It's the full-on pop record that Monáe had been hinting at for years, and though some of her stylistic choices may not age well--especially when she veers into trap territory - she approaches them with a kind of flighty confidence.

The beautiful melodies and harmonies don’t actually go anywhere, they just kind of float in and out of earshot, failing to develop or do anything harmonically interesting.

With Blackstar, Bowie disengages himself once again from popular opinion and scoffs at the idea of taking the righteous path, finding inspiration in what is immoral and contentious. But in doing so he also finds an artful niche that suits his sixty nine years of age.

mbv follows its predecessor without aggrandizing its past resources, and as such, delivers a wallop of sweet, sweet distortion in a way that comes naturally to them.

The band fills U.F.O.F. with a rich tapestry of textural tones, almost to the point of oversaturation. It's so embedded in their songs that they somehow get lost in their creation, filled with awe and wonder (and some healthy pretension).

What makes My Woman great isn't the new synths or the rockier tone. It's Olsen herself, filling these songs with the love, desire, anguish and acceptance that comes from her perspective as a woman.

Microshift clearly demonstrates that Hookworms are operating on a new level.

That Nothing’s About to Happen to Me feels both self-contained and expansive speaks to how Mitski moves to her own rhythm.

The sturdy, timeless pop Edkins accomplishes often gets taken for granted, which, really, is the doomed story of power pop in a nutshell. But for a good 30-plus minutes, he convinces you that its ability to please is undeniable.

For every low point there’s the unquestionable standouts.

It’s a vital record, one that’s Nick Cave through and through, and whether he’s exploring his garage roots or his spooky, narrative tendencies it’s at all points a triumph.

It feels carefully tailored to a fault, making it practically impossible to find its flaws—especially if you find the interchangeable poetic sing-speak of Hard Drive endearing. Nevertheless, this is solipsism of the highest caliber: gentle, hypnotic, fastidious, but above all else, hard to resist.

There’s plenty to dissect throughout Secret Love, whether it’s through stumbling onto its non-sequitur zingers or consciously untangling its deeper concepts. There’s no wrong way to approach it; it really works both ways.

Few artists in this day in age take self-expression through art to heart like Hadreas does as Perfume Genius, and with the sensitive confidence that radiates from Too Bright, he’s mastered in a way few artists never do.

Mering has concocted a successor to Titanic Rising that any gambler worth their salt would have no doubt taken the under on. That Mering topped her own prior masterwork is its own reward and one we are no doubt not worthy of.

The Seer is 30 years' worth of effort, a unique and exciting height earned after decades of creation, experimentation and unconventional musical disassembly.

It's a new start for an artist who many had proclaimed early retirement. And even if he hasn't cheered up, his return does feel consistent with his downtrodden nature—and we can only listen as it all unfolds.

Mitski’s boldness is hugely impressive, and couple that with the fact the record is so expertly mixed and edited, she has produced one of the year’s more complete LPs.

All in all, this is another first-rate effort from one of the most deviant voices in hardcore.

Staples has so much to say in Summertime '06 that it’d be impossible to fully dissect in one listen, and his ingenious phrasing makes for a constantly amusing variety of vignettes. A record is only as good as the music that accompanies, though, and collaborative producer No I.D. delivers in spades and then some.

This collection is simply a joy to listen to, with great singers lovingly rendering great songs with a talented producer at the helm.

If you can distance yourself enough to judge Franz Ferdinand on its merits alone, it’s an impressive yet inconsistent debut record from a promising young band.

Ctrl is a languid, cavernously soulful debut that is never anything but assured--a collection of delicious jams that are equal parts fragile, cozy and piercing.

Fohr details her cathartic experience with a smothering array of droning textures and clashing orchestral elements, where she succeeds at making sense out of her cosmic encounter.

Tillman becomes one of the great diarists of our generation in Honeybear, possessing a keen, merciless intelligence within a sophisticated melodic sensibility.

What it does manage to do, however, is function as an engagingly visceral work of provocation, on balance interspersing his trademark beauty with enough challenging moments to reward repeated visits, even if listening to it never exactly feels like a pleasurable experience, and maybe that’s enough.

For her, it’s filtered through the attitude of the cowboy, her power coming through in her music and her words. Under these guises, she finds layers of emotional truth that are messy, confusing and often conflicting, but no less honest because of that.

xx is a fantastically innovative album, and this band is exploring new territory.

Let Me Do One More teeters betweens knowing jokiness and kindhearted vulnerability. And though she's shown these qualities before, Tudzin carries the weight of these emotions with a masterful command—embracing change and figuring things out as she fumbles along the way.

Is Ohms the return to form that meets expectations? Well, yes, even if the tunes haven't changed so much as the vastly-superior production has (with producer Terry Date back into the fold). But it also reinforces the fact that Deftones have stuck to a back-to-basics formula through all these years; the only difference now being that everyone else is taking notice.

Its authenticity is what makes it so addictive, so accessible.

What Daft Punk have done on Random Access Memories could be seen as a methodically curated, musical museum of the future, rather than a conservatory for experimental collaboration.

The music is beautiful, spiritual, intense, fun and, as Lester Bangs once called the Clash, righteous.

It's a remarkably sharp pop record that retains her fascination with pop-culture iconography and the rosey simplicity of a post-war America where classic rock and blue jeans ruled and takes them to much deeper places. ... Think of it as an hour-long car ride peeling down the highway with classic rock blaring out of the radio and no real destination in mind other than where your impulsive nature might take you.

Celestial Lineage may be well crafted and even (relatively) accessible but by eschewing the ideas that coloured their previous work, Wolves in the Throne Room have ended up creating something that's not really black, but rather quite grey.

Portrayal of Guilt’s songs become so chaotic and overwhelming in their bipolar brutality that almost every song needs an ambient comedown to cool off, though even these are just as lurching and ominous as each riff is impeccably tight and terrifying.

These songs work as an extension of himself—coming from one of indie rock's most literate songwriters—delivered with thoughtful compassion and no shortage of ambition.

As activist hashtags #MeToo and #TimesUp bear weight and stage heavy resistance against a significant and still increasing population of men with power, Remy’s words prop up the cause, not quite providing the movement its anthem(s), but certainly offering its reason(s) why.

Each moment on Is Survived By is a hotly tempered emotional assault that leaves no closet-bound skeleton unaccounted for an un-torched.

This mind-expanding record will inspire a more inexpressible connection: you will carve your own niche within its deep and absorbing textures, and you will find new things upon every listen.

Cocoa Sugar is an invigorating listen from beginning to end, and it's hard to imagine any other band making a musical work of art that's as visceral this year.

The Suburbs is about a search for home, for a place in the world when the home you knew is gone.

In Colour is one of the best albums of 2015 and one of the best dance albums in recent memory, simultaneously a moving homage to London rave culture and a realization of the potential of one of the most exciting and original minds in music today.

When it's all said and done, Tesfaye has presided over a mind bending, drug induced tour through an underground world of debauchery that only leaves him hollow. He commands the mood better than artists who have been in the game for years and yet this his first release.

This latest offering from Fleet Foxes embodies their entire catalog of folksy sounds, seasons it with some jazzy elements, and pares down some bloat (only one track over five minutes). Perhaps the only surface flaw of this album is that certain songs build too quickly and fade too fast.

What Freedom reveals is McMahon's ever-evolving tapestry, as it affectionally chronicles the human condition with candor and open-hearted curiosity.

With such a wide-ranging collection of retro sounds blended into one record, the fact that the album’s near 45-minute runtime avoids any real stale moments is another triumph from Uchis.

These songs are chaotic, unexpected and jarring. Samples, vocoders, and shambling synths crash together in an unstructured soundscape. But if you listen through the anarchy, you will find a stirring, masterful odyssey.

She leaves enough open spaces to invite some speculation and creative faculty, but by all accounts, this is the story she had to tell during this period in her life.

Let England Shake may be Harvey's less vainglorious manifestation, but it is also her most intoxicating. Rather than exposing a personal voice, she exercises her political inquietudes with studied intellectualism.

I’d be surprised if the genre can produce anything much better than this.

The bizarre take on folk, pop and anything else she sees fit is enchanting, joyful and thought provoking; it's everything at once.

It’s her grandest and greatest evolution yet.

Nearly everything about Audio Vertigo works, offering one of Elbow’s most consistently great entries in their catalog. It’s the type of album that has an easygoing, buoyant vibe and rewards dedicated, repeated listens.

Welcome to Mali was one of 2008's hidden gems, so do yourself a favor and go check it out now.

While the tracks rarely challenge the listener with bold experimentation or chord progressions that range much beyond major-and-minor resolves, Natalie Prass provides a concise amalgamation of R&B, funk, baroque pop, and soul with a consistent through-line.

Powered by its fluid and seeming invincibility, Mirrored is almost frighteningly cosmic.

It reveals yet another side to this musician, who has continued to pull back layer after layer since she first appeared on the scene.

Few albums are truly perfect though, and Bon Iver is not without its flaw.

It's another rock-solid album from one of rap's most consistently great collectives, with no discernable weak spots to attack.

In Dead Cities, Red Seas & Lost Ghosts, M83 have created an ethereal electronic masterpiece, and one which, thankfully, doesn't sound like a relic from the Warp Records back catalogue.

While Transmitter doesn’t sound like a late ’60s artefact, it still sounds like Clarke—a refresh rather than a revolution, and a perfectly satisfying one at that.

Shade, Harris’ most varied release yet, feels like the broadest and most crisp view of this vista yet, with clear, starlit openings (Unclean Mind), vast ambient gaps (Ode to the Blue), and hazy nebulas (Disordered Minds) coming together to form a stargazer’s dream.

It isn't perfect, its sheer restlessness prevents it from being so, but it will undoubtedly come to be remembered as another masterpiece from possibly the greatest electronic composer to walk the earth.

Packed with a surfeit of nimble guitar lines, they draw their forces together into an expertly crafted portrayal of raw anguish that surpasses any nostalgic commemoration. These mature punks sweat out their energy with vigorous and eloquent playing, and in doing so, also show their younger peers how it's done.

He has come up with a gem of a record, heartfelt and true, that hopefully will get him some of the attention he richly deserves.

Centres has the ability to both mollify and unnerve, and to think that most of it was assembled through sensitive means speaks volumes of Craig’s greater ambitions.

It’s the adequate album to write when you’re on a quest to become something, later to realize that you’ve no idea how to carry on fulfilling that need. It’s a transition that Toledo perfectly captures, one that he’s relieved to have outgrown.

His voice is an art form in itself, breathy and warm and aching with impartial soul. The track’s arrangements are stunning, from the sparse opener Plastic 100°C to the propulsive beat of Blood On Me, while the devastatingly beautiful, reflective piano ballad of (No One Knows Me) Like The Piano would stop the coldest of hearts.

We hear a lot of different sounds, but are never left in any doubt that they flow together with such fire and skill that you feel they could knock out a freeform jazz number and still sound like the same band.

After such a wonderful introduction, however, the rest of the album devolves into a strictly hit or miss affair.

Many of TRU's brightest moments come from welcoming aural pleasures--the arpeggiated transitions suspended amid a patient and corrosive crawl (Spright), the call-and-response punk energy but with a kinder release (Stick). Hartlett emotes with a shrug rather than a shriek, which allows the band members to bring on a fusion of careening song structures that depend on his muted, yet expressive voice.

Tumor hangs everything together with dark and inventive layers of pain that never relent. After Tumor ends things with a glimmer of hope on Ebony Eye, we're enthralled with their journey, eager to see where they will take us next.

There are two primary things that make Once I Was An Eagle take flight: Lyrics and progression, which together make the album intelligent, confident, and, perhaps most importantly, recursive.

The duo balances every big statement with genuinely warmhearted moments. The piano-driven Until I'm With You Again is a good example, which serves as a preamble to the galloping sing-a-long anthem Get Numb to It! Is it precious? Sure is, but does it matter when they have full command of their craft?

It’s all tons of fun, and is almost guaranteed to cheer you up with its overwhelming chirpiness.

There's a clear warmth and passion in this remaster; if you've yet to let this album grow to be a part of your life, get this.

House of Sugar is just as bewildering as Rocket, even if Giannascoli is too much of a tunesmith to keep things too abstract. He's a cunning songwriter who will take on a challenge whenever an idea seems to complex to untangle, even if his tender side will always be there.

The music is at turns bewildering, cathartic and questioning throughout; there is no separation. An exceptional record from one of the music world's brightest talents.

Halcyon Digest goes by like a breeze, and when it's finished there's nothing better to do than play it again.

Space Is Only Noise might occasionally overstay its welcome, but it's mostly an intriguing, excellent listen from a very promising young producer.

Alex G’s ninth full-length album, is easily one of his most cohesive works to date.

They're smart, clueless, and ready to take the festival circuit by storm.

Intellectual without being snotty, encyclopaedic yet accessible, it takes the seemingly stalled electro model and kick-starts it into outer space.

jj have crafted a truly fascinating album and one of the best hidden gems this year

She knows what it is to crave whiskey, to lust after men, to flout the petty hypocrisy of small-town country life and then cry and ask Jesus for forgiveness. This time she wove this narrative of Southern womanhood into The Blade and, by forgoing judgment and flaunting all its incoherent complexities, made it universal.

These are essentially songs of innocence and experience tinctured by world-weariness simultaneously infused with an earnest lack of guile. A brief criticism would be: a little more sound and a little less fury, please Will.

Margolin's bare-faced humanity is what's at the core of Every Bad, heightening the complicated feelings inherent in every one of us. Still, don't feel fooled into thinking that Porridge Radio's music is simple in terms of character and dynamic range. Whether they intend to or not, their tuneful, guitar-driven songcraft practically obliterates the left-of-center indie that's softened the genre into dreamy, pillowy mush.

It’s music that will soundtrack those peculiar moments where you really pay attention, free of distractions. This is music to spend time with and worth making time for.

Shields is undeniably tuneful, and you could even say that it's the perfect record to build that swelling momentum, but it's also detached and emotionally destitute.

Despite its slightly misfiring concept, Beyond The Pale remains an enjoyable hour spent inside the world of one of Britain’s most revered songwriters—even if you're never quite sure what your host was meant to be showing you.

All those flinching sounds can surely give some fatigue after a while, but does it matter when it’s so good at instant gratification.

The reason The Futureheads is so good is because, quite simply, the music is simply stunning.

Locked Down is the result of a synergy between musicians of different generations – both have something to bring to the party, and the combination is compelling. It is an album of rare energy, heat, sweat and motion, and a salutary lesson to all that age need not diminish one's mojo.

This is Newman’s most touching, musically rich and consistent record since "Good Old Boys" way back in 1974; and it’s hilarious to boot.

It may not come across as immediately ambitious as her previous work, but there are no tricks or gimmicks that create this intimacy; it’s just clever production and writing that never outstays its welcome.

With The Boxer, The National has not only crafted a contender for Album of the Year.

It might be facile to attribute the highs of IT’S THE LONG GOODBYE to Graham’s backstory, but he and his bandmates tap into something special, earnest, and powerful.