His vulnerable warble is still intact, his lyrics remain tenderly existential (aside from, uh, Shave My Pussy), and the noisy bits just make the softer tunes all the more gutting.

Led by Patton’s smarmy vocals and the band’s intricately heavy instrumentation, Oddfellows cuts a swath between infectious bangers (Stone Letter, South Paw) and quirky atmospherics.

Occasionally Half Free can sound dense to the point of being vexing, but its vivid imagery and striking melodies keep Remy’s more self-indulgent tendencies grounded in a classic pop sensibility.

A stellar offering.

The more steeped Hozier gets in Southern influence the better: slow, hymnal Work Song disguises a love ballad as a spiritual to blissful effect, a perfect showcase for his rich, resonant alto.

This is instant vintage.

They're the kinds of songs that make you want to run into the street and scream to the universe that life is beautiful and magical, which is a pretty nice feeling as long as you can stop worrying about whether people think you're crazy.

Quirky melodies and unpredictable, anti-country structures make it interesting over repeat listens. A mid-career triumph.

From the church-bell-ringing, banjo-plucking funereal title track opener to the into-the-sunset Hawaiian ballad Aloha Oe that closes the album in perfect cinematic form, Cash sounds completely at ease, and wholly preoccupied, with the approach of his own death.

The main attraction is still Baird's and Weeks's haunting voices, which turn a risky experiment into a genre-defining classic.

Williams is more observational than personal throughout Blessed, looking upon her downtrodden characters with sympathy and compassion.

Psychedelic Pill is exactly the kind of noisy, joyfully loose and oddly hypnotizing guitar album we love Crazy Horse for.

Although the first half relies on straight-up classic house beats and lyric imperatives to be stronger, work harder and get higher, they upend the formula with an oddball-pop sensibility, beautifully crafted melodies and general silliness.

A diasporic pop beacon for those of us from neither here nor there.

Hero Brother is a beautiful collection of experimental instrumental songs.

His more abstract, mellow songs don’t work as well, too often sounding like buildups to a big drop that never comes rather than completed tracks. But Greene has filled out Feel Infinite with just enough bangers to keep the momentum from lagging too much.

Things pick up toward the end with the slightly more upbeat run of Lost In Yesterday, Is It True and It Might Be Time. For the most part, though, Parker is a better producer than he is a songwriter.

13 exuberant folk-pop songs delivered with clarity, colour and conviction.

This isn’t Drake at his most exposed.... Production-wise, however, it’s his most mature, and frankly, most beautiful.

Boucher's production prowess, beautifully complex and ambitious songwriting, is self-evident on Miss Anthropocene.

The Audience's Listening is kinda like a Fatboy Slim B-sides collection circa 1998 without the catchy bits.

It's time to move some units, so quirky's out and tunefulness is in.

You'd be hard pressed to find an album as varied as Elvis Costello's National Ransom (his 26th, give or take).

Though there’s some absolutely gorgeous production that recalls the lush sound and synthscapes of 80s rock, the songwriting is weighed down by clichés.

Gone are the days when this band gave us four albums in three years, but their enchanting harmonies and eloquent songwriting are as formidable as ever. And that's what matters most when it comes to a new Teenage Fanclub album.

From the nimbly finger-picked Troubles Will Be Gone to the emphatically strummed King Of Spain, he provides instrumental variety that never overshadows his poetic lyrics.

He's used what could have been a tragic turn of events as fuel for a vibrant, engaging and often playful record.

The rest of Autumn Of The Seraphs sounds a bit more meticulous, though it's self-assured in its footing.