For this seventh album in just under a decade, the duo continue their upward trajectory, finding new and casually complex ways of expressing their musical minds.

While it may not reach the heights of Acid Rap or Coloring Book, it doesn't feel as far removed — and, in some moments, indicates that those heights are still within reach.

Nothing feels forced; rather, the album gently unfurls at a languid pace. DeMarco remains the relatable everyman, his laidback delivery happily coexisting alongside his ever-present mastery of the titular instrument ("Rock and Roll," "Holy").

Even though it remains an abstract surprise album, Ain't No Damn Way! flows coherently, making for an impressively seamless addition to Kaytra's ever-expanding discography. Most importantly, the record's meaningful callbacks solidify that he has yet to lose sight of his creative North star.

It's a treat to get an album that feels as real as The Starrr of the Queen of Life.

Alex G is one of the most distinctive characters working in indie rock today, and despite some of its shortcomings, the songs on Headlights still prove that. But rather than being a victory lap, Alex G's first major label record feels self-destructive. Maybe he's not quite ready for the burden of prosperity.

Virgin is the kind of album that makes you realize something you hadn't really before: until now, Lorde was operating at an emotional distance. .... Virgin feels like a rebirth.

If Women in Music Pt. III cracked the door open, I quit stands in the threshold, taking stock of what's worth carrying forward.

Phantom Island is a mature reflection on grappling with success. Musically, King Gizzard may never step foot in the same stream twice, but it's clear they're here for each other wherever the current takes them.

The album is an earnest, succinct group of tracks that freely flow into each other, and [b]y the end of its 33-minute runtime, every song deserves its spot on the tracklist.

Turnstile remain the ambassadors we need, and their latest album is proof of their lasting legacy.

Something Beautiful does, of course, sound beautiful — Shawn Everett's production is widescreen and larger than life, but still remembers to dial things back when needed, although maybe not always quite enough (Cyrus is an impressive balladeer! "The Climb" was a moment!) — but it also rings hollow.

It's a worthy continuation of the unfulfilled upswing they were on when they called it quits feels like an undeserved bonus. More is unlikely to win Pulp many new fans, but that would be presumptuous to really want (and undignified to aim for) when you can otherwise hit the mark so authentically.

The result is a sound that is assured and ebullient, lively as a coiled spring releasing its kinetic energy until it's exhausted.

As direct as it is complex, Instant Holograms is an album of pure sonic pleasure.

"Waterproof Mascara" is surely one of the most harrowing rap tracks in recent memory. .... Full of horror and self-described Afro-pessimism, GOLLIWOG is frequently grim. And yet, it's not a difficult listen, since woods is simply too clever of a writer for him not to tickle my sense of humour.

While Teitelbaum's vocals occasionally teeter on nonchalance or disaffection, she knows how to balance these quieter moments with bursts of passion, making them strike even harder.

Babcock strikes the perfect blend of distress and condemnation in his vocal delivery, expressing righteous indignation at these lived realities.

Horny, outrageous, delicate, queer and poised to rip flesh at any moment, Pirouette is the sound of a band at the height of its powers.

That image of her — other people's perceptions — have always haunted her work, but near the end of Bloodless, on "Proof," Samia takes control of the narrative. As she confronts being loved "like a child's toy or cigarette" atop the descent of a warm yet aloof finger-plucked acoustic guitar line, she's at her most powerfully direct and poetically impact.

Despite these four musicians' predilection towards abstraction, The Film is at its most impactful when SUMAC and Moor Mother's most obvious musical building blocks are conjoined.

TORRES and Baker don't fully escape the influence of their strong indie milieus, but that's part of what makes Send a Prayer My Way so special: it feels a little folky, a little Americana, and a lot country.

SABLE, fABLE won't just make your head bob — it'll also make you excited for Bon Iver's next inevitable curveball.

Like the queen of the night, it fans wide and confident; its petals may fall back to earth quickly before dawn, but its essence lingers. The same flower, transformed but unmistakably familiar, will greet eyes, though briefly, once again.

With its fresh simplicity, Glory is a blazing return to form for Perfume Genius, who, on his seventh album, has come full circle as a pop star that has never been afraid to emerge as something brand new, familiar, or even as No Shape at all.

Difficult to dislike. The knowing wink may feel a bit strained as the crow's feet deepen, but it will coax your face into a smile more often than not.

Diggs finds all of the quicksilver tales of sex, drugs and violence that '90s gangsta rap used to trade in — except here, they're wired together yet dislocated, provocative yet impersonal. Hutson and Snipes gleefully resurrect the adrenalized club beats of that same era, with occasional breathers that flirt with the ambience of Massive Attack or Tricky when darkness starts to suffer the threat of dawn, all tied together with the static pulse of electricity and the flow of information.

It's certainly not the culture-shifting force that The Fame or Born This Way were, but it does recapture some of that former glory after some years where Gaga's biggest contributions have been blockbuster soundtrack ballads.