In My Dreams proves that subtlety, judicious use of space, and generous, trusted sharing can deliver a quietly gorgeous soundscape. Frisell harnesses all his trademark attributes into one, evocative declarative statement.

The Mountain successfully captures Gorillaz’ individuality without repeating it, pushing the band even further into this new era of experimentation with some of their most daring yet honed music in years.

The band leans into what they do best — swelling ballads, earnest confessionals, and gratifying harmonies — and as a result, the album feels less like a reinvention than a reaffirmation of what they do best.

Lyrically, it’s not deep — focusing on living life with its ups and downs while finding time to enjoy the in-betweens — but it’s undeniably fun. .... It’s the quieter moments on The Dreamin’ Kind—such as “Stealin’ Time,” “Rickety Ol’ Bridge,” and “Dance On Thru”—that feel slightly out of place here. The album closes with “Engine 99,” a song that best ties together the quieter moments with the new rock-focused tracks.

Any topic Scott touches across the album (sexuality, religion, oppression, et al), she does so with bold self-confidence and a sharp pen.

On its own terms, as a soft, singer-songwriter album, Weapons of Beauty is a showcase of deft storytelling from a singer with a captivating voice.

At its best, the music accentuates the songs’ difficult subject matter. At other times, it becomes monotonous, with the immersive layers distracting and turning into a wash of indistinguishable noise.

Joyce Manor continues playing to their strengths with I Used To Go To This Bar, going big with microdosed strong songs that blast on by.

Tracked largely in analog, Dylan-style, and featuring L.A. players like Amy Aileen Wood (Fiona Apple) and Wayne Whitaker, For the First Time, Again sounds richly vintage. Though nearly flawless, its loose approach leaves open the question of how Tyler might sound in a more modern, ambitious setting.

This lineup offers great potential for the provocative mix of musical personalities, and sure enough, sparks fly from the get-go on “Opal.” .... The very delicate balance the four employ actually elevates their imaginative interplay. In letting his comrades dominate on “Talking Drum,” for instance.

Mustaine and Mäntysaari tear through complex, heavy riffs and blistering solos with speed and precision. .... While the album may not reach the level of the band’s first six albums, it’s a fitting farewell for Mustaine, with enough heavy riffing and histrionic shredding to make those last notes memorable.

Fearn delivers music back to him that touches on a host of genres, including post-punk, warped electropop, bizarre dub, and minimalist new wave, repeating beats and slowly adding instrumentation to keep things from becoming dull. More than in past records, the songs take time to stretch out, as the duo pulls them along and the words.

Though the album sounds remarkably fresh, it also has that vintage sheen of albums from yesteryear – a dozen songs, each only three-four minutes long, comprising a digestible, head bobbing, enjoyable 40 minutes.

While it is stripped down in terms of personnel, there are plenty of sonic layers at play, resulting in her most sonically adventurous effort to date.

Overall, the band sounds self-assured as they broaden their horizons without alienating their core fans. Secret Love is a gorgeously produced record that sounds vibrant, wandering, engaged, and slightly funky as Dry Cleaning continues to broaden their post-punk scope.

After all the snark, self-effacement, and emotional guardedness that precede it, “All I’ve Got” lands with a genuine tenderness that makes the album feel emotionally honest.

Fans of Mr. Bungle and Patton’s wilder/heavier tendencies may not find a lot here, as the project skews more towards the Avett Brothers side of the house.

For longtime fans, this is the clearest window yet into a period when the trio was remaking underground rock in real time. For newer listeners, the set serves as both a history lesson and a gateway.

This is a much-needed dose of Silver with young cats Shaw and Henderson, guaranteed to lift your spirits.

‘It’s not all about me,’ Paul intimates, and, sure enough, he reiterates his point, albeit delicately, on “Part Two” of the composition that began the album. Still, if Kelly dares to suggest anything profound on Seventy, it is only through his wilful implication that the narratives surrounding us are as absorbing as our own, at least when perceived within the generosity of spirit permeating these recordings.

Midlake’s sixth LP is an unassuming yet vibrantly fun listen, brimming with expressive anecdotes that aim to enhance your surroundings rather than distract from them.

Cook does a great job of keeping the focus on Mavis. None of the guest spots are intrusive. In fact, it’s only the slide guitar parts from Bonnie Raitt or Derek Trucks that are attention-getting. The overall effect is that of Mavis, a living saint and the voice of empathy, leading the hushed gathering in prayer, best evidenced in her take on Curtis Mayfield’s “We Got To Have Peace.”

Welch lays her soul bare, goes into terrifying detail on topics most would run away from, and can emerge from it all with another pop innovation to add to her resume. Everybody Scream is Welch reaching a boiling point and stuffing this world of hurt and confusion into 12 gentle songs that never hold back a punch. The artist pens some of her most honest music to date, and even if the world seems to be crumbling around her, Welch comes out on the other side wiser, more daring.

Far from just a slice of history, this roughly thirty-five minutes simultaneously consolidates the creative metamorphosis that preceded it and reaffirms the continued relevance of Bob Dylan’s work.

As a bleak artistic shift from his folksier Americana, the album is a complete product, just not a very engaging one. Todd Snider seems to be in transition with this record.

The well-decorated singer-songwriter is well past the point of trying to prove anything. Yet, it’s refreshing to see Carlile embracing new approaches. And, of course, it’s beautifully and articulately rendered.

While not as accessible as It’s A Shame About Ray or as punk-focused as Hate Your Friends, Love Chant is an impressive blending of both styles.

There’s a careful sequencing to the record that one can only appreciate listening to it in its entirety. Let it take you places.