Some aspects of Prize remain a little perplexing—the wordplay doesn't always land, and the slinky-like guitar progressions feel a little like déjà—making it seem like a logical progression and not an artistic leap. But Plain's strengths lie in how she maintains a unique identity regardless of the numerous collaborators, always attuned to her inner world.

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.

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

It’s not simply an incremental improvement. It’s a quantum leap. As far as third albums go, it’s their Forever Changes, Summerteeth, and The Meadowlands rolled into one. It really is monumental. ... It truly is one for the ages.

There are far too many tracks on this LP where I can tell Randall and Spunt are present–the No Age I know and love are deep down in there, somewhere–but aren’t engaged.

Quiet the Room is a worthy addition comparable to Julianna Barwick's The Magic Place and The Innocence Mission's We Walked in Song, chamber folk reveries so entrenched in their own little worlds you can practically live inside them.

At times danceable and thoroughly emotive purge.

One could say that her impeccable use of space is what reveals a special intensity to her work, a musical style artists don't often explore as they near the end of their third decade release music. Orton hinted at it through all this time, even if you weren't paying close attention.

Along with a numble of likeminded producers to help fulfill her vision, Parks comes across as an open book, delivering a lushly atmospheric portrayal of a woman who takes pleasure in living in the moment.

Flood is a musical and lyrical leap forward that delivers a multitude of rewards. That it ends in Donnelly’s strongest composition to date makes for literal icing on the cake.

Why Bonnie doesn't break its established mold, but it does sustain an element of surprise throughout that bodes well for whatever comes next.

Segall eases you with his unique charm, but he also tricks you, subtly cranking things up to remind you of his frenzied output. The tone remains largely indistinct throughout, but it also feels like he's begun concocting his next witches' brew.

Searing. ... Just when you think Viagra Boys have exhausted their ideas, outside of the surprisingly confessional ADD, Murphy and his cohorts crank up the energy one last time on Return of the Monke.

Strange provides the blueprint for his many talents on the album—proving his taste knows no bounds—pursuing a scrappy, meandering course that can sometimes lead to rocky, albeit thrilling, dead ends.

Courtney might give the impression that he's aiming for a low-stakes, minor effort to pass the time in Magic Signs, a stopgap until moving on to a relatively more ambitious project. But he couldn't be more in his element, shifting in and out of focus as he recaptures his youthful wonder.

Olsen immerses herself into an intricately crafted and honest piece that doesn't resonate as distinctly her own.

The album packs a lot of ideas—and songs—into its brief 33-minute runtime, preventing almost any song from overstaying its welcome. ... The result is some of their loosest, most fun work.

There’s lots to love but WE can’t match the power of the band’s first four records. Still, Arcade Fire’s returned rejuvenated after time in a cynical wilderness, ready to sing and dance against apathy. This album is worth it for that fact alone.

Van Etten took the risk of not releasing any singles beforehand so audiences could more fully understand the full scope of the story. She holds a little bit of control before charging ahead, unlocking the connection she craves after experiencing a ceaseless stream of negativity. It's the kind of emotional catharsis all of us can relate to during these uncertian times.

Pierce commits to an intricately layered masterwork that brims with beauty at every turn. He has come close to writing a Motown-inspired ballad-like Let it Bleed (For Iggy) before, but here, in typically unorthodox fashion, Pierce nails down that aesthetic while serving up Britpop grandeur this side of Blur’s The Universal.

There's a fluidity and looseness to White's approach on Fear of the Dawn, giving the impression he's having a good time kicking it with his buds in his garage.

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

While she's developed her voice in the process, Designer being a shining example of how she showed her many talents with oft-kilter confidence, Warm Chris blends spontaneity and rigidity all at once.

What she's gained in the process is more focus and confidence, and as PAINLESS proves, an intriguing foreshadow of things to come.

She’s emerged from the thickets of Laurel Hell more assured than ever before.

Dig into it deeper and you’ll find a surprisingly rewarding account tell-all that sounds like an extraordinary premise to a film. And the score they write for themselves, as thrilling as it is, can be somewhat overwrought at times, resulting in an aural mood that could've used some dramatic nuance.

Weaving in dustier threads to Beach House’s ever shimmery fabric proves that the cyborgian approach of mixing the organic with the mechanical is an increasingly winning formula.

The result is the most compelling case in years on the potential of the journey—the insights to be gleaned, the friendships to be strengthened, your own potential waiting to be untapped. Albums like DNWMIBIY make you believe in magic again.