On ENTERTAINMENT, DEATH, every fragmented idea is thoughtfully ripped apart and stitched back together with the gusto of a delirious genius. The band reframes reality and mixes the euphoric highs with the sinking lows in strangely surreal collages that are freakishly beautiful, leaving you feeling kinda stoned and a little bit sinful.

Roadrunner: New Light, New Machine achieves artistic exploration while maintaining the unmistakable hip-hop aesthetic without it feeling pretentious or forced.

Fearless (Taylor's Version) introduces her younger audience to an iconic set of songs and feels like pure nostalgia for her older audience. This re-release signifies the beginning of Swift doing things her way, taking full control of her music and sharing it with fans who are eager to listen.

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.

As always, the band are at the height of their powers when at their most emotively rousing. ... But when recalling their previous efforts, there's an unshakeable feeling that they've done it before, but better — though you can't fault them for doing what so many post-rockers have done over the past 20 years.

New Long Leg may not always be positive, but it's more interesting than that, more needling and necessary. It's everything at once, a record that absorbs and spits back the unending noise of the world and asks that you take a second look, every common thing somehow made brand new.

It is a masterful experiment, full of rich details delivered by a sextet of artists who are not only top-flight players but excellent listeners and re-listeners.

On Is 4 Lovers, the pair have settled in and settled down, both in their lives and to their own sound.

The shadows of the trap loom large on Benny's dense and detailed The Plugs I Met 2 EP, the sequel to 2019's impeccable original with producer DJ Shay. This time, New York underground producer Harry Fraud's soundscape elevates both the melancholy and menace to cinematic heights.

Though drumming on tracks like "make it right." and "hypnotized" occasionally overpower the songwriting, the songs are redeemed by Garbus' vocal wizardry. In the verses, she meanders all over the scale in an offhand way, but dishes out a cathartic climax of soaring harmonies that make for some epic choruses.

As the musicians begin to ebb and flow toward the ninth and final movement, it's clear that Pharoah Sanders and Floating Points are so metaphysically in tune with their latest creation that their respective musical personalities almost disappear into the waves of sound, making Promises a recording that is more of a transcending mind meld than it is a collaboration.

Green to Gold is, at times, quite literal in its depictions of Silberman's personal experiences and other times intensely figurative, staring into the void of existentialism ("Am I incidental?" he asks on "Volunteer") with the kind of quiet assurance only the Antlers can evoke.

Although Bieber created a decent body of work, it's hard to get past that the sentiments of the overall message is skewed by the lack of effort towards creating music that addresses any sort of justice or lack thereof.

Chemtrails over the Country Club is sultry at times, syrupy sweet at others, and sad in a truer way than we have yet seen from Lana. It is a well-woven escape, but it is harder than ever not to wonder: at what cost?

Guided by tiered mixes and honest lyricism, POSTDATA has, for all intents and purposes, succeeded in transporting any inclined ear to a place filled with imagination and whimsy. While it may occasionally wander in finicky obscurity, it nevertheless oozes character and individuality.

This album reveals that Lanois is as gifted a collaborator and curator of talent as he is a creator of atmospheric productions for megastars. Let's hope the pandemic lockdowns lift soon, because Lanois and his bandmates deserve to delight audiences with their crackling chemistry and old-school gospel songcraft, all of which are vividly captured on Heavy Sun.

Is it incoherent? Absolutely, but that's all part of the fun. Although it's tempting to wish for an entire album in the same style — the krautrock tunes are especially strong — that wouldn't be nearly as fun as this strange tour through VanGaalen's brain.

Overall, the album's production is too polished, which somewhat contradicts the band's filth-caked persona. Instead of their lovable, sloppy sludge with festering warts and all, Nomadic Behavior is squeaky clean and coherent, with a surgical gravity to each and every downtuned chord.

This record drags in its second half, as several of their records have now done, but there are some all-timers to add to their best-of playlist (along with their standalone single "Warn Me," a phenomenal song not included here) and the rest is enjoyable enough. Tigers Jaw make albums that are good, sometimes very good, but not quite great.

For a band as hardboiled as Arab Strap, As Days Get Dark is nonetheless a love letter to the brave, ambitious nature the band has built their audience upon. The swings are bigger, the misses are broader, the hits are even more rewarding — for Arab Strap, there's no other reasonable way to approach it.

Electrically Possessed contains some of their most daring, buoyant and surprisingly solid set of songs, framing Stereolab as a band who managed to stay adventurous and weird right to the end.

Harlecore is '90s rave held up for review, assessment and full enjoyment, and if there isn't a ton of depth here, the breadth (with Harle essentially exploring four different sub-styles through his various personas) is more than impressive enough to make up for it. It's all pulled off with such glee and energy, that in terms of pure enjoyment, it's very difficult to fault Harlecore.

L.W. may not boast many surprises, but it cements its makers as masters of their realm.

As usual, fascinating choices abound when a lost Bob Dylan session is unearthed (and, excitingly, signalling that maybe there's way more of this kind of stuff to come), but this one feels particularly prototypical and casual, and, with good humour, was intended to warm folks up — to each other and the material — more than get its hypothetical audience hot and bothered.

It's clear from listening to and watching Way Down in the Rust Bucket that this was a truly special occasion that now lives on, in this remarkable new document of Crazy Horse in all its (ragged) glory.

In Ferneaux is everything most Blanck Mass albums are not: patient, subtle and disarmingly low-key. It was made in confinement, but it takes Power to surprising new places.

It's tempting to imagine what it might sound like if Cloud Nothings took these experiments further and gave their sound a more radical reinvention. As it is, The Shadow I Remember perfectly encapsulates everything the band do so well, and hints at what might be to come.

Carnage covers broader range than most of the Bad Seeds' recent records, cramming plenty of Cave's various stylings into a neat, eight-song package. For all of Cave's hunger and glee to return to the foreboding sounds of his past, it's when he opts for pure catharsis and bliss that he album achieves its full power.