[An] astoundingly distinctive album.

Dark Sacred Night is a non-traditional Christmas album, but one of great import nonetheless. It makes a perfect companion for those of us whose Christmas experience is absent of the typical festivities and jubilation.

On What's Your Sign?, Oneida and Rhys Chatham show that sometimes the most obvious collaborations are the ones that end up surprising you the most.

While the self-examination he committed to tape this time around isn't quite as pointed as those of other figures in the genre this year, it's a worthwhile story to hear as we welcome Hodgy back to the mic.

Darkness and Light comes off balanced and bursting with humility knowing and being what it is--mainstream soul framed by pop parameters.

It may be a bit platitudinous, but Temple's delicate voice and songwriting make it an enjoyable listening experience.

It's a love letter, and yet, it's astonishing just how hard-hitting it is.

Though a lot of this material might come from a damaged place, by foregrounding that, a defiant perseverance shines through on Heart Song. Williamson isn't revelling in self-pity--rather, by carving out her insides, she demonstrates agency, action and an embittered sense of hope.

Andrews grasps her songs tightly. Her lyrics are considered and heartfelt, her vocal performances are clean and pure and the songs are produced and arranged with nuance and precision.

Last Night on the Planet is a solid followup with enough variety to please listeners both on and off the dance floor.

With WORRY., Rosenstock builds on last year's We Cool? not by dealing himself a new hand, but by stacking his cards a little higher. The fast songs are faster, the slow songs are slower and the big songs are bigger.

The London producer emphasizes structural variety over substance, and relies on former sonic signatures to push a release that remains distinguished within the electronic landscape. However, in the context of his oeuvre, Young Death / Nightmarket listens like just another cut of the same.

Although Box oddly and quite disappointingly omits Voigt's 1995 Modern EP and 1996 self-titled debut, the vinyl version adds in tracks that were previously unavailable in the format, along with the inclusion of 1999's Oktember EP and the hard-to-find "Tal 90" single.

Surrounded by ambient hiss and faint female backing vocals, The Benoît Pioulard Listening Matter shows Pioulard expressing emotion through simple but intensely personal songwriting.

While the album is far from his best work (the disjointed opening track is a strong first clue), it still merits a listen.

Brandt Brauer Frick are still immensely talented, and you can hear glimmers of greatness crop up in the background here, but they've sadly jumped the shark on this one.

Despite this galling blunder ["California," an infuriating interruption to an otherwise cohesive project], Gambino knocks Awaken out of the park.

Broken Knowz does hit a few snags, with some tracks pushing the six-to-eight-minute mark and remaining pretty much static throughout (single "Knowledge of Selfie" comes to mind, the eight-and-a-half-minute track perhaps mirroring the constant repetition in our self obsession), but its shorter, more contained tracks override and stand out, showcasing what Daniel has to offer.

Tonality and instrumentation aside, the overture of All The Right Noises is subtle, reserved and warm.

The songs on On the Green Again are long, and some listeners might find the album a little wearying by the end. But Tiger & Woods are first and foremost purveyors of party music, and in the hands of a skilled DJ, all these tracks should be able to ignite a floor.

Set against the billowing fog, blinding strobes and distant sirens of 3 a.m., Scuba's fabric 90 is a versatile mix that draws heavily on the experiences now held forever captive behind the closed doors of the legendary nightclub.

If you're not in a particular mood, listening to this can be a chore. If you are in the mood, though, this is another solid entry in a series full of them.

While the band's attempts to recapture their old glory have typically felt like attempts to give fans what they've wanted from them--and the idea that of a bunch of old white men tying their authenticity to their black cultural forbears feels something like an ugly metaphor for this mess of a year--this is the Stones making music for themselves.

Boots' more rough and intimate look behind the duo's evolution and process is in its way no less compulsively listenable than the cohesive Revival itself, which would introduce Welch and Rawlings to the world sounding basically fully formed.

Those wishing for a return to the Trilogy days will have to bit a tad longer; across 18 tracks, the Weeknd proves he's ready for primetime here, but there's still a sense of feeling out the new parameters.

Blasts of powerful guitar and rhythm that sounds like two, sometimes three percussionists carry along their tradition of satisfying grunge here, but the songs feel more cathartic than celebratory, the crashing cymbals and flurry of toms reflecting the honest, raucous lyrics.

What a mess. ... The album sounds more like a rehearsal than a completed record, with Keltner's pacing off, Young flubbing lyrics and Bushnell at times just guessing.

It's obvious he has a consummate ear for quality and potential. Listeners who share these sensibilities should be all over this release.