Extreme Witchcraft proves Everett is willing to let it all hang out sonically, delivering enjoyable results.

This soothing, peaceful album reminds us to take stock of who we are, where we’ve been, but mostly to just appreciate the moments at hand. It’s the kind of album that only a superior artist could pull off without sounding cheesy or pat.

The Boy Named If, has a lot in common with Hey Clockface, whether it be the four noticeably weaker tracks or the similarly bloated 52-minute runtime. ... What does work about The Boy Named If, like any other Costello album, is the songwriting. ... When The Boy Named If hits, and it mostly does, it gives us a Costello Halloween song and yet another track about a waitress who looks like an actress, two things that are not easy to pull off. Costello is still an artist to watch.

Overall Covers is a mixed bag containing strong song choices, but very few must-hear offerings from the artist who will always dig the crates for new covers to unearth.

Strings and his musical cohorts have somehow managed to follow up their 2019 Grammy winning LP Home with an even stronger collective effort and one that will only help cement what we all already know: Billy Strings is, without question, one of the greatest musical talents of our lifetime, regardless of genre.

Francis built these tunes to be taken to the stage and jammed out and while In Plain Sight can become a bit repetitive at times, Francis’ efforts provide solace in making the most out of difficult situations.

Devoted fans of as well as casual listeners may ultimately find much of what follows too informal for its own good. ... Strictly on musical terms, though, this celebration of personal and creative bonds is just one more effort by this inveterate iconoclast that, like 2014’s Storytone, is slow to reveal its subtle rewards.

Highway Butterfly: The Songs of Neal Casal leaves the very distinct impression of that project that is a true labor of love.

Robinson keeps most of the attention on her voice that manages to be both soft and remarkably powerful. Themes of religion, flawed men and women and a longing to make things right are weaved throughout this collection, highlighting Robinson’s strongest writing so far.

Though it lacks the raw mosh pit fodder of early Slothrust releases, Parallel Timeline shows a new sensitivity, vocals improved in both tone and melody, and plenty of pop hooks while still peppering small doses of heavy rock.

The beauty is in the segues, the sequencing, the layering, and the spirit of the endeavor. It’s best to take it as a whole, rather than a sum of parts.

Though less dynamic than its predecessor, owing perhaps to the lack of a surprise factor, it essentially picks up where Raising Sand let off. There are a few new tweaks, but this is collaboration is so strong, we’re left asking why we had to wait so long.

Evian has succeeded in creating a layered album that reveals more and more on repeated listens both instrumentally and lyrically.

On BOOK (the record) They Might Be Giants continue to pump out what they always have, smart earworm pop tunes that are slightly odd, tastefully corny and instantly catchy.

Things Take Time, Take Time is charming, finding the perfect note for the mood it’s trying to evoke, and even at its smallest and most benign, it’s captivating, the kind of album destined to become a favorite of a very specific subset of Courtney fans. It feels well-worn too, a well-deserved breather after three near-concurrent classics.

The quartet’s sound (produced by Haynes and John Paterno) goes for the retro blues gusto and succeeds; the sonic quality of this record is top shelf.

Oregon-based Margo Cilker’s debut is a well-lived, road-worn collection of songs that transcend genre, dipping in and out of folk, Americana and modern roots offering a nearly flawless record from the opening track on.

Crawler feels like a more personal album, with less sloganeering than previous IDLES releases. Talbot’s monotone voice and underwhelming lyrics are still the band’s weakness, but band’s attack mixing heaviness with anxiety-inducing dissonance keep things interesting.

The record is consistent in its songwriting, from that wry opener to the closing song, “If It Was Up To Me,” a love song to humanity of sorts about running the world that dodges the hokiness for relatable earnestness and ultimately results in a stellar record that shows the results of two decades in the making.

In an album of mixed results, there are enough brilliant moments that bode to a more meaningful lyrical side for Rateliff and his powerful band, which has a knack for infectious grooves and hooks.

This milestone reimagining of the last studio effort by the original four-man lineup is an emphatic final punctuation on R.E.M.’s long-term personal statement of chemistry, one which to this day remains altogether rare in contemporary rock and roll.

At eleven songs, Ocean to Ocean is Amos’ lithest, most condensed album of original songs since 1999’s To Venus to Back. The album benefits from the tracklist’s economy, and for the first time in over a decade, there are no songs that stick out as filler or potential b-sides; rather, all eleven songs on Ocean to Ocean are vital parts of the album’s whole. Even on some of the less immediately engaging ones, like “Flowers Burn to Gold,” the lyrics offer some of Amos’ most striking imagery.

Brighten is aptly named, though, because the biggest departure for Cantrell is trading his usual gloom, depression, and cynicism for a more positive, even uplifting tone. ... But it is still a Jerry Cantrell album, so darkness and musical tension find their way through cracks in the pleasant facade.

I Don’t Live Here Anymore, pushes the groups sound as much as it can, while staying conceptually consistent and rewarding.

There are not many musicians who could present an album with such a wide sonic palette. That is a Wayne Shorter characteristic that Blanchard and these two ensembles deliver on brilliantly.

Even at its mildest moments, Duffy asserts themself with an energetic catharsis.

My Morning Jacket, for the most part, succeeds as the album fuses My Morning Jacket’s more polished moments with their fuzzy jam band origins into a successful brew.

For its imperfections, less than optimal sound quality (although particularly good considering the 56-year age of the tapes), a less than engaged at times McCoy Tyner and Elvin Jones, and what comes across as a feverish blowing session more so than a spiritual reckoning, it’s a jaw-dropping performance. ... Purists may still adhere to the studio version and deservedly so but nonetheless, that cannot diminish the importance of this recording in Coltrane’s legacy. It’s a revelation and it now invites a comparison of the two that none of us ever expected.