The album as a whole drags a little. But the softness of Kline’s vocals and the instrumentation anchoring her lyrics and stories make up for it.

Levi pulls off his flamboyant persona because he has the meticulously structured songs to carry it.

Despite the flaws, you can't deny that Segall's got real talent, which would be wasted if he just stuck to the psych/garage throwback formula.

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.

As if the synthesized strings and electronic dabbling weren't sad enough, [Spektor's] ascerbic voice has been all but lost in squishy couplets about making things better and needing to "know you."

Some songs feel just short of full-blown biting, like No Question, which is awfully reminiscent of the classic Breeders single Saints. Still, it feels hard to write them off as some kind of revivalist project. If anything, the band’s unshakeable determination to stay in their own lane seems like an ideological gesture. You can’t be cool if you’re worried about being cool.

This time around, the lo-fi quality is less abrasive but still dirty and intimate enough to stop anyone from yelling Sell out!

It’s not a perfect record, but nothing this ambitious was ever going to be.

Don’t count on hearing any lively back-and-forth exchanges, though, they’re clearly too respectful of each other to risk stepping on any toes in public.

The less experimental C'mon is confident and warm, suggesting that the band let the reverberant setting dictate the tone.

The way Ought confront modern bleakness is understandably disaffected but ultimately moving and celebratory, in the idealistic tradition of punk.

The writing here is sharp and stunning, but the real difference between this and other Cat Power discs is that The Greatest has room to breathe.

Ultimately, Candylion is more annoying than entertaining.

That the songs retain their vibrancy and ambition with this new energy – more focused, less stridently theatrical – is a testament to her songwriting and enduring appeal.

The painful White Chalk is either a studio experiment gone horribly wrong or a crafty bit of career self-sabotage by a sensitive artist who'd rather make sculptures in the desert than play pop star.

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.

Only about half of the songs captivate; the others could be used as sleep aids. This is frustrating, because the strong songs are fantastic. The lesser ones suffer from too much washed-out dreaminess.

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.

Auerbach delivers the goods with spooky, sleazy and soulful style.

Mood is the driving force, making it function best as background music, if occasionally forgettable.

A few, like Lion In Winter Pt. 1 and 12-minute closer In The Beginning Is The End, test your patience, while others, like Nova Anthem and Lamb, become so surprisingly transcendent that they vanquish any and all tedium.

YG may just want to party, but the layered storytelling displayed here proves he could be the next transcendent, endlessly original West Coast superstar.

As each conflicting quality is reconciled, it’s never compromised or downplayed. They sound both aware of and immersed in the culture surrounding them while fully settled into their own reality as billionaires. In essence, they are Black, rich and famous, in that order.

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

Assume Form doesn’t have the instant gratification of his 2013 album, Overgrown--arguably his best--but it gradually pulls you in like a soothing balm. ... It’s still a James Blake record, but with brighter synths and more natural instruments. Any moments of darkness are balanced with light.

Short of pumping dry ice through your speakers, The Eldritch Dark captures the throbbing, gloomy energy that has long made Blood Ceremony one of the city’s finest live acts.

Better than anything they've done to date.

The diversity leaves it without a consistent mood or conceptual through-line, however, and while Hogan's singing voice is, like the album, pleasant enough, it's not especially distinct or memorable.