signature triumph.

Coloring Book is a spirited musical sermon, and Chance's fellow MCs will covet its perfect union of gospel and rap.

As contentious as Staples' ear for beats is to some listeners, it's refreshing to find him swimming away from a school of rappers comfortable with sonic stasis.

Inventive, lush, and propelled by taut rhythms and strings that gust like competing winds, Ignorance matches the subtle drama and sparkling intelligence of Lindeman's writing, exploding her music into opalescent shards.

June is no ingénue or girl-done-wrong; her persona as a creator is both spellbinding and well versed in the ways of the world. This is the singer-songwriter as wise woman, as wickedly sharp village witch.

Some tracks, like "Doesn't Matter," are splendid on their own, without getting into a showy pop realm: what that song lacks in hooks, it makes up for with micro walls of sound and a choral climax, courtesy of some sublime layering. But others are better at a distance. ... Despite that, Letessier's evidently heightened confidence goes a long, long way on Chris, and its emotions and attitude pop with astonishing strength, even if the sound could afford to do so a little more.

Tigers Blood is another tour-de-force: a brawny, brainy, rollicking excursion through Crutchfield’s heartland, revving with the power of a pickup truck.

A Seat demands a careful listen, and rewards it richly. This is Solange's strongest album to date.

It's a reclamation of a history that often doesn't tells stories about black cowboys or black musical innovations. However, it is a recollection of what inspires Solange, and more importantly, how she wants to inspire the next generation from Houston.

The album is a tad long, but the diversity in sounds and use of ambient noise make it clear this is to be listened to from beginning to end. There are plenty of single-worthy songs for casual listeners, while offering dedicated fans a more fulfilling experience by pacing the record's heavy moments.

Apple's most ingenious collection of songs to date.

They embrace vulnerability, taking time to address modern issues (read: symptoms of capitalism), while also imbuing a real sense of fun, artistic merit and instrumental democracy in the record's 11 tracks.

David's voice still sounds boyish after all these years, but All Hell noticeably showcases his increased range. Call it getting older, but it makes these songs that much more dynamic.

On All Born Screaming, Clark sounds more at home than she has in a while, but all planets inevitably die — perhaps the next one she lands on will finally be her own.

This is no elementary Valentine's card; it's a treacherous and wonderfully unreliable encyclopedia of romance.

Women in Music Pt. III flips between the band's least and most processed work to date. Both sides yield highlights. ... It's as multifaceted as the music it encapsulates and the women who made it.

What makes We're New Again so fascinating lies in the fact that Makaya McCraven benevolently and sonically recognizes Gil Scott-Heron's grief, joy, and legacy, making sure these vital expressions remain the album's true focus.

Swift is still unquestionably a pop artist, and folklore is unquestionably a pop album, albeit a quiet one — and as is the case with most recent pop albums, it's about four songs too long. It's hard not to wish that Swift would apply her written concision to her tracklisting, to do away with the stream-grabbing bloat and deliver something more thoughtfully tailored. Still, it's hard to complain about too much of a good thing.

They have both found, on their eleventh album (and best since the early 2000s), a renewed purpose and direction in this time of existential crisis for America.

Russian Circles' fifth studio album has a bolder, more polarizing sound than previous efforts.

Song for Our Daughter is a touching recording, and it demonstrates that, no matter the sonic style she chooses to play with, Marling remains at the top of her game.

These songs proudly flaunt Lipa's affinity for all things pop, disco, and funk, spanning multiple decades.

It's the sound of an artist operating at the peak of her powers, employing all her greatest strengths at once to create an assured, moving work that corroborates what Have One On Me already suggested: that Joanna Newsom is one of the finest songwriters of this generation.

Adele has deepened the niches that made her preceding songs so powerful. But instead of playing it safe with only those established tricks, her bold exploration of new terrain on "Cry Your Heart Out" and "Oh My God" help Adele not only become the world's top hitmaker, but also a pop music visionary.

Most vividly, Loud City Song evokes the easy, tingling drift of early Robert Wyatt.

That lack of tension and urgency throughout stops A Moon Shaped Pool from being a classic on par with Radiohead's best work, but then, perhaps that's the wrong standard to reasonably hold an album that trades the band's trademark anxiety for acceptance, their experimentalism for elegance.

Dream Weapon is a transportive odyssey that casts humanity's end as an inevitable reality with an opportunity for renewal, and offers a space where listeners can reflect on what that might mean to them, or just lay back and enjoy the ride.