When Chenaux alights on something more typically songlike, he sparks both anticipation and memory: an interesting marriage of nostalgia and novelty.

Nothing about For Evelyn feels resolved. A restless quality drives each track, resulting in a thoughtful, solitary album that you listen, cry and even dance to alone. Yet after it's over, you're left feeling less alone, because through its intimate explorations, Georgas makes the personal universal.

Drake is increasingly astute at reframing hip-hop braggadocio about wealth and competition as a kind of existential crisis through telling--but now familiar--details about his life (“I got two mortgages $30 million in total”) and subtle uses of melody and atmosphere.

Sputtering, glitchy electronics and polyrhythmic drum patterns by Taylor Smith and Austin Tufts provide layers of ambience that seem a bit too soft and tepid in the face of her melancholy but intense musings, though they complement her high, airy, melodic vocals.

The songs are still there, though, even more so than on 2011’s Diaper Island.

M.I.A. is good at circumventing dance music clichés, often through sheer polyrhythmic excess; it’s hard to stay still during effusive bangers like Y.A.L.A., Matangi and tribal-trap anthem Warriors. On the flip side, Matangi’s forays into left-field pop (Come Walk With Me, Lights) are blandly saccharine compared with // / Y /’s pure pop moments.

It's Toussaint's soulful songs and naturally funky grooves that make this unlikely pairing work almost in spite of Costello's overbearing presence.

Latham's plaintive voice sounds like it's emanating from some romantically ruinous daydream. The effect suits the mood but makes his lyrics difficult to decipher, which is frustrating given his pointed message.

It's a solid album, but too conservative to make many converts.

The fuller orchestration might translate better onstage and help the band gain a wider audience, but this water-themed record mostly leaves you with the wrong kind of sinking feeling.

The artful and relatable way Dawson writes about real life makes each song like a little individually wrapped gift.

Oberst's political criticism is most effective when he's humble and straightforward, yet his overwrought poetics seem laughable, childish and blinkered when applied to world affairs.

The album's not quite as heavy as its predecessor, but there are enough down-tuned riffs and effects-laden solos to satisfy old fans.

It's a bold move to pick up the scraps from the floor, finish them up and declare them worth hearing, even if they don't fit tidily on any previous (or future) albums. Song by song you could be forgiven for asking "Is this the same band?"

Not terrible, just half-assed.

She's bewildering.

If this isn’t the band’s best yet, it’s still damn good.

Mood-wise, there’s less of the unhinged joy of their last outing, "Love Is Simple." However, those moments of ecstasy have more power in smaller doses, and making that choice has allowed them to expand their palette while retaining their identity.

She creates layers of dark, self-indulgent, eye-popping music that holds up against her previous hits and is, in some cases, even more satisfying.

She sounds older and smarter, but a bit unsure of which way to take that experience.

It’s a bummer that Slayer’s November 13 Air Canada Centre show, and their entire tour, has been postponed due to lead singer/bassist Tom Araya’s back problems, but we can console ourselves with their excellent new album, which finds the dark-minded, serial-killer-obsessed California thrashers keeping all things in balance.

While Orton has a tendency to mimic her own melodies, she explores jazz structures here in engaging, exciting ways, and the indigent heartland iconography of her lyrics is beautiful without being cloying.

Lyrics are reflective and well written--Watt is also a published author--but a middle-age malaise runs through these 10 tracks.

Oblique by pop standards, the album's full of raw, tightly wound energy.

Their latest successfully revisits elements of their thrash-metal prime, eschewing bloated self-indulgence for straight-up head-banging aggression, with decent riffs to match, thanks in no small part to producer Rick Rubin.

The Colour In Anything is a good album that could have been great if Blake had been a bit more willing to edit and discard his less successful sonic experiments.

Emancipated Hearts’ chilled-out songs are strong, though, built on solid, simple melodies and weary, disillusioned lyrics.

Hopefully there’s still enough room on people’s psych plates for Odd Blood, a masterful follow-up that deserves to get into your ears.