As an album, Shadow Kingdom is an alternate universe that reflects another side of Bob Dylan's craft and creative muses. It's not a funhouse mirror reflection per se, but it's definitely really fun the more you look at it.

There are a few new sounds here — prominent vocal harmonies in the chorus of the opening title track, electronic snare hits and a soft synth hum on the saccharine "Looking for a Vein" — but for the most part, this is familiar DMB.

Why Does the Earth Give Us People to Love? is an album of great substance, one that both rewards and demands close listening.

The Murlocs have shown their skill at evolving naturally with little effort, and Calm Ya Farm sees the band putting it all together, upping the honky-tonk and honing their unique-yet-timeless sound more than ever.

While highlight "The Glass" is an undisputedly heartbreaking acoustic-tinged ditty about living the rest of your life in someone's absence, the mid-LP tracks unfortunately do little more than fill obligatory spots on the Foo Fighters spectrum.

Despite a few moments spent in the doldrums, Park's heartfelt lyricism and serene instrumentals navigate the complexities of love and healing, reminding listeners of the ongoing process of finding wholeness.

Despite the often abrasive experimental flourishes, the album retains a joyous sense of melody and pulse that makes it undeniably fun at its core.

On Amatssou, Tinariwen adds to their amazing range and melodic flexibilities through collaboration, allowing some of their biggest admirers into their majestic, fully realized world.

The whole album is chock full of songs that scream road trips and beach days, pulling from a grungier vision of Sheryl Crow and latter-day Liz Phair's fun-loving pop rock, shot through with a synthesised yet vulnerable twinge that was already apparent on Lahey's first two albums.

NEVER ENOUGH is a cohesive display of genre experimentation that cements Caesar's place as one of the smartest and most talented artists in today's constantly mutating R&B pantheon.

On The Love Invention, Alison Goldfrapp shows that she's more than just the face of Goldfrapp. In fact, she might still be the face of modern UK sophisti-pop.

Bigger, bolder, and even more exploratory than his 2020 debut Your Hero Is Not Dead, An Inbuilt Fault.

Granted, tracks like "I Need You" and "Too Late" give off a Cars-meets-mid-career Tegan & Sara vibe that's a little too on the nose. ... This album is full of pleasant surprises, though.

That! Feels Good! is unapologetic in its pop sensibilities, full of hooks that lightly tease and lyrics that keep themselves around. Ware's airy yet soulful delivery of these words, coos and moans is part of what makes her so captivating, and acts as a direct line to how much fun she's having.

All things considered, this may not be the best album ever made by Kid Koala, but it might be one of his most rewarding experiences.

Lightning Dreamers is refreshing for how it demonstrates the veteran cornetist's clear and realized vision. At 58 years old, Mazurek has helped usher jazz into the new millennium by surrounding himself with genre-defying musicians, transporting the arithmetic sound of Chicago through a warped space-time continuum.

Lily's clean and refined songwriting on Big Picture has her following in the footsteps of the similarly polished and venerable Laura Marling while sharing an emotionally intuitive sharpness and tongue-in-cheek propensity with fellow contemporaries like Lucy Dacus and Phoebe Bridgers.

The track list moves like grief itself, with a glimmer of hope before plunging back into darkness and hurt. But, as Green does so well, each track is buoyed by his smooth voice, full of emotion, and poetic lyrics that can somehow perfectly capture every sentiment.

This debut album stands on its own as an artistically daring personal statement.

Rat Saw God is wildly ambitious and easily lives up to the industry hype — Wednesday have succeeded once again in twisting nostalgia and existential dread into a braid of bruising, life-affirming rock music.

Taken as a whole, this is the kind of record that will infect your life, to paraphrase "Sepsis," one of the record's standouts. I, for one, am down to let it kill me.

Continue as a Guest picks up on the beats-and-synths sound that drove 2017's snappy Whiteout Conditions. Yet where that album saw Newman and Co. dabbling with syncopation, here the band is moving as one unit, deepening the music's groove.

For 36 minutes, the listener is submerged in the LP's chaos, but when the album finishes and you come up for air, there's a feeling of obligation to go back and listen through again. It's a celebration of the singular stylings of these two hip-hop heretics, one that rejects any semblance of conformity, leaving it free to be exactly what they want it to be, whatever that is.

Dacus brings a sense of wit and sensitivity; Bridgers a quiet melancholy; Baker a raw ferocity. the record combines those individual instincts into a group effort that's compelling in all sorts of ways — and one that's also charmingly (and, in a way, fittingly) imperfect.

On Memento Mori, Depeche Mode turn this philosophical reminder into a beautiful, raw, and passionate rebirth.

It's a lurid, scuzzy, electrifying return to form.

Embracing her past while looking forward, on GOOD LUCK, FRIDAY makes her own.

Putting the tiger back in a 15-year old cage works well for the band, for the most part. You can feel Stump chafing against the creative box he's put himself back in, and the tension it creates in the music gives many of these songs a sense of immediacy.