Sparkling arpeggios and sublime atmospherics undercut the loneliness and desperation in MacLean and Whang’s singing (the latter’s is the stronger of the two’s), giving tension to the confident and frequently beautiful production.

This album is well-crafted and smart.

Her strong voice (think Kim Deal or Liz Phair) remains the focal point, though wild guitars and thunderous drumming give it the foundation it needs to soar.

Dedicated to friend and colleague Vic Chesnutt, Lambchop's 11th album is as refined and dignified as the top-hat-wearing gentleman depicted on the cover.

Some might say it lacks bite, but it works nicely with Liam Corcoran’s good-guy vocals, the hum-along choruses and the band’s stunning pop chops.

The odd bit of distortion on I'm Ready and Watch Me Go disrupts the otherwise pristine party, while a heavy flirtation with piano house on Old Love/New Love returns us to life-affirming territory.

Deeper Than Rap triumphs over this authenticity deficit and is among the best rap albums so far this year.

Death Lust is an extreme album in which Williams bares his raw, overcome soul over ear-splitting guitar noise. As harrowing as it can be, it’s transcendent rock music that feels unparalleled so far this year. Durham Region should be proud.

Created during Iceland’s dark, cold winter, Nepenthe’s intimate vibe immediately warms and envelops. In short: mesmerizing.

The first three tracks build with effortless new-wave energy, making Fantasies an album you’d want to listen to while pre-drinking.

It has the vitality of today's top 40 dance-pop but is full of the kind of wisdom, wit and warmth that can only come with age.

Although the flagrantly throwback Motown numbers are a bit warmed over, the album shines when Kelly blends his old-school approach with his modern club killa persona.

Every song on this--her fifth--album sparkles with intelligence.

Continually developing and evolving, the Ex sound as vibrant as ever, and Catch My Shoe has an enviably timeless feel.

There's nothing terribly innovative going on here, but their unguarded passion is irresistible.

Her flow is kaleidoscopic and hearing her turn phrases with Jamaican reggae artist Chronixx on LMPD or trade verses with fellow Londoners Chip and Ghetts on King Of Hearts is an imaginative escape in itself.

The results are intimate yet expansive--a pleasing balance between post-rock sonic experimentation and traditional songcraft.

[Break Up With Your Girlfriend, I’m Bored is] the most jarring song on the album, which is otherwise her most mature and cohesive yet.

Blackheart is refreshingly unbeholden to the convention that requires R&B singers to balladeer non-stop at top volume.

Lyrically, Styles is at his best when he’s biting. 0000... He’s not exactly mining unexplored territory. But, he’s an Internet Boyfriend – and Internet Boyfriends are non-threatening. As he inches closer towards the adult pop contemporary charts, Styles is thankfully owning his one-fifth of the One Direction power-pop legacy.

It’s an inward, headphones-on plug into a young man wrestling with varying levels of success, from codependency and addictive behaviour to self-acceptance. It’s the sound of Zayn grappling with toxic masculinity.

When these two dimensions come together, as on the stunningly awesome 'American Names' or 'Who Do We Care For?,' it all but erases the anguished waiting for him to finally come back around.

A tighter track list homing in on its sombre (and stoner) moods would’ve been bolder, but to his credit Ross avoids commercial trendiness in favour of more personal--if familiar--forays into Philly soul, funk, 90s hip-hop and South Beach glam.

This is the most radio-friendly they’ve ever sounded, and as a result there’s less of that sense of fragile intimacy. That’s not necessarily such a bad thing, especially when it’s replaced by an addictive burning urgency, as it is here.

The laid-back riffs and grooves are balanced by big hooks and melodies that make the most of Jackson’s airy (and refreshingly unprocessed-sounding) voice.

While there are still plenty of swooshing sounds and heady instrumentation, it’s refreshing to see that Sigur Rós can do more than create aural landscapes.

This is easily the most danceable record she’s produced. Surprisingly, the weakest tracks are those that sound most like the electro-rap we’ve come to expect from her; fortunately, they’re in the minority this time out.

Together, they sound kind of Bowie glam, kind of ELO, but never dated.

The band continues to find new ways to expand within rigid, self-imposed parameters. Although the album veers away from the spaced-out psychedelia of 2007’s Attack & Release, it retains much of that album’s slickness.

A couple of lifeless slower numbers bring the album to a crawl midway through, but they ultimately add balance to all the smart, uptempo rockers.

The lo-fi/hi-fi production values keep slickness at bay, resulting in something as warm, intimate and super-casual as an East Coast kitchen party.

Depression and personal battles still make up the lyrical content. But there are also spacious, cosmic moments, swaths of texture (Tim Bruton adds keyboard lines and Matt Rogalsky synth bass) and gentler fingerpicked and/or softly sung moments.

While the sheer density of Bejar's writing can be overwhelming, Destroyer's Rubies is, on a musical level, the most 'accessible' disc he's released in years.

The really exciting news is that [Sexsmith] actually takes some vocal risks – and sounds like he's having fun doing it.

Product is Sophie's debut LP, collecting four previously released singles plus four new ones in a concise introduction to a producer who has quickly crafted a style and perspective all his own.

Some might lament the increased accessibility and decreased experimentation, but it doesn't take long to realize that these tracks do as much in four minutes as the 18-minute epics in Black Mountain's past.

After a while the tripped-out builds can feel formulaic, but the mind-altering textures and melodic flourishes are so gorgeously realized that Luminous’s feel-good charms become hard to resist.

The alien textures of St. Vincent's guitar heroics and the crunchy electronic rhythms lurching behind the trombones and sax stabs keep things just on the right side of gleefully weird.

In terms of brightness and accessibility, the album feels like an extension of their breakout record, 2008's Microcastle. Yet it's clear the band has matured in the intervening years--and they're better for it.

Not every track is a winner, but fans of their brash debut will still find a lot to enjoy here.

What's really impressive, though, is how all the nods to glam rock, shoegazer, new wave and 80s indie rock blend together to produce a sound that's maddeningly familiar but completely unique.

A Crow Looked At Me is an unsettling, awkward listen and it might (probably will) make you cry. It’s also a tribute to an amazing 13-year love story (the penultimate song Soria Moria encompasses Elverum’s childhood longing, how he met Castrée and their instant connection) and may turn out to be one of the strongest albums of the year.

Robyn takes a range of styles from dancehall and rap to house and disco and melds them with her big pop sound featuring four-to-the-floor beats and thoughtful, unsentimental lyrics about love and loneliness.

These are slow, sad ballads brilliantly executed.

Listening is like slowly sinking into a warm bath, then gradually adding rose petals, bubbles, arsenic. But Majical Cloudz never let you drown.

While their performance is expansive and parts are definitely stretched out and rocked out, like on I Will Sing You Songs and Mahgeetah, this is just solid performing, not lame jam band shit.

On the first three tracks, she tackles enduring pop-music themes like love, loneliness and friendship with the kind of unsentimental yet empathetic songwriting fans of the Pet Shop Boys might admire. Midway, her worldly confidence morphs into outright cockiness and the beats grow aggressive.

There’s an eerie blandness to the mood that is initially off-putting but turns into a surprisingly compelling, subtly evocative combination of sadness and contentedness.

If you let go of your preconceptions, what you’ll hear is a strong soul album by a mature singer who’s successfully channelling a lot of real pain in her music.

Oddly, the unconventional sequencing and measured pace of the album make the fragmented mess hold together quite well.

Do too many cooks spoil this classic rock 'n' roll concoction? Hell, no.

TID is a solid collection of his trademark epic ballads ready to be your summer patio soundtrack.

There's an enigmatic quality to his rapid-fire narratives, which bounce between composed and freestyle. And yet Bleeds is also clearly one of his most dynamic, intimate and humble artistic efforts, revealing more with every listen.

Despite all of its references, Reservation is original, cohesive, absorbing and Haze's most polished release to date.

So the cookie-cutter joints are tossed out the window for The Renaissance as Q-Tip attempts to show that he can creatively flow over whatever unusual progression or production twist comes along with each successive track.

Jungle’s core members, childhood best friends Josh and Tom, make well-balanced dance tunes--lush, but with plenty of breathing space between slow builds and feverish climaxes.

Her control has never been better and Jimmy Hogarth’s production provides the perfect foundation for her deeply delicate expressions.

With cleaner, more refined production quality to boot, Growth is an interesting and fully realized progression.

They’ve crafted an album that stands on familiar rock ground but isn’t at all stock.

The band makes focused noise with pop undertones, and their new record is undeniably grand.

Blanco takes on characters and stretches her voice into new shapes, easily switching from feminine to macho over the course of a single track, while her lyrics summon up vivid imagery and raw emotions.

A courageous statement that should resonate far and wide.

Not a single note feels unplanned, yet every lick also comes across as completely natural.

I have seen Esco­vedo’s future, and its sound is rock ’n’ roll.

The spacey, meandering jams flow effortlessly, bringing to mind sunny afternoons with an old lover and a big bag of weed. No, it’s not the kind of album that’ll change the world, but it might just be the perfect summer soundtrack of the year.

Despite the mainstream references, the album is a much more emotionally wrenching experience than anything on the actual pop charts.

Prima Donna bristles with paranoia, anxiety, depression and anger about racism, violence, the music industry and his own psychological state. Loco distills all that. Staples's vicious, suicidal fever dream sees him alluding to Van Gogh's mental illness and dropping references to The Great Gatsby and James Joyce.

It’s a taut, punchy album full of winning charm, and blessedly free of cynicism and ego.

The band’s second album has terrific production values, and beneath all the industrial edges and gothic stomp, Dean Tzenos’s vocals are surprisingly melodic.

Pants wraps everything effectively in a dreamy fizziness that softens some of the stranger dark edges, but he doesn't hide his increasing interest in pop song construction.

Whatever he calls himself, Young Thug is still one of the most distinctive voices in hip-hop, and Jeffery lives up to the best moments from his Barter 6 and Slime Season mixtapes.

You Want It Darker is frightening, aching and, finally, sad. But, on this gorgeous, essential record, the sadness is illuminated. It glows.

It's like Koster has a wellspring of positive vibes that he channels into songs without engaging in schmaltz or clichés.

Practically every bar the 21-year-old spits is full of fiery indignation, aimed not just at exposing (and undermining) entrenched social hierarchies, but at the insecurities that might also hold her back.

Many of the familiar signifiers are gone, yet their well crafted and characteristically tuneful compostions still have a recognizable Calexico feel.

It’s less cohesive than the high watermark he set with Malibu, but hitching a ride back to Oxnard is a freewheeling and occasionally exhilarating quest into Paak’s sonic curiosity.

Ferry manages to breathe new life into [the songs] while maintaining their integrity and original purpose.

It’s slightly less menacing, yet without a discernible drop in power, which should go down well in the burbs without alienating their hipster metal following.

It's a trip, a varied one with heavy/light and ugly/beautiful balances in perfect moderation.

A few rhythmically awkward moments detract from the album’s overall flow, particularly on 'High Life,' but chalk that up to two competing staccato production styles.

Beach Slang are doing this as much for us as for themselves, and if you're down with them, it's hard not to feel awesome listening to this album.

It’s much more in line with Shabason and Adams’s work on Destroyer’s soft rock epic Kaputt, with its smooth sax, jazzy rhythms and 80s synth pop, but Elle’s breathy voice meshes remarkably well.

On the stylistically diverse Good Bad Not Evil, they confront many of the problems facing America today, taking short, sharp stabs at the Katrina disaster, neurotoxins destroying the upper middle class, juvenile delinquency, false prophets and an apocalyptic holy war.

Occasionally, songs sound a little too derivative of older Scream, but Gillespie's desire to look inward feels genuine.

Scott Reitherman, the multi-instrumentalist behind TMTS, switched to a full band following 2007’s "Moonbeams," and it paid off. Creaturesque stays aloft thanks to its big sound and well-placed handclaps.

How The West Was Won stands on its own as a clever, mature and scathingly witty record with memorable melodies and choruses. It also marks the return of a true rock ’n’ roll anti-hero.

If any rap group could pull off a project this unwieldy, it's the Roots, and they make it seem effortless.

It all informs this feel-bad album of the year, which sounds fantastic thanks to Sanford Parker's no-frills yet full production.

While some of her melodies could be a bit more defined, she's a nuanced enough performer to captivate at the most self-indulgent of times.

Although the album pushes the envelope lyrically, the music doesn't always elevate the ideas as much as it could. Mount Moriah's deftly woven, loose Americana is more a vessel for McEntire's poetry than anything else.

An all-you-can-eat steak buffet for listeners. ... The musical arrangements are even sparser than Callahan’s last studio album, 2013’s Dream River, yet his foghorn voice remains intimately pushed to the forefront of the mix.

The band’s trademark solemnity and repetitive downtempo styles prevail in the final three tracks, making you feel like you’re treading in a swimming pool of honey--in a good way.

Singer Davey Havok continues to impress with his range and ability to quickly turn from a throat-searing scream to a bare-boned croon, as does the entire band's consistently exciting approach to songwriting and their music aesthetic.

The clever hook is keeping everything fuzzy enough to create a trippy mystique that makes it difficult to pinpoint what's happening or where it's all leading.

The weird, nuanced Rhode Island-based MC burns his references, punchlines and cold truths through a batch of X-acto-sharp beats, focusing his strong opinions, sense of imagery and lyrical abstraction inward.

It's almost as if, released from the role of playing less weird anchor to Spencer Krug's art rock savant, Boeckner's figured out how to maximize and expand what he does best.

With its confident, mature and meditative approach, his debut album belies his newbie status.

If neither the lyrics nor bass lines break your heart, you might not have one.